In over two years of writing on Traveling Savage, I have yet to “miss” a post. By that I mean I’ve stuck to my schedule of writing and haven’t taken a post – or a week of posts – off since the founding of this site in December 2009. I use an editorial calendar these days instead of devising a topic in the moment, and I moved from my original two posts per week to three posts per week after I left my old job.

So what, you say? Consistency is a hallmark of blogging. Well, that’s about to change. I’m taking a vacation. A brief one. Like for the rest of this week while I’m at Disney World.

Look, I’m not just going to leave you hanging in the wind like that, staring at Traveling Savage wishing there was new and juicy information about Scotland while I’m galavanting in one of America’s most over-the-top tourist attractions. I wouldn’t do that to you.

With all of that time you normally use reading new posts here, why not consider doing one of the following:

• Read my four-part series on planning a trip to Scotland, which covers when and where you should go and how much time and money you’ll need.
• Catch up on my four-part beginner’s guide to single malt whisky and prepare yourself for enjoying Scotland’s national drink.
• Soak up some excellent travel music recommendations by reading my Trackpacking series of articles.
• Browse through my snapshots and word portraits of Scotland in a series I call Picture This.
• Click over to any of the awesome travel blogs I keep track of in my Good Reads list.

Ah, guilt assuaged. I’ll be back next Monday with more goodies to share, but before I get back to eating giant turkey legs and traveling the world within a theme park (so American)…

Plans & Happenings

I’m in Orlando! Well, hopefully, I’m actually writing this a bit ahead of time. Sarah loves Disney World and I love seeing her happy so it’s a win-win situation. Plus, I get to escape the Wisconsin winter (again) and give our cat Pip some SAD time alone. He’s been such a downer.

I’ve completed loads of planning for my next trip to Scotland, and I’m happy to say most of it’s done except for minor things like plane tickets. Here’s what to expect from my fourth trip to Scotland in a year’s time:

• 3 days in Edinburgh
• 4 days in Perthshire
• 5 days in Moray/Speyside
• 4 days in Ross & Cromarty
• 4 days in Orkney

The accommodations all look great, and my dad and I will be traveling during the first half of May – one of the best times to visit Scotland. We’re both getting really excited about the trip while I continue to set up events and meetings.

I’m trying to figure out when to take another trip after this upcoming one in May. There will be three weddings in my family in a three-month span over the summer, including my brother’s, which is making travel tricky. I would like to get another trip in before the end of September. Keep you posted.

Parting Blow

Now’s a good time to check in with you and find out if there’s Scotland-focused information you’d like to see on Traveling Savage that isn’t currently here. Different kinds of posts? I really value your feedback, so please let me know in the comments or via email.

State of the Savage: January 2012 is a post from Traveling Savage. Copyright 2012

Thick beams of spring sun saturate the lawn around crumbling Dunkeld Cathedral. Moss inches up the trunks of towering oaks, and a herd of precious yellow-capped flowers climb up the moss. I lay belly down upon the earth and bring in the scene through my camera while dark age warriors and monks mirror me beneath the ground. The aroma of the fecund turf and the whispering of the River Tay as it sidles past hold me immobile. The warmth of the sun is a hug from the unblemished March sky. Down river, a man in hip waders outlines the flicking of his wrist with a filament of fly-fishing line. The fly careens onto the river’s surface where the movements of fish leave geometric whorls. There is space between the sounds and smells and sensations that elevates them all from footnotes to constellations.

Alone amid the ruins of a 13th-century cathedral and prostrate on the earth watching new life grow on the bones of old life, an understanding of the desire to wrap our remains in the earth flowered.

Picture This: Tayside Flowers at Dunkeld Cathedral is a post from Traveling Savage. Copyright 2012

Welcome to the final installment of the beginner’s guide to single malt whisky. The first part of this guide introduced the concept of whisky and touched on the members of the whisky family tree before narrowing our focus to single malt Scotch whisky. The second part pulled back the curtain on the process of making single malt Scotch whisky and discussed the various parts of the process that impart flavor to the finished product. Part three rolled open the map and surveyed Scotland’s whisky regions before changing gears and providing a cheat sheet for reading the often-complicated whisky labels.

This last chapter covers the process – or should I say a process – for enjoying single malt whisky. Let’s get this caveat out of the way now: There is no single, correct way to enjoy single malts. You should drink it whatever way best suits you, whether that’s neat, on the rocks, cut in half with water, or mixed with some other liquid. The ultimate goal is the same for all of us: enjoyment.

