#it almost looks like the ruins of the acropolis

[sailforvalinor]

Okay but wait, you went to Athens?! I’m going there for a couple days this June! Do you have any recommendations for what to see/eat while I’m there? (I’ll for sure see the Acropolis but other than that the itinerary is pretty open)

OOOOH that’s so exciting!!! I’m gonna try not to go overboard but here are a few of my favorite things:

• Monastiraki Square—depending on how you come at it, of course, it’s on the way to the Acropolis, and there’s a VERY cool open air market there. (There’s a giant sign, you can’t miss it.) Just make sure you keep a hand on your purse, it’s quite well-known for pickpocketing. Also, if you head up to the Acropolis from there, you’ll pass Hadrian’s Library, which is a really cool set of ruins where you can clearly see the different layers of where it was built over over time. But you won’t really be hard-pressed to find ruins in Athens, and the entry fees are usually pretty cheap—just make sure you always have some form of ID on you, sometimes they’ll ask for that.

• Also, if you take that way up to the Acropolis, you’ll pass Mars Hill (also called the Areopagus), which is where Paul preached to the Athenians in Acts! It’s a bit graffitied over (but that’s just kind of how Athens is), but it’s still REALLY cool, and you get a gorgeous view of the city from up there. Just be careful up there, it’s pretty much just a big rock and I almost fell many times 😂

• Bus tours are also fun if you want to see a broader swath of the city—there are a bunch that leave from Syntagma Square (and they’re double-decker!).

• Speaking of Syntagma, you could see the changing of the guards—they do it every hour, but the only time they do it in full-costume is at 11 am on Sundays. It was interesting, but honestly I think you could skip it, it’s not much to write home about.

• However, what you should NOT skip is the National Gardens—it’s fairly close to Syntagma, entry is free if I’m remembering correctly, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. They have turtles!!!!

• You could go to the Panathenaic Stadium, although they do charge entry. I would say just to go look at it if you really want to see it, but I don’t know that’s it’s worth paying to go inside—I did go inside once, but that was during the Marathon in November when everyone got in free, lol.

• In terms of food, in a strange twist, the Americanized version of Greek food is actually a lot lighter than the authentic kind—true Greek food (or at least in this area of Greece) is a lot heavier. It’s a lot of pasta and meat. I wasn’t actually the biggest fan of it, but if you want to try the staples, go for moussaka or souvlaki, which will be at almost any restaurant. What you definitely need to get though is tzatziki—oh my GOSH that stuff is wonderful.

• Also, you have to try lemon Coke and oregano Lay’s—I’m convinced that when the Ancient Greeks were imagining what ambrosia and nectar tasted like, they were dreaming of the flavors of lemon Coke and oregano Lay’s. I’ve found that no American variation (even with Freestyle machines) even compares to Greek lemon Coke.

• I found that gyros actually aren’t all that popular (or at least in this part of Greece)—I only ever had two in my four months of living there. They were really good, though.

• The coffee is great everywhere, honestly. One of the most popular drinks there is freddo, which is definitely worth trying if you’re big on espresso drinks. It is very intense, though.

• Dinner was honestly one of my biggest culture shocks while I was there. They don’t really start eating dinner until 7 at the earliest (and even that’s a little early)—so be prepared to get odd looks if you go get dinner at 5:30 (not that you can’t, of course). Also, it’s general practice to sit around and talk after your meal for hours—I saw families out with their little kids at 11 pm. Again, you don’t have to do this, but don’t be surprised when you see it, lol. Also, because of this, they consider it rude to interrupt you by bringing you your bill, so you have to ask for it by flagging down a waiter—I once got stuck for nearly an hour because I was waiting for a bill 😂.

• If you’re there on a Sunday, be warned that most stores and restaurants will be closed—there are exceptions, but it’s easy to get stuck somewhere without anything to eat.

I’m so excited for you, I hope you have fun!!

[lindsaystravelblogs3]

Days 46-47 – Monday-Tuesday, 10-11 July

Monday

We started the day walking through our neighbourhood to a place recommended by the hotel where Heather could get her hair cut.  Unfortunately, it is closed on Monday.  We found another place not too far away but Monday is obviously not a good day for ladies’ haircuts. 

