There were possibly twenty reasons why I hung the sign on my study door reading, 'Gone to Scotland... back in a month.' Reason number one: I was compelled to languish on a stone bench in the rocky high grounds of Edinburgh Castle, eyes closed, savoring the sweet sound of bagpipes echoing through the centuries-old stillness. The only thrill that could possibly surpass the bagpipes would be the sensory awakening at the Edinburgh Tattoo. Beyond that, my list included a longing to revisit the lochs in hopes of glimpsing the elusive Nessie, a craving for the earthy taste of haggis, a penchant for a lively Scottish reel and jig, and a need to purchase genuine Scottish shortbread. I also yearned for an authentic Scottish coat, gloves, and matching tam-o-shanter, the sight of a man in a kilt (preferably bending over to tie his shoelaces), and the desire to potter around a certain famous viaduct crossing

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