I enjoy single malt whisky because, well, it’s delicious, but also because it triggers all of the senses – a visceral and thrilling experience – when approached in the manner I’m about to expound upon. Bring a neutral palate – you don’t want old flavors and aromas clouding the experience. So grab your bottle of single malt or order up a dram at the bar. Let’s begin.

Step 1: Listen

Ease the cork out of the bottle. There should be a nice squeaky pop as the cork slides out of the bottle neck. It’s somehow different than removing a wine cork. The squeak is sharper, the pop is more resonant. I skipped this step for years until a visit to Dalwhinnie Distillery last spring when the manager pointed it out to me. The sound of the bottle opening sets the stage for the experience to come.

Grab a glass, but not any old glass. You need a glass that will condense the aromas and aid in the nosing process, like a Glencairn or small tulip glass. Pour an ounce of whisky and listen to the sound of the liquid falling into the glass. It’s music beckoning you on, but be patient. Replace the cork in the bottle and catch the quick squeak-snap as it sets in place.

Step 2: Look

Grab the glass at the bottom and hold the whisky up to the light. Don’t let your hands cup the part of the glass holding the whisky – you don’t want to heat it up. Room temperature is preferred. Notice the color of the whisky, whether it’s a straw-colored fluid or a rich, earthy brown. Maybe you can see glimmers of red and amber. What does it remind you of? Syrup? Lemon water? Crystallized ginger?

The color of the whisky is your first hint about what to expect in the nose and on the palate. Lightly-tinted whiskies that appear blonde or soft gold usually indicate aging in ex-Bourbon barrels, which points toward honey, vanilla, citrus, and oaky aromas and flavors. Dark, opaque whiskies have probably spent time in ex-Sherry butts where the pigments of the previous liquid have added some color to the whisky. Flavors center around red ripe fruits, spices, chocolate, tobacco, and polished wood. It’s not always this simple, however, as the presence of smoke is invisible and some distilleries ashamedly add artificial coloring to their product.

Swirl the glass a few times so the whisky jumps up the sides. Watch as the spirit dribbles to the bottom of the glass. “Tears” form at the top and turn into “legs” as the liquid drains down. This process gives you information about the body or mouthfeel of the whisky. If a whisky is young, the legs will form quickly and close together, and run down the glass quickly. Older whiskies, which might have a higher alcohol content (and therefore a lower water content), develop bigger legs that are further apart and take longer to run. Whiskies that have spent time in ex-Sherry butts also tend to have bigger, slower legs as they’re a bit stickier.

Step 3: Smell

Let the whisky sit for at least 10 minutes before nosing it. This allows oxygenation of the whisky, which “opens up” the flavor and aroma compounds. Whisky continually develops when exposed to the air, but a good 10-15 minute wait makes it easier to pick out specific aromas during nosing.

Pass the lip of the glass an inch beneath your nose and inhale normally. You don’t need to jam your nose in the glass and snort. Do this a couple of times while your lips are pursed so your mouth is open; this helps bring in aromas more clearly. What do you smell? For me, it requires a lot of concentration because my sense of smell is not fantastic. It’s fine if your first thoughts are “sweet” or “smokey,” but try to dig deeper. Do you smell fresh pineapple or wet dock? Maybe you notice heather or cough drops. Whatever you smell, you aren’t wrong. A Paris perfumery once identified 28 unique aromas in one dram of single malt whisky. Don’t be discouraged if you’re having trouble – we can only name aromas we’ve smelled in the past. This just gives you an excuse to get out in the world and get smelling.

After you’ve had a taste of the single malt neat, you’ll want to return to this step and nose the whisky again after adding some water. A few drops will do, though experts often add one part water to three parts whisky. The water breaks the surface tension of the whisky and further “loosens” the flavor compounds. You might find nosing more enlightening after adding some water.

Step 4: Taste (and Touch)

By this point you can see that single malt whisky isn’t just about the act of drinking it. Take a small sip and let it sit on your tongue for a few seconds (if you let it sit too long you risk numbing your taste buds). Chew the liquid so it spreads around your tongue. Suck in some air over your palate. Breathe in through your nose with your lips pursed. These actions increase the ease of identifying flavors. Some people slurp the whisky in their mouths to aerate it. Swallow.

What do you taste? Is it sweet, salty, smokey, or bitter? Does it mirror what you smelled? You might simply taste alcohol during your first couple of drams, but stick with it. The flavors are waiting behind the burn. Pay attention to the texture of the whisky, whether it’s oily, creamy, or watery. This is the malt’s mouthfeel, which plays a big part in my enjoyment of particular whiskies.

