Going home – it’s a part of travel not given much breath. For most travelers, home is literally the last thing they want to think about. But I have to tell you, after being gone two of the last three months, it’s like a healing salve upon my soul to be able to get back into familiar surroundings and relaxing routines.
I am of Wisconsin. Here I am the master of my domain. Actually, that would be my wife. Hm.
People often ask me why I don’t just move to Scotland. Why all the flights and separation from Sarah? It’s a fair, no, good question. Read more...
The 777 passes to the east. Forty thousand feet over the Canadian plains a turbulent tailwind rocks us all to sleep like babes in an industrial steel cradle. We are helpless as infants for all the power we have over our paths at this moment.
But I can’t sleep. Choosing to travel is choosing the path of transience, and I’m haunted by the souls who’ve invaded my airspace and gone: with hugs and affirmations; with nothing at all because we didn’t know that was the end; with casual disappearance into the night shadows.
Last night on Robson Street was filled with neon lights and open air bars. The scent of seaweed and colognes, nachos. Our merry band of travelers strung out over blocks and breaking apart in that special kind of fission unique to large groups of people. Read more...
I’ve been digging, unsure of what I’m looking for but certain I’ll find something of value.
I’ve been falling, strong in the belief that something will catch me.
I’ve been beach combing, positive I’ll find exactly what I need.
The end state of Traveling Savage has always been invisible to me, both to my chagrin and stubborn belief that not everything need be known before it is undertaken. This is a work in progress, a transformative process.
I am awaiting the touch of serendipity. Read more...
I’ve got this horrible White Snake song stuck in my head. You know the one that goes “here I go again on my ooooown” followed by some clunky power chords? It’s been on a seemingly infinite, really short loop (I don’t know the rest of it) in my head since Sarah dropped me at the bus bound for O’Hare on Monday. It’s Tuesday afternoon in Scotland as I type this on the Glasgow-Aberdeen train. I’m still traveling. On my own. Again.
It’s a great cosmic irony that a homebody like me is trying to make it in the world of travel writing/blogging/what have you. Especially as a solo traveler. Still trying to figure that one out. But I’ve traveled a lot in the last six months: five weeks in Argentina, three weeks in Scotland, one week in San Antonio, and now I’m on the front end of another five weeks in Scotland. Read more...
Change is in the air. I’m on the brink of kissing 2010 goodbye and greeting a mysterious 2011 with hopeful eyes.
But what a year it’s been!
The preceding 12 months have been a blur of saving money, working and quitting my steady job, blogging a bunch, trip planning, and traveling around Argentina. Follow-through has been something I’ve been dreadfully short on in the past, so I’m proud to have identified a dream, worked hard toward it, and followed through on the first few milestones. I’m not there yet, and I believe the best dreams are almost always unattainable. They leave no room for complacency and keep us striving for the next great achievement. Read more...
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). 