We walked on a bit further to a busy square near three more of the ancient sites to which our Acropolis ticket gave us access.  It was a five-day ticket and today was the last day.   The main railway station and a mosque facing the square - and next to the mosque was Hadrian’s Library.

We went in and walked around for half an hour or so and took some photos, but like all of these ruins, there is not a lot to see - and what we can see doesn’t make much sense without good signage.   The signage here was minimal, with no more than the names of different areas or former buildings.  Interestingly, there was a twelfth century church there, somewhat more modern than the ruins of the Library, but some signage well away from it indicated that there had previously been two other (second and fifth century) churches in the library grounds in the past. 

We knew that there were two Agoras nearby, so as we went out, we asked the ticket office for directions and set off for the first one - the Ancient Agora, almost a kilometre away.  It was a huge site with many statues and small ruins, as well as a massive restored building housing a host of relics in the colonnades and a lot more smaller pieces in the small museum.  The upper floor had dozens more, mainly busts or heads, but I only had a very quick look up there.   I did wander the grounds in the burning heat though and found a few more notable things while Heather enjoyed the shade in the colonnade.  

There was a row of cafes just outside the Agora, some with mist machines attached to big fans, so we sat in one and had a cold drink while we cooled off - almost too much so, with the spray dampening our sweaty clothes and the fans evaporating it most effectively.

Back in the heat, we returned, past the Hadrain's Library, to the more modern Roman Agora - only 2500 years old, about half the age of the Ancient Agora.  Heather sat in the shade of a big tree while I went in - the last use of our tickets - but it was really not impressive.  I walked around for about ten minutes and saw everything there was to see before joining Heather and strolling back through the square and along some alleys to find another hairdresser - also closed on Mondays. 

We found a quiet restaurant in a less touristy square, and sat in air-conditioned comfort to eat a very forgettable lunch.  Everything seems to be smothered in cheese here and I think we are just getting tired of it. 

We walked back close to our hotel and strolled through the markets.  The fish market had plenty of stock but not as wide a range as we expected, mainly whole fish, some still being gutted as we watched, but almost no shellfish at all.  The meat section was sometimes a bit confronting with skinned whole heads staring back at us and a section for offal that some people might think awful (joke, I think).  A lot of the stalls had almost no stock, several with only one or two pieces, just a kilo or two, while a small number had a massive range.

Heather wanted to buy another cool top for when we are on the ship and had seen a likely place near the markets so she spent quite some time there looking at tops and trying some on, but none were suitable – the summer fashion here is long tops (or short dresses) and despite appearances, Heather said they weren’t as cool as promised. (Bras seem largely out of fashion here, and there must be a fabric shortage because there are acres and acres of bare chest on display wherever we go.)

We have walked through the fruit and veg market a few times, but many of the other shopping areas are interesting.   A couple of days ago, we walked through an area of fabric sellers, probably about a hundred shops, all competing for trade with the most diverse collection of fabrics, some of which looked to have been on display for fifty years or more.  Then there are strips of ten or more shops, all side by side, selling nothing but nuts.  One big shop sells only eggs - tens of thousands of them on display with a huge stack of open egg trays for people to take them away in.  And they deliver too - on a scooter with the floor loaded with close to fifty dozen eggs, preventing the rider from using the foot brake, and another metre-and-a-half of open trays stacked up high behind him, secured with a single length of string.  I dread to think of the mess if he fell off.  It reminded me of a guy who drove into the back of me in Canberra at almost full speed.   He had 48 dozen eggs in open trays on his back seat and he said his world just went yellow.  Despite the damage to my car, I felt sorry for him!

We had walked more than eight kilometres on the day and were pretty exhausted in the conditions, so had a bit of a rest when we got back to our room.  I worked on my photos and blog and got it up to date for the first time ever!

In the evening, we went out to dinner to a Greek café a couple of blocks away.  We ordered a traditional Greek platter, mainly meats, and quite similar to what we have had many times in Swan Street, Richmond.  It was supposed to be a share plate for two people, but we struggled to get through half of it.  At least, restaurants here are more than happy to give us doggy bags that provide lunch or dinner for the next day too.