Is it hot or smooth? “Hot” whiskies are often young or high in alcohol. Focus on the finish after you’ve swallowed. Is there a lingering flavor that develops? Does the dram stick with you or disappear quickly. You aren’t looking for a certain constellation of “things” but rather the experience of noticing them.

Now add some water and perform steps 3 and 4 again. How is the experience different?

Sidebar: Water, Ice, & Mixers – My Recommendations

Single malt whisky is a treasure for the senses, and if you’re not considerate about what you add to it you might be throwing away your hard-earned dollars.

A small amount of water is a wise thing to add to single malts. Water helps open up aromas and flavors and take the edge off any burn that might be present. A small amount means literally three drops or a teaspoon full, not one ounce. Then you’ve just got watery whisky.

I consider adding ice to single malt whisky a big no-no. Ice chills the whisky and “closes” the flavor compounds, making it harder to discern specific aromas and flavors. The continuous melting of ice into the whisky also changes each taste, which makes it doubly hard to determine what you think about the dram in your glass. I say add all the ice you want to blended whiskies as they generally lack the flavor nuances of single malts.

What’s the point of adding juice, soda, or other mixers to a good single malt? They blot out the malt’s delicate flavors. Add mixers only to blended whiskies.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this series of articles. Who knows, maybe I’ll roll out the connoisseur’s guide to single malt whisky someday!

The Beginner’s Guide to Single Malt Whisky, Part 4 is a post from Traveling Savage. Copyright 2012

A travel around Scotland lends itself well to a circular route that has Edinburgh and Glasgow at its southernmost points and Inverness at its northernmost point. It was a route I adhered to (barring the occasional visit to Orkney) on my first five trips to Scotland, so when I planned my sixth trip last spring I wanted (and needed) to step off that well-worn path.

I decided to skip Inverness and head for Black Isle instead. In Ian Rankin’s famous words, it’s neither black nor an isle; it’s actually a rather green and pastoral peninsula just across the bridge from Inverness. Black Isle is full of charming, small coastal towns as if it were the northern cousin of Fife’s East Neuk. After much perusal of our accommodation options, Sarah and I decided to stay just outside Avoch (pronounced Och, rhymes with loch) on the Rosehaugh Estate, thanks to our friends at HomeAway.

Rosehaugh, previously known a Pittanochtie, was a large family estate with an incredible mansion and other outbuildings dating back to the 18th century. The history is rich and fascinating. Sadly, after several inheritances and ultimately a sell off of property, the magnificent 19th-century “house” was demolished in 1959. More than four decades later, the remaining buildings on the Rosehaugh Estate have been converted into self-catering rentals, to stunning effect.

We chose the Red Squirrel Apartment, which occupies the top floor of Red Kite House (Osprey Apartment takes up the ground floor). Turning off the A832, we passed a couple of fancy plinths marking the entrance to Rosehaugh and followed a gravel path over streams and through sun-dappled woods. We saw a couple of buildings on the leisurely five-minute drive through the grounds to the secluded Red Kite House, tucked along the edge of woods behind a farm field, but the estate was mostly empty save for the road and some signs.

The house, which once served as a laundry, is built of solid stone with a unique angled red roof. We could tell this was a winner before even setting foot inside. After spending so much time at various accommodations throughout Scotland, I’ve started to develop a sixth sense about what will gel with me. Red Squirrel and me? Yeah, lots of gelling.

We hustled into a foyer laden with books about the local area and headed up the staircase to our apartment. A narrow hallway provided access to all of the apartment’s rooms.

The main room and kitchen use an open concept that makes for a luxurious centerpiece to the apartment. Windows on three walls bring in loads of light and provide great views of the grounds. We must have spent a good hour watching Roe deer eating in the fields one morning. Hardwood floors, a peaked ceiling, and high-end appliances, a breakfast table and window seat, and plush leather couch and flat screen TV finish this massive room. The apple-cinnamon cream cheese muffins in the welcome basket we found on the counter did not last long.

After crossing the short hall to the master bedroom, we found another bright room with sturdy wooden furniture that looked brand new. I spent far too much time sleeping on the uber-comfortable king-size bed, though the room was also perfect for reading with a comfy window seat and side chair.

The master bathroom is snug beneath the angled roof replete with a large skylight. Hot water and high water pressure, two things I take for granted at home, were in abundance here. Sarah was very happy.

The guest bedroom came with two twin beds and more of the warm paint and bright windows. We didn’t use this room, but it made it clear that Red Squirrel Apartment would be perfect for a small family or up to four people traveling together.

