As if we hadn't had enough excitement for one day, we still had to find our way to the Isle of Skye. It was a brilliant drive, crossing the ocean by bridge with a view of the afterglow over the mountains. As night set in, it became apparent that we had no idea where we were going. We could not find street names or addresses anywhere!
But low and behold, even though it was black as night, we came across a Scotsman outside on a ladder painting his pub. (Not even kidding!) When we asked him for directions to our cottage, located at #14 of such-and-such road, he just shrugged and said, "Number 14 doesn't mean anything because there is a fourteen and a half, a fourteen and three quarters etc."
You can't make this stuff up!
We went on a wild goose chase trying to find a white cottage from a picture printed off the internet in a village full of identical white cottages. After exiting the van and casing out one wrong place, we were finally able to get in touch with the owners for directions.
If matters couldn't get crazier, the dirt road leading to the cottage was full of absolutely gigantic potholes (have I mentioned that EVERYTHING is bigger in Scotland!?!?) and we were nearly hitting our heads on the roof in the black of night on a remote island in the middle nowhere, crossing our fingers that we were heading in the right direction. It would have been hysterical if I wasn't so sick, joined now by my counterpart, Sherrylynn, who also began suffering from an infection. As we described later, we were laughing on the inside, but desperately praying to God that we would find the place before midnight so we could get some much needed sleep.
Thankfully, we made it alive and in one piece, though a little worse for wear after our long beautiful day.