I did some washing when we got back to our room – mainly so I had a full complement of clean clothes to board the ship in a couple of days’ time.  We hang the washing on our tiny balcony where there are two air-conditioning units (for rooms other than ours!) blowing hot dry air all day and all night so we always have dry clothes within a couple of hours, irrespective of when we do our washing.

Tuesday

On the assumption that the hairdresser would be open today, we walked up there, arriving just a few minutes before opening time.  The owner was not sure if her first booking was going to make her appointment, so we sat for a few minutes to wait and see.  She was a no-show so Heather got her haircut and it looks great.  It is quite a different style, flatter and seemingly thicker, and I reckon she looks great with it.

We then spent an hour or so wandering around the back streets behind our hotel, looking in some of the amazing little shops, jam-packed with everything imaginable.  There are a few ‘junk shops’ that sell an incredible variety of (mainly) second- or fifth-hand items, but buried deeper in the labyrinth of alleyways behind us, we found hundreds of tiny shops of every description with an unbelievable range of products for sale.  Some are specialists – a rope shop, a hat shop, pots and pans, lots of phone shops, second-hand tools, etc., - but there are also scores of shops stocked with small numbers of thousands of the most eclectic items.  And everywhere are cafes or restaurants (I have no idea how to define either).  They are inside and al fresco, some one or the other, others both, sometimes with tables actually set up on the street pavement.  Some have seating for four or six patrons, others seat over a hundred, but they are scattered randomly in every alleyway, along the main road, at the front of hotels and derelict buildings, almost everywhere.  How anyone makes a living is quite beyond me – but there are also hundreds of closed premises, with shutters to the ground, that may indicate a lot of bankruptcy, possibly a Covid legacy – but equally, may indicate that the buildings have been condemned.  Many look eminently worthy of demolition.  But you can’t demolish anything that contains any element of a historic ruin – any more than you can build over a ruin.  There is a small block next our hotel where they started to excavate for the foundations for a new building, but found a section of an old wall, so nothing can now be done on that site.  A bit tough on the owner who bought it in good faith.

We finished our inspection of the neighbourhood shops at a fish restaurant so we had lunch there – yes, of course we ordered too much, but it was delicious.  Absolutely stuffed (in more ways than one) we made a quick detour to the minimarket for wine and water and escaped back to the relative cool of our room for the rest of the afternoon.

Back in the room, we spent most of the afternoon on our photos and blogs before eating the leftovers from last night’s Greek doggy bags in the kitchen.  It was delicious and we needed to eat all of it to use up our purchases because we won’t be able to take any of it on board tomorrow.  We might have to finish our bottle of ouzo at lunch tomorrow (not much left so it won’t be much of a challenge) because using up the rest of our booze made the ouzo a bit problematic – we may not have been able to find our room again.

[lauraaroundtworld]

Mamma Mia! I'm in Greece!! ✈

Γειά σου ["hello" in Greek, thanks google!]!

Finally, it cames the best part of my trip. I was so excited about came to Greece, I completely in love with this place and I want to live here forever like Donna (from Mamma Mia musical), have a hotel and enjoy Greece forever.

But, I can't do this, so I just spend a lot of days here.

First, I went to Athens for 4 days. I visited all the historical places, learn about Greek history . I went to Theatre of Dionysus, the Acropolis, a lot of ruins and to restaurants and walk thru the streets.

My second spot in Greece was the gorgeous Santorini:

The last stop it was Mykonos, that looks like a paradise on earth. It feels like I was in heaven (at least, I imagine that will be like Mykonos):

I did almost the same thing in Santorini and Mykonos, just spend all my days in beaches, restaurants and bars. I rent a scooter and used that to go around the places that I wanted to visit.

Unfortunately, my trip already ended. I'm going back home now, but my heart is so happy for those amazing fifty days (a month and a half). I hope that I can do this more times.

See you someday.

XOXO, Laura <3

[darkmatter-swordsman]

Marluxia dream

[twinkleallnight]

CROSSROADS

Hello everyone! I am alive. That's what you feel when you write after almost one year. This is my submission for @choicesprompts hosted by @angelasscribbles and@dcbbw . A big shoutout for both these ladies who held my hand as i took baby steps into the writing arena again.