There was something very cozy about Red Squirrel Apartment. Maybe it was being on the top floor with the angled roof that made it feel like a really luxurious tree fort. Whatever the case, we didn’t want to leave. Making breakfast and enjoying tea while watching deer in the field is the kind of experience that makes Red Squirrel Apartment and the Rosehaugh Estate a destination in itself. Unfortunately, at the time of our stay Red Squirrel didn’t have internet, but the housekeeper kindly offered up her internet connection at the house just down the track. Shockingly, I didn’t really miss it.

The Rosehaugh estate has other self-catering properties as well, including The Boat House and The Otter Lodge. Both looked amazing from the outside. We finished our stay with a ramble around the grounds and through the woods. I secretly hoped we’d get lost.

Disclosure: HomeAway provided me with a three-night stay at Red Squirrel Apartment. All thoughts and opinions expressed here are my own.

Squirreled Away on Black Isle is a post from Traveling Savage. Copyright 2012

Eight figures guard the corners of Glasgow’s Kelvin Way Bridge. I pass by Navigation and Shipbuilding, and look across the street to Commerce and Industry and Philosophy and Inspiration, before gazing up at Peace and War. The young autumn’s sunlight clangs off the weathered bronze of a woman with spinning wheel and sleeping babe. The arresting image of a bandaged man, mouth agape, staring into the distance figures to be War. His arms were blown off into the river below when a German bomb fell here in 1941. For years the haunting statue peered armless into the Glaswegian mists.

It took only 15 years for these trophies of WWI to be hammered in WWII. What will remain of them, of Glasgow, in 1,000 years? Nearly two millennia ago the Romans thrust deep into Britannia and built walls to keep out the “barbarians” of the north. The legionnaires brought a measure of peace to Rome and a heap of war to the Caledonians. Where is the line between the two? A lamppost, like here on Kelvin Way Bridge? Rome fell, and the barbarians picked over her bones in Britannia. The conqueror was gone. Peace. But now they fought amongst themselves for the treasures of fallen Rome: stones, steel, and silver. When the creek bed dried up in Glasgow 50 years later, passers-by found more of War‘s arms and disappeared into the city.

Picture This: Peace and War in Glasgow is a post from Traveling Savage. Copyright 2012

In honor of the internet blackout campaign in response to the SOPA and PIPA bills, I present to you a tale of (nearly) blacking out. Learn more about stopping SOPA and PIPA, and then contact your state congressmen.

It came together quickly, on the spur of the moment. In hindsight, most nights centered on the act of binge drinking usually do. You wake up the next morning smelling like flat Irn-Brü and kebab sauce, trying to piece together the previous night but generally just thankful that you did, in fact, wake up.

Such were my reluctant expectations as I sped from Scotland’s Isle of Mull south to Glasgow where I would meet fellow travel blogger and man of mishap, Mike Sowden, for a night on the town. His blog’s subtitle is “The Art of Unfortunate Travel,” and it’ll all make sense when you read posts like the time he challenged himself to hike the North York Moors and nearly died.

I just hoped it wasn’t contagious.

Meeting people for the first time after you’ve spent (in some cases) years conversing on the Web is always a bit awkward, but the more I travel and meet such folks the more normal it becomes. I waited on the corner of Sauchiehall Street and Kelvingrove Park, soaking in the blue sky and sun and appreciating the city vibe after three weeks on lonely islands. When Mike strolled up carrying a backpack full of Yorkshire tea, I knew we’d get along just fine.

Anyone who’s familiar with getting blootered, wrecked, bladdered, hammered, or smashed knows the first thing you need to do is get some food in your stomach, preferably something bland and stabilizing that can fight the forthcoming rush of liquid mayhem. Naturally, we stopped at Mother India Café for an early dinner. Nothing says bland and unobtrusive like Indian food.

Next stop: BrewDog, right around the corner. BrewDog positions itself as the punk rockers of craft brewing, and they do a damn fine job of it. Their proprietary bars can be found in Glasgow, Edinburgh, Aberdeen, and Camden, and they’re making “beers” as strong as wine and cask-strength whisky. Beer as strong as whisky. That is punk rock. The bar itself has a carefully crafted brand image that I could live without, but the beers on the blackboard are exciting.

Our stomachs roiling with curry and hellish hot peppers, I order us a couple of “Hops Kill Nazis,” which I hope also kills acid reflux. Mike says beer makes him act funny – he’s more of a whisky drinker (uh oh!) – so I avoid a devilish 32% ABV beer called “Tactical Nuclear Penguin.” A less principled man may have taken the opportunity to see someone “act funny” that I just passed up. I’m still kicking myself.

