Isle of Lewis

Hello from Stornoway, Isle of Lewis, on the northwest corner of Europe. We caught an early flight from Inverness this morning.

Lewis is a flat, somewhat remote island. Stornoway is the only community that resembles a town. We're here for three nights, having found a cool B&B on the internet. Margaret, our proprietor, sent her husband Donnie to "collect us" from the airport. They're quite comical, even a bit bawdy, and we like them very much.

Tomorrow we will head off for worship at the Back Free Church, about five miles away. This is one of the few churches in the world that still lines out the psalms in Gaelic. In fact, tomorrow's service will be entirely in Gaelic -- so there's no telling what we will understand. The service has been the one non-negotiable part of this journey. I'm excited about hearing the psalms "done live" by a congregation of acapella voices.

Stornoway will shut down for the Sabbath. When Donnie drove us into town, he pointed out the only place that will be open tomorrow -- a gas station and small market, kind of like a convenience store. "It's owned by Norwegian Catholics," he said, "and they're making a killing."

Yesterday we took a bus from Fort William, driven by the Driver With A Deathwish. We whizzed by Loch Ness ("Look, there's Nessie!"), caught a flying glimpse of Castle Urqhart, and landed on two wheels in Inverness.

Inverness is a fairy tale town, and we enjoyed a thirty minute rainbox from many vantage points. Our B&B was outstanding, quite close to everything. We weren't there for very long, given the difficulties of reaching Stornoway. It would be marvelous to return to explore Inverness and the rest of the Highlands.

On the way to the airport our cabbie took us by the Stuart Castle, reputedly my family's ancestral home. It rents rooms for about $300 a night, and offers a free night's stay to anybody who can last the evening in the tower room which is haunted by a thief named Big Angus. We decided to pass.