I would also like to announce a Tag-list clean up because I have recently resurrected so there may be people who moved on. Totally fine. Please drop in a reply or message if you want to be tagged. I am going to tag only few in this who have peeped in to check on me past few months.

Book: RoE and TRR crossover

Characters: Leo, Katie

Word count: 1608

Disclaimer: All characters belong to pixelberry.

Rating: Mature

Warning: Angst?

Prompt: @choicesprompt appears in italics.

This is in future. Leo left the cruise and Katie married William. She had no idea who Leo really is.

The cool wind pushes my hair back as I walk along the familiar path, every step taking me deeper into the past. It’s been years since I’ve been here; everything is different.

Everything is the same.

I’m not paying attention to the present as I walk, I’m too lost in memories of long ago. That’s why I don’t notice the person walking towards me until I hear a familiar voice call my name.

I freeze. It can’t be. What are the odds?

I lift my head as my eyes dart wildly around before finally landing on a face I’d recognize anywhere, even now.

“It’s you.”

“Surprise, surprise.” He shrugs his shoulders, his hands tucked in the pockets of his jacket. His attire looks expensive and pretty stylish unlike I saw him last time. One thing that hasn’t changed is his looks. Against the backdrop of the Acropolis, his charming smile seems unaltered even after fourteen years.

“What are you doing here?” I can not hide the excitement in my voice.

“Well, I told you when we first met, I belong to a small island here. In fact, I should be asking you, what are you doing here?”

“I came with my husband.” I wince inside. I should have skipped that detail.

“William Sloan.”

My eyes widen, “You know?”

He gives his signature smile and brings up the past casually. “When you are waiting for someone and that someone walks away with another man, right in front of your eyes, you know.”

“I am sorry Leo, but…”

He raises his hand cutting me mid sentence, “That’s absolutely fine, Katie. You made your choice. Everyone has the right to. I made mine.”

“Not all choices turn out to be right decisions, do they?” My eyes search his with some hope. What was I thinking?

“You are not happy with William.” Instead of asking, he just makes a statement. As if he knows it all. How does he always know everything?

“How can you say that?” I jut out my jaw defensively.

“Well, I see you walking all alone in the ruins of Acropolis brooding to yourself.”

“Even you are alone.” I try to prove my point. Mistake!

“I never said I am alone. I am with someone.”

“There you go again. Always talking in puzzles and keeping an air of mystery around you.”

“I know I did not reveal my true identity to you on that cruise. But I did plan to tell you everything that night at Captain’s Ball. If only, you would have…..” his voice trails off.

My thoughts drift to that night for a moment. If only…. I had chosen Leo, we would be walking hand in hand now, there would be a life to be happy about, some love to hold me maybe, and a child perhaps! But I cannot let Leo know that. I try to protest.

“I chose William, because he had a stable business, he would have understood my inheritance and my family background.” Why am I trying to argue?

Leo chuckles, “I must say, your inheritance and his business together must be a perfect formula for a happy life then.”

“At least I am not roaming around the roads on a motorbike like a nomad.” I say with a bite in my tongue. As if hurting him will relieve my pain.

“You are right. But sometimes wandering helps find the aim of your life. Sometimes getting out of your rich robes helps to understand the struggles in a life of a common man.”

“Rich robes, huh?” I fan out my hands gesturing at his clothes. “Mr President was surveying the life of commoners. Did you make some great amendments to the law?” I ask sarcastically.

“I can say proudly, I did.” He swells up his chest with pride.

“So, you are a President? Of Timbuktu?”

He gives out a hearty laugh, his head falling back. It’s infectious. I find myself smiling at my own joke, with him.

After a moment, he is suddenly serious and closes the distance between us. I can see his eyes turning to a darker shade of blue. When he is an inch away, he tilts his head, his gaze piercing, he questions, “What happened to the girl who followed the rules?”

My eyes well up and I break the eye contact, looking far away at a distant lone pillar. “Rules don’t work always. Sometimes they ruin what we have.”

“Then make your own new rules.”

I look at him puzzled.

“Come, let’s walk.” He gestures at the narrow muddy track with rocks on either side. I quietly follow.

“Katie, you had love in your life but the next moment you had a lot of money as an inheritance and no love. Yet you kept going.” He stops and admires me, “Even when life was unfair, you never lost hope.”