We chat about travel and entrepreneurship, many of the same things we discuss on Twitter, Facebook, and Skype, but this time with the strange addition of facial features, vocal inflections, and body language. The “Hops Kill Nazis” is secretly powerful. That’s the only explanation for me thinking that human interaction is strangely amazing as we left.

We cut across Kelvingrove Park as clouds roll in and hide the sunset. I’m looking for a pub called Uisge Beatha that Sarah and I visited in 2006. We find it, only now it’s called Dram! and all the attractive kitsch and homey gloom have been replaced by lifeless out-of-the-box décor.

Bummer.

We order a couple whiskies anyway, and decide to sit outside as a slight drizzle descends. A couple hen parties swoop in as I tell a story lamenting my inherent laziness; am I in my cups already? Mike suggests that, based on what he just heard, I’m actually an incredibly hard worker, so I know he’s absolutely wrecked. Surly, too, as I took the picture above just as he’s about to punch me in the face with the dregs of his whisky triple.

Darkness descends and the ambience of Dram! is more than we can stomach. We decide to check out a recommendation from Jamie Milne, one of Glenfiddich’s brand ambassadors who I met in Craigellachie earlier in the year, and head over to the Ben Nevis pub. The path takes us back through Kelvingrove Park. At night. It’s a move I’ve recommended against several times on this very blog, but I figure no one’s going to jump two escapees from the nearby insane asylum. We were, after all, speaking in the convoluted and over-complicated dialect of H.P. Lovecraft and laughing maniacally. Like some twisted game of rock, paper, scissors, bald-faced insanity always beats petty violence.

Ben Nevis is a revelation of whisky. Beautiful bottles stand on blue glass shelves and angled wooden ledges. After water and lemonade (hey, we’re old), more whisky. The bar is standing room only, and a short man with an indecipherable Glaswegian accent continually butts into our conversation to ask if I’m American. I’ve never felt so novel. I confirm with him that, yes, I am indeed American and ask if he’d like to hear my John Wayne impression. Things start to get fuzzy.

The night comes to an end. God, it must be near dawn. We say our goodbyes on the street, promise to meet up again, that kind of thing. We will. There’s more analysis of Battlestar Galactica and Skyrim to conduct.

We shuffle our separate ways. Back at the Alamo I crash onto my bed and look at my phone. 9:30 PM.

An American and an Englishman Walk into a Glaswegian Bar… is a post from Traveling Savage. Copyright 2012

San Antonio is great. My sister lived there for many years and I had several opportunities to enjoy the city. But this post isn’t about that Alamo or Texas, it’s about Scotland – Glasgow, specifically – and my guest house de rigueur whenever I’m in town.

Stays at the Alamo Guest House bookended the three-week trip around Scotland that Sarah and I took in 2006, and I remembered my stay with such fondness that I decided to return for three nights on my last jaunt to Glasgow. As you can imagine, Glasgow is loaded with accommodation choices that are all priced competitively at levels you would expect of a large city. The Alamo shines in a few key areas that puts it on my shortlist of places to stay in Glasgow.

The Alamo Guest House sits in a row of uniform Victorian houses along Kelvingrove Park in Glasgow’s West End. Every accommodation choice is a balancing act between location, cost, and quality. I’m happy to bend a little on cost if the location or quality is superior, and, for my money, the Alamo Guest House has one of the best locations in all of Glasgow. A small street separates the guest house from gorgeous green Kelvingrove Park and stunning views of the university. The university area, replete with energetic pubs, coffee houses, and interesting shops, is a picture-perfect stroll across the park, and downtown Glasgow is a straight shot down Sauchiehall.

The Alamo’s interior is warm with large windows bringing in light that filters into the cozy Victorian corridors. Rooms are on the ground floor and sublevel, and a large breakfast room with a high ceiling overlooks the park. Tasteful modern décor works with the classic architecture, and, since my last visit five years ago, Steve, the proprietor, and his crew have updated the place from comfortable and homey to borderline elegance.

My room was downstairs with a window partially looking over the sidewalk; no view to speak of, but it brought in a significant amount of light. A very nice queen bed filled the majority of the room while a comfortable window seat and wash basin flanked it. At the moment, the Alamo has some rooms without ensuite bathrooms (like mine), though Steve mentioned he’s working to change that. Two high-end shared bathrooms were in the hall right outside my room, so it wasn’t an issue for me. The room also had a nice flat screen TV on which I could have watched DVDs from Steve’s immense library.

