I had a “deep thought” today as my dad and I drove out of Edradour distillery on our way to the 1,200-year old Pictish Aberlemno Stone in Angus. You see, I’ve been digging at my obsession with Scotland and trying to understand the basis of its origin. I was a psychology major after all. But why no love for the good old USA? Surely the States’ natural beauty measures up to Scotland. Home sweet home has plenty of attractions like the Kentucky Bourbon Trail…um, Wall Drug, and…the Corn Palace? I kid, but seriously, what’s the deal?
Enter the “deep thought.” America is like blended whisky and Scotland is like single malt whisky. That could be the Edradour talking but stick with me. Read more...
It’s late April but January descends on Edinburgh with Baltic east winds whipping the tree blossoms with knives of liquid ice raining down into lank hair and defeated jackets. I exit the bus and stalk down the sidewalk. Students and businessmen and dog walkers sprint and weave around each other. The sun somehow shines behind the rain. I cross an alley, spot this, and stop dead. Edinburgh Castle poses in the gray heavens. The white clouds cast a wan visage, and yet I’m drawn down the cobblestone street toward it.
From nearly every vantage point in the city I can spot its massive red and tan bulk fading toward the black volcanic plug upon which it stands. The castle is above the trash in the gutters of Cowgate, the students thronging down Nicholson Street, the buses and bikers and cabs and dogs cutting at vectors across each others’ erratic paths. It is above the teensy preoccupations and meaningless fears filling our minds as we pass beneath it, through its shadow. Read more...
Even the schools in Edinburgh are something to gape and wonder at. That was the thought flitting through my mind as I stood in the courtyard of George Heriot’s School on the southern edge of Edinburgh’s Old Town. It’s a rare view, being inside the school. Much like other castles of education in Edinburgh, George Heriot’s School isn’t open to visitors, which I think is a pretty smart policy (minors and all). So how did I sneak past the guards and clamber over the Flodden Wall without being noticed?
No, it wasn’t my years training as a ninja in Iga province. I was the guest of Willie Wallace, a George Heriot’s alum which granted him the powers of re-entry to the school. With guests. Read more...
by Keith Savage on March 19, 2012 · 1 comment
I hope that by now you’re familiar with my series of Savage Pub Crawls. So far I’ve taken you around Edinburgh’s Royal Mile and the Bohemian southside. Now it’s time to tackle one of Edinburgh’s most pub-rich areas: the New Town. There are so many drinking dens in the orderly Georgian New Town that I could devise a different pub crawl every day for a month, but there’s a handful of pubs here that are true highlights of any visit to Edinburgh.
The New Town is a fantastic neighborhood for a pub crawl. When the people of Edinburgh drained the Nor Loch and built the New Town they focused on geometrical precision and symmetry. The result is a neighborhood where it’s easy to keep your bearings even after a pint or four. Read more...
Every year millions of people tred upon Edinburgh’s cobblestone Royal Mile. From Edinburgh Castle to Holyrood Palace to St. Giles Cathedral, it is truly a candy store of historical proportions. Shops and pubs line both sides of the Royal Mile today, but it wasn’t always this way. In the middle of the 18th century, Edinburgh’s architects enacted an ambitious plan to change the fundamental structure and appearance of the Royal Mile – a plan that built houses in the sky and locked away slums beneath their foundations. Edinburgh’s topside historical monuments languish in the elements, but what history molders in the dark beneath the cobbles?
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A hunter, oft-stubbled and bleary-eyed, driven by an insatiable hunger for exploration and experience - and perhaps a chance to thin the herd of caffeinated and alcoholic beverages. From the highlands and islands to Edinburgh, Glasgow, and the Borders, I explore Scotland with a pen in hand and a fire in the belly (which could be partly from the whisky). 