Is it me? It sounds like he is talking about someone I knew a long time ago. He starts walking again and I trudge along.

“You paved your own path. You bent some rules and faced the challenge thrown at you.” He halts again and turns towards me. “And you know what the best part was?”

I keep looking at him quizzically. He gives a wide smile before speaking again.

“In the short time I spent with you, I saw the bond you shared with your family. You ran back to them even after all the hardships. That Katie, was a lesson for me. I am glad I met you. You played an important role in my decisions and that made me what I am today.”

“I helped you?” I ask him in disbelief.

“You did! I learnt it from you.”

I flay my arms away. “No, no, no! it wasn’t supposed to be like this. I am not the Katie you knew once.” I hide my face in my hands.

Leo holds my wrists and pulls down my hands. “Look at me, Katie. Even I am not the same adventurous crazy guy.”

I raise my damp eyes meeting his gaze. He is still holding my hands in his. “The man you met long time ago was a person running away from his responsibilities, abandoning his people because he was too weak to fight against the wrongs. But meeting you made it all right for me. I carried back the memories of you, your determination to make things right, your spirit to keep it bright.”

I shake my head unable to take it all. I feel the pain I have been through. William has been through. The hurdles we tried to overcome and, in the bargain, falling apart. “I am sure you didn’t have to break the rules and hurt someone to do it all.”

“Katie, you were the one who refused to accept the rules that would harm your dear ones.” He holds my shoulders, as if waking me from my slumber, “If you are done sulking over few lost moments, get up again. If you did it once you can do it again. If you could bring a change in a person like me, you can change anything.”

“I can?”

“Only you can.”

We walk in silence along the track for sometime. He gives me time to mull over my thoughts and to revive back. We come to the part where the narrow lane meets the main atrium.

“Do you still ride on a motorbike?” My curiosity speaks out.

“No.” he grins. “I have had my share of exploration.”

“Guess your expedition gave quite a direction to your life.”

“Much more. I learnt to be a better person and embrace what I have.”

“And yet you stand alone here. Just like me?”

“As a matter of fact, I am not.” He looks at the ground as if he is trying to decide whether to tell or not. Eventually, he points at a young boy in a distance. A tall graceful lady stands with him, their backs towards us. They are busy discussing something looking at the pillars around. “I came here with my wife and son. He wanted to see this place. Curious little archaeologist in making there.” Leo’s blue eyes shine proudly as he fondly talks about his son.

My heart sinks again. He has what I wished for. A family. A family that stays together. Suddenly, I want to hide away all the sadness in my life. I don’t want him to know how empty my life is.

“So, the mystery man does have a family. Good for you.”

“Thanks to you. You see my wife, Madeleine. I was running away from one who had loved me all my life just because I was burdened with unwanted responsibilities that meant doing things that were against my principles.”

“Who are you?” I know him more today yet I don’t know him.

He smiles, “Lets keep that conversation for the next time. Today when I saw a gloomy Katie treading through these rocks, I felt the urge to come and remind her who she really is. What she can really do. And how many lives she has touched. That’s all you need to know and focus on for today. Leave me where I was and take your next step ahead. Life is waiting for you. He waved walking away from me.

I turn to face the setting sun and face my world. With newly restored courage, with newly found aim, with new hope.

I grab my phone and dial to hear the voice that has soothed me most all these years.

“Hello, Katie?”

“William…..” I do what I did the best. Rekindle the love. Get back home.

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[into-the-daniverse]

The Sea Palace | Headcanons

I mentioned in Jacqui’s introduction post that he was a scholar who studied at the Sea Palace on the West side of the Arcana map. But what does that actually mean?

In game canon, the mark on the map is Nadia’s Sea Palace specifically. I still accept that she has a palace off the coast of the Sea of Persephia, as that still fits, but here is where I am taking my hammer and chisel and beating this area into the shape I want.

For my canon, in short, the Sea Palace is actually a city, where the world’s (at least the immediate, surrounding world) richest people and their children can visit, vacation, and study at will. It is very exclusive, very well-protected, and a very... hm, problematic city.

Before I get too deep into the lore and history, let’s talk about aesthetics. (And to save your dash, the majority of this post will be under the cut because there is a lot.)