Powerful wifi was available throughout the Alamo, and Steve makes available a laptop in the dining room for those traveling without a computer. The dining area/breakfast room is one of the best parts of the Alamo. The view over Kelvingrove reminded me just how green Glasgow can be, and it was the perfect spot to read, relax, or do work when I needed a break from sightseeing. Breakfasts are buffet style with scrambled eggs in heating trays, which was a little disappointing considering the rest of the guest house is very top shelf.

Friendliness of staff is so important for B&Bs and guest houses – guests need to feel welcome in what is often the proprietor’s home. Whether or not I enjoy my accommodation (barring hotels and self-catering) often boils down to how welcome I was made to feel. Steve and his staff knock this out of the park. He was quick to tell me about his favorite spots in the area and we traded some recommendations for single malts. When he heard I needed to leave very early to catch my flight out, he made sure I had transportation to the airport and had breakfast out long before sunrise, when I needed it.

Location, quality rooms and furnishings, and a strong feeling of welcome make the Alamo Guest House an easy choice when staying in Glasgow. But why “the Alamo?” I asked Steve this question, and he mentioned the previous owners had found a painting of the battle of the Alamo behind the wall. Maybe one of their ancestors had fought in the battle? Perhaps we’ll never know, but it’s a hell of a find. Kind of like the Alamo Guest House itself.

Disclosure: I received a discounted rate from the Alamo Guest House, and See Glasgow covered one night. All thoughts and opinions and expressed here are my own.

Remembering the Alamo (Guest House) is a post from Traveling Savage. Copyright 2012

The Bon Accord peers over the M8 motorway through a spartan row of trees in that colorblind space between Glasgow’s red-stone downtown and green West End. Behind the shining Bon Accord sign and planters overflowing with flowers, Paul McDonagh curates a collection of single malt Scotch whisky. The bottles glitter like a chest full of gold pieces kissed by torch light. The back bar is a trophy case of elixirs handpicked from the reaches of Scotland, from the wind-blasted Orkney Isles to rain-soaked Islay to sunny, lush Speyside and all the moorland in between. There are tarry potions and amber syrups, clear bottles of liquid sunlight and stumpy green flasks of dreaming tinctures.

I flick through the options on Paul’s iPad. It’s an incongruous moment of high technology meeting ancient craft. The origins of making whisky might be lost to the eraser of time, but the druids worshipped oak and water. That’s enough for me to slap down a £20 note and order a dram of Bruichladdich’s Black Art 2. Paul pulls down an opaque, Satanic black bottle with a gold pentagram and carefully pours a dram the color of a red winter sun setting on the mountains. The draught wafts into my nose. Caramelized sugar, polished leather, stewed currants, pipe tobacco, and woody red wine. The aromas reintroduce themselves on my palate, just in case I’ve forgotten. I still haven’t.

Picture This: The Bon Accord’s Bounty is a post from Traveling Savage. Copyright 2012

Even though I’ve visited Glasgow on four separate occasions, I hesitate to write this post. Edinburgh gets all the love, even from me. I spent three weeks in the city to the east last year. Glasgow got just three days. I flew into and out of Glasgow on my trip last April/May, but effectively spent no time in the city (apart from a night at an airport hotel Sarah and I spent on our way home). I capped my last trip to Scotland with a three-day stint in town and used it as a good excuse to get together with Yorkie and travel jester Mike Sowden of Fevered Mutterings.

Three days and an airport hotel night? It’s not fair. It’s not right. It’s downright ignorant.

I agree on all accounts, and I had such a great time on this last trip that I mean to show some dedicated love to the dear green place in the future. Since I’ve admittedly just scratched the surface of this sprawling Clydeside metropolis, I’ll simply serve up my experiences and observations unabashedly.

The Lowdown

The knock on Glasgow is that it’s an industrial city, which is a not-so-subtle shorthand way of saying it’s dirty, polluted, and filled with undesirables. This may have been true at one time – industrialism certainly turned this small town on the river into a megalopolis – but these days Glasgow is more complicated than that. There are beautiful green spaces throughout the city and modern buildings popping up next to preserved ancient ones. It must be hard for Glasgow being so close to the fantastic museum-like quality of Edinburgh. Then again, Edinburgh doesn’t feel like a real city; Glasgow does, and that’s a boon. This is an important point for city-lovers.

Glasgow has everything you expect from a major city, from excellent restaurants to live music and theatre to cultural and sporting events, but with a Scottish twist. In fact, the Glaswegian accent might be the hardest to discern in all of Scotland. All of these elements add up to a unique destination worthy of a visit.

Orientation

Glasgow is Scotland’s largest city at 2.5 million people, and it’s a common point of entry for anyone flying into the country. The grid-based heart of the city is cupped by the M8 motorway and the River Clyde, and it radiates significant suburban sprawl. Everything starts from George Square and the Queen Street rail station. The shopping and theatre district are in the center and west along Argyle, Sauchiehall, and Buchanan streets, while the Merchant City takes up the east section of downtown with restaurants, bars, and clubs.

The East End is the haunt of lager-lovers, punters, and the city of the dead – Glasgow’s Necropolis. This side of Glasgow leans towards its old industrial image, but thank goodness Tennent’s Brewery is here. Glasgow’s West End, on the other hand, centers around the gorgeous green Kelvingrove Park and the University of Glasgow. Residential neighborhoods spread south of the Clyde and north of the M8.

Sights & Activities

Glasgow is a good place to do an open-top bus tour. It really helped me wrap my arms around the place and see sides of the city that often go unremarked, like the pavilions south of the river. Amble through the University of Glasgow and Kelvingrove Park for some sunshine, architecture, and greenery. Don’t miss St. Mungo’s Cathedral and the Necropolis in the East End, and stop at The Willow Tea Rooms for some Charles Rennie MacKintosh appreciation on the way. You could do worse than people watch over lunch at George Square.

Glasgow is renowned for its live music scene, so check out venues like King Tut’s Wah Wah Hut, Nice ‘n’ Sleazy, and The Barrowland Ballroom. The Royal Concert Hall puts on loads of shows and if you’re in Glasgow at the right time you might be able to catch the expansive Celtic Connections folk festival. Just outside of town is the Auchentoshan Distillery. Finally, consider checking out a Rangers or Celtic game (or a Rangers vs. Celtic game if you’re really brave).

Eating & Drinking

Glasgow has a higher concentration of excellent restaurants than any place in Scotland. You can get excellent seafood at Gamba, traditional Scottish fare at The Ubiquitous Chip, and mind-blowing Indian at Mother of India Café. If you’re looking for Chinese, mainland European, Italian, or Vegetarian/Vegan, you won’t disappointed either. I enjoyed an incredible salad at The Left Bank in the West End. Believe me, a good salad is hard to find in Scotland. The Trans-Europe Café is a nice spot for brunch and conversation, and if you’re in the mood for afternoon tea check out The Willow Tea Rooms.

Drinking is dangerous in Glasgow. There are simply too many incredible options. Brewdog’s proprietary pub across from the Kelvingrove Art Museum serves outrageous beers like their Tokyo beer-wine (18.2% ABV). Babbity Bowster and Blackfriars are a couple of CAMRA-championed pubs in the Merchant City known for their excellent real ales. The Horseshoe Bar is perfect for quaffing some real ale during a football match with rowdy patrons. Whisky enthusiasts can’t miss Ben Nevis or The Bon Accord, two pubs with immense selections.

Notes from the Field

I love Glasgow’s West End. It’s beautiful, laid back, and full of youthful energy. It has an excellent selection of pubs and restaurants and is close enough to downtown to make it the perfect base for any time spent in Glasgow. The truth is I’ve only ever stayed in the West End, and I’m OK with that. Must remember: don’t travel through Kelvingrove Park at night. I know it looks like a convenient route between two points, but it gets skeevy when the sun goes down. Paul at The Bon Accord is one of the most knowledgeable people I’ve ever met on the subject of real ales and whisky. Check out the whisky list on the bar’s iPad.

The Lowdown on Glasgow is a post from Traveling Savage. Copyright 2012

The Isle of Mull off Scotland’s west coast is a sanctuary, a peaceful, wild island teeming with wildlife and resonating with powerful good vibes. As I’m gearing up to move on to posts about Glasgow and to fill in the gaps of my previous trips, I thought it’d be nice to collect my writings on Mull first. I wrote a similar post to wrap up my writing about Islay and many found it helpful. This isn’t the end of Mull on Traveling Savage – there are plenty of tidbits left to convey and it’s likely I will return – but consider this the bow on a nicely wrapped-up package.

I experimented with writing vignettes during my trip, and my first Mull vignette relayed how welcoming the island felt – I certainly felt like no stranger. After a few wildlife journeys and a meeting with the champions of Mull Eagle Watch, I came to appreciate Mull’s winged guardians and think of the place as the eagle island.

