The Kindness of Strangers: Skye

A solo road trip through Scotland took an unexpected turn, but the generosity of e turned a travel mishap into an unforgettable reminder of human goodness.

The fairy pools on the Isle of Skye

When you need reassurance that people are good, look to the Isle of Skye.

It was July 2019 and I was halfway into a two-week solo road trip through the Scottish Highlands. Visiting Skye, with its craggy peaks, tumbling waterfalls and mystical fairy pools, was high on my must-see Scottish bucket list. But things started to go wrong almost as soon as I crossed the bridge from mainland Scotland.

The roads were terrible–rough, half-paved, and riddled with potholes. With a sinking feeling, I realized it was going to take twice as long as I’d expected to get to my bed and breakfast, located on a sheep farm about ten miles beyond the main city of Portree. 

As I bumped along, I realized my cell signal had disappeared, along with the directions my host had emailed. I had screenshots of the Google directions, but I remembered reading something odd about her directions—something about skipping one road and turning later. Now I’d have no choice but to follow Google and hope for the best. 

I was loving my time in Scotland, but  it had been a long day and I was exhausted. Maybe that’s why I didn’t pause in Portree to look up my host’s directions, or stop for tea somewhere and recoup for an hour or two. Instead, I plowed on with the Google directions, focused only on getting to my lodging as quickly as possible.

An hour later, I finally spotted the road where Google Maps indicated I should turn. I felt a wave of relief—I was just two miles away.

But this road was even worse—less a road than a rutted sheep track, riddled with potholes. Sheep wandered into the path. There were no cars, no farms or houses in sight, and the drizzle had turned into a downpour. I dropped my speed, then dropped it again, but still, the car lurched and jolted.

Then, with an almighty crunch, the front wheel dropped into a pothole so deep I bounced against my seatbelt. I hit the gas, yanked the wheel—but the back tire hit the same hole, and the car went down again.

On the dash, a warning light flared: low tire pressure. And that’s when I remembered: the rental had no spare.

The sheep were oblivious to my situation.

---

I’m sharing all this detail to illustrate one of Murphy’s Laws of Travels: When things go wrong, they tend to go spectacularly wrong. When that happens, you have no choice but to throw yourself on the mercy of strangers and trust in other people. It’s an utterly vulnerable position to be in for any traveler, but especially for a woman alone. You can only hope you land on the side of the angels. 

In this case, I did, thanks to a woman named—appropriately—Angela.

Angela was working in the office at Highland Motors when I rolled in on a near-flat tire fifteen minutes later. She was a tall woman with a demeanor of calm efficiency—basically the total opposite of my wet and frazzled self. While she finished with a customer, I paced and chewed my thumbnail and cursed myself for ever thinking I could handle a solo road trip in a foreign country. When Angela finally turned to me I burst out, in one big word, “IthinkIhaveaflattireinmyrentalcar.” 

She took one look at my panicked expression and took charge.

Within minutes, Angela and a young mechanic named Stuart had my car jacked up to inspect the damage. Then she delivered the bad news. “Both front and back tires are ruined,” she said. “And we don’t have that size in stock.”

Then she smiled. “But I’m going to get you some.”

Sometimes you have no choice but to throw yourself on the mercy of strangers and trust in other people. You can only hope you land on the side of the angels. 

Despite it being almost closing time, Angela worked the phones, calling around the island and over to the mainland until she found a pair of tires at a place across the bridge. “I’ll have them here as early as possible,” she said, turning to me. “Where are you staying?”

I told her and was about to ask if I could call a cab when she turned and bellowed, “STUART!”

The young mechanic appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a rag.

“Bring this young lady back to her bed and breakfast, and fetch her in the morning, please,” Angela instructed.

“No problem,” Stuart said, smiling. There was no trace of annoyance at having his evening disrupted; no eye roll at the tourist who couldn’t handle driving on Skye. Just kindness and sincerity as he ushered me to his car.

Somehow, I still wasn’t convinced it would all work out. I half-expected Stuart not to return in the morning. As I waited outside the bed and breakfast the next day, watching newborn lambs trail after their mothers, I was trying to form a backup plan. But then Stuart’s car appeared over the hill, and he greeted me with a smile.

“We just like helping people here,” Stuart said, waving off my thanks. I could tell he meant it.

Mealt Falls, cascading from the cliffs at Kilt Rock on the Isle of Skye.

---

I was prepared to wait all day for the new tires. But when we got to the shop, Angela had good news: they’d be there within the hour. While we waited, she emailed photos of the damaged tires to my rental agency, then handed me a local map.

“You’re going to have plenty of time to see the island today,” she said.

She was right. By eleven that morning, I was back on the road—driving more carefully than I ever had in my life and filled with gratitude and wonder. 

The kindness of these strangers had been so extraordinary that it felt like fiction. Angela could have easily told me to sort things out with the rental agency. She could have handed me a taxi number and sent me on my way. Instead, she went out of her way, and in the process, reminded me of the inherent goodness of people.

When I think of Skye, it’s not the dramatic landscapes or the sheep or even the wrecked tires that I remember. It’s Angela. It’s Stuart. It’s the warmth and the kindness of those who call Skye home. 

And when people ask how I can possibly feel safe as a solo female traveler—how I can take myself to far-flung places and trust that it will all be okay—I smile, and I think of Skye.

---