travel philosophy

The Antibes coast, Côte d'Azur, France

A few days ago I woke up at the crack of dawn unaided, drove to Chicago, boarded a plane to Dublin, spent the better part of a morning in Dublin’s terminal 2, made a turbulent jaunt to Nice, and managed to take approximately 15 wrong turns through the Côte d’Azur hills before arriving to Golfe-Juan outside Cannes. Gone were the blooming oaks and fields of trilliums around Madison. Now I walked along Golfe-Juan’s vieux port beneath palms jostled by a fractious Mediterranean wind.

Twenty-six hours to spin the globe. My head is still spinning. Modern travel is such a complex experience, and I doubt it will ever get better or worse than this… Read more...

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Bloggers aboard the AMResorts Yacht in Vancouver for TBEX '11

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...

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A Paean to Travel

by Keith Savage · 15 comments

Whale at the Vancouver Convention Centre

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...

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Coral Beach, Isle of Skye

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.

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Traveling Savage at Skene House Rosemount, Aberdeen

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...

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