Upon returning home, I approached Mull with my typical lowdown, which summarizes my experience and orients readers to the place. Mull struck me with its beauty, which I feel bests even Skye. I had many options for Picture This posts, despite the frequent rain, from standing ten yards from a seal pup to the shores of Iona. I captured the ferry ride to Mull by taking in islands in the Firth of Lorn and arrived to a place that first impressed me as a kingdom of wind. Throughout the week I experienced moments of inspiration and connection, from the misty hillsides of Glen More to nightfall in Dervaig to solitude on the isle of Staffa. Finally, I found some knowledge in the heart of Iona Abbey.

The week was filled with good sleeps, eats, and activities. I enjoyed my own apartment at Druimnacroish just south of Dervaig for the first half of the week and moved to the Western Isles Hotel in Tobermory for the second half. Taking in the bounty of Mull’s natural beauty was paramount, so I boarded a boat for a tour of Staffa and the Treshnish Isles and hit the roads for wildlife ranging around northern Mull. Staffa was so gorgeous in the perfect weather that I posted a compact photo essay of the island and Fingal’s Cave. Finally, no Traveling Savage trip would be complete without a stop at a distillery. I popped into Tobermory Distillery and sampled the wares with Graham Brown, the manager.

A Week of Bests

Scribbling down the best things of each day on the road is a little ritual I picked up from Sarah. Without further ado…

Best Meal

After my first full day on Mull, I decided I needed some high quality sustenance. I headed west from Dervaig to a beautiful outpost in Alaistair’s Woods called Am Birlinn. The owners of Am Birlinn pride themselves on sourcing local and wild food – they can even tell you who caught the fish you’re eating. I started the meal with a trio of oysters harvested from Croig beach just up the road. They were briny, tangy, and a refreshing way to kick off the meal. I moved on to the main course, which was a massive slab of pork belly on a bed of buttery grains with braised purple cabbage. Hearty, rich, and delicious! The amount of pork belly I received would make four plates in other restaurants.

Best Communion with Wildlife

I managed to sight many of Mull’s wild species during the week, but one moment stands out. On the ten-minute ferry ride from Iona back to Fionnphort on Mull, a pod of dolphins surfaced next to the ferry – just outside the window I happened to be staring out. My fellow ferry-goers spoke exclaimed in German and crowded around the window. There’s something different in the way dolphins move from other animals. Their intelligence is visible. They actually seemed to be playing with the ferry, cresting the water repeatedly and showing off their swimming skills. All of 20 feet and a ferry window separated us, but we felt a lot closer than that.

Best Moment of Utter Meltdown

Travel can draw out the worst in me. Little things are magnified, emotions are amplified. I’m generally a very even-keeled guy; I take things on the chin and keep moving. But when I arrived at the Western Isles Hotel, the site of the three-night stay to conclude my week on Mull, and found out they didn’t have wifi in the rooms, I lost it. I imagine watching me “lose it” would be pretty funny since it generally involves me sitting quietly and staring out a window. I’m a wifi crackhead when I travel so this was a pretty big deal. I thought the withdrawal might kill me. I managed to leech wifi in the halls and sate my cravings, and I’ve heard that wifi is now freely available in all Western Isles Hotel rooms now.

Best Feeling of Life-as-Video-Game

My rangings in Scotland generally have destinations, but I drove around Mull a couple times without specific ideas of where I wanted to go. On a sunny Wednesday I drove north out of Tobermory and followed a rough road to the coast. I left the car in a parking lot and hiked an old trail through some woods and over wind-blasted hills. I stopped to appreciate the scenery and turned around to see the massive and glorious Glengorm Castle towering above me. It was the kind of find that harkened back to hours spent adventuring in RPGs. When I say “harkened back,” I really mean “reminds me of yesterday” when I spent something like eight hours playing Skyrim.

Best Local Watering Hole

By the end of my week on Mull, I’m fairly certain the staff of the Bellachroy Hotel thought I was trying to drain them of cask ales. Dervaig is a tiny town ensconced in north-central Mull, and the Bellachroy Hotel has been offering refreshments to weary travelers there for 400 years. I must have visited the place four or five times during the week to sample their ales and enjoy some meals – they serve a mean seafood platter. I traded stories with locals and learned a thing or two about getting my keister whooped in Shanghai darts. It’s a very homey, welcoming place, and Mull is lucky to have such a gem.

Best Vista

I won’t soon forget standing above Fingal’s Cave on Staffa and gazing on the islands dotting the horizon. It was all birds upon the air and boats upon the sea, waves bellowing in hollow caves and flinty sea air wrestling the clouds. The footprint of mankind was nowhere to be seen other than a few respectful plaques. These places are disappearing, and it’s worth remembering what the world originally looked like.

Mull Rewind: A Look Back and a Week of Bests is a post from Traveling Savage. Copyright 2012