I am basing this mostly off of Cycladic architecture from the Cyclades—an island group in the Aegean Sea, southeast of mainland Greece.

Quick disclaimer, I live in the United States and have barely ever traveled outside of Florida, so if it seems like this is a kind of idyllic and surface-level take, it’s because it is. I am just going off of photos and information from the internet and I fully admit to that.

I’m focusing on the islands of Santorini, Ios, and Milos, mostly, with these pictures.

Hopefully, that’s enough to give the general picture—very hilly, high cliff faces, white buildings, blue waters, you get it.

Many families own land here that frequently overlaps with other families. It’s a good way for them to be social, and surprisingly enough, if there was ever a place for rich families to get along it will be here. Two families could hate each other in their homeland, but once they come to vacation at the Sea Palace, years of grudges and hatred are expected to be left at the gate (so to speak) and for the most part, they are. Though there are those who choose to live on the outskirts, in bigger buildings, further from the bustle of the city, and further from certain other families.

Nadia’s palace would fall into this category, effectively removing her from the actual goings on of the city.

Similarly, the D’Orias have their own mansion that's further removed from the city, and that is where Drago Fortunado D’Oria, Jamil’s grandfather’s cousin, lives—one of the only D’Orias that doesn’t live in Venterre aside from Jamil’s mother, Chiara, and her children. (More on him later, he’s kind of important.)

Moving from the outskirts of the city, the very middle of the city looks like the Acropolis of Athens, as these were the first buildings built hundreds of thousands of years ago, when the Sea Palace was first created. The main building of the city is a giant library, called Próti Vivliothíki, and everything else was built around it.

In the following picture, the Parthenon would be like the Próti Vivliothíki in terms of location, and the rest of the buildings are other, smaller libraries, or “dorms” of sort, as this area is treated as a university, and this is where people come to study. 

Here’s a few examples of the interior of the library (one of them is of the Trinity College Library in Dublin, but imagine it in white instead of the dark wood.)

Underneath these buildings, directly under the library, lie the Sea Palace’s catacombs. They are a well-known secret, in that all heads of houses know they exist, but no one talks about them, and very, very few are actually allowed in them. 

There are an almost uncountable number of tunnels, caverns, and rooms, some that go deep and far enough to take you to the sea, completely outside of the city itself. The things that happen down there are generally unknown, and for the most part, no one seems to care about what goes on, as long as it doesn’t ruin their vacation time. (More on them later as well.)

This picture is of the Catacombs of Milos, to give you an idea of their look and general feel.

Now, further from the Sea Palace, the Sea of Persephia also has the Starlight Caves (not their actual name, but that is how Leon refers to them) which are inspired by many Greek caves, specifically, the Blue Cave of Kastellorizo which looks like this:

The beach that these caves are on/around would look a lot like Sarakiniko beach, as shown below.

Okay, now that you have the setting, let’s get into the lore behind the Sea Palace.

The Sea Palace was created to be a Library of Alexandria, of sorts. The original founders wanted a way to document the world around them, and visited other countries and cities to keep record of their cultures, rituals, religions, languages, magic practices, etc., etc.. 

However, this quickly turned into a hoard of knowledge. Most of the texts that the original library, Próti Vivliothíki, holds are texts that the countries or cities they took that information from don’t even know exist. Generations of history, practices, documentations of familial lineage, kept behind the doors of the Próti Vivliothíki.

The only people with access to this information are the people who study there. And to study there, you have to be part of a family with land at the Sea Palace. And to have land, you have to be from a very wealthy family. So, the number of people who can access the information is ridiculously, unfairly small.

Now, why can’t people just... revolt? Take the information for themselves, distribute it as they please?

The short answer is, they could. It’s just that the normal kind of people who visit the Sea Palace don’t care about it because it doesn’t interest them. 

The long answer is that, they could, if they wanted to have their wealth stripped from them, and exiled or killed for speaking out of turn. And every head of the house knows this upon their purchasing of land at the Sea Palace.

See, at the surface, the Sea Palace is very peaceful. As mentioned earlier, all people are expected to leave their petty arguments and internal hatreds behind as soon as they step off their carriages and enter their vacation homes. Many families meet future spouses here, and have their children meet each other in a neutral space. 

