Once upon a time I was stranded in Stranraer,
Scotland, having made no provisions for rail or bus transport once I landed after coming across from
Belfast. I stuck out my thumb, and after only one false start (a truck driver who asked if I took my
knickers down) I got a ride from a guy who was delivering food supplies to
pubs. After showing me pics of his wife and kids (to prove he was an ok-guy) he proceeded to ask me what I knew of Robbie Burns and then give me a lecture about Scotland's
poet. He drove me by Robbie's wee cottage and circled the place so I would have a good memory of it. Eventually, this nice guy deposited me at a bus station somewhere where I could get across Scotland to
Inverness.
At the bus station, I met two people who also asked me if I was acquainted with Burns. When I arrived at my destination, I was again asked if I'd had an opportunity to see the Burns cottage.
I came away from Scotland with the distinct impression that the natives there want to be sure the tourists have had some opportunity to worship at the font of Burns. I guess it's not too different from native San Antonians wanting to know if tourists have taken in the Alamo.