Chiara Giuliana D’Oria and Rafiq Parsa II (Jamil’s parents) met here, for example.

But there is an overarching government that controls the city.

The city is a plutocracy, which seems ironic, considering all of the frequent residents there are rich, but there is a handful of the absolute richest (like the American 1% of the population) that oversees everything about the Sea Palace. This group is referred to as “oi archikoí meletités” or “The Original Scholars.” 

It can also be argued that the Sea Palace is a theocracy, as the Scholars are almost more of a religious order, but I think they would need their own post for me to go in enough detail.

You can tell a member of The Original Scholars by the ring they all wear on the smallest finger of their left hand. The insignia pressed into the band of the ring is that of an open book, with the words “eímaste asfaleís sti gnósi” or “We Are Safe in Knowledge” engraved into it. This saying is also present in the architecture of the Próti Vivliothíki, as well as surrounding buildings, and is above every documented entrance to the catacombs. 

The general public does not know how many people are part of this group, but it’s speculated that there are at least ten. Each of them oversee a different section of knowledge.

Drago Fortunado D’Oria is one of these people. 

He was given his position by his grandfather, Eugenio Matteo D’Oria. 

His cousin, Eugenio Matteo D’Oria II, (Jamil’s grandfather) is the only person aside from him who truly knows what he does at the Sea Palace, and purposefully directs the rest of the D’Oria line away from the city for that reason.

He oversees the collection of all knowledge of magic. 

It is likely that he knows about the tunnels under Vesuvia, the original ritual, and any counter rituals that could possibly be used in the future. He would never offer this information, in fact, none of the Scholars would. Their knowledge is theirs to know, not to share.

Other sections of knowledge are language, religion, politics, music, and astronomy, just to name a few.

However, in addition to their own section of knowledge, The Original Scholars also are given the knowledge of the catacombs and can use them how they like.

Many of them, including Drago, use the catacombs to hide particularly volatile knowledge that they absolutely wouldn't want anyone else finding. In his case, texts about black magic, or deals with demons, beyond your casual “Lucio making deals with demonic worms” type deals. World-changing information is stored here. 

But the catacombs aren’t just another library. Every kind of shady, back handed, illegal, deadly, deal, trade, or event that you could imagine happens in there. It’s where grudges get settled, people go missing, and if you’re unlucky enough to be stuck wandering down there at certain times of night, you will hear screams.

The Scholars will let select students, and/or their successors roam the catacombs under close supervision. 

Jacqui was neither; he stumbled into the catacombs one evening and witnessed too much. 

Generally, people who enter the catacombs without permission or reason for being there will be killed, or blackmailed, or otherwise taken care of. However, he was not perceived as a threat, as his parents would not listen to him when he tried to explain what he saw, and he had no footing otherwise. 

The Scholars “allowed” him to stay, but he was put under watch and not permitted to do anything but study until the day he escaped. Perhaps they were hoping to turn him to their side; he never knew why they didn’t just kill him.

He did study though, and used that time to teach himself as much as possible, even returning to the catacombs a number of times—which is where he eventually met Rodrigo.

Back to the earlier question of “why not just revolt,” the answer lies in the catacombs. Neighboring cities and countries don't know the extent of the knowledge that the Sea Palace has, but they know that it exists, and that the threat that even just one Scholar poses is astronomical. 

There used to be a city further west of the Sea Palace that tried to revolt and failed horribly. No one remembers the name of the city, or the actual catastrophe that happened, as that information has been carefully tailored and stored away, but what the rest of the surrounding cities know is that it was Bad.

(This is information that Count Spada would have passed onto Lucio as well, but we know how well he listens.)

Again, this is all information that only heads of houses, and families that live in the inner city know. Jamil and Nadia probably don’t know about most of the inner city dealings, since their families’ land/palaces are closer to the beach, and Jamil specifically mostly studied there when he visited.

To sum, the Sea Palace is a lovely place with beautiful views and architecture, if you are rich and if you don’t look too closely at the ground beneath your feet.

[geosfeel]

SIX GREEK WEEKS

The End: The last few days in Athens feeling melancholy - Τις τελευταίες μέρες στην Αθήνα νιώθοντας μελαγχολικός

After the all-night ferry ride from Samos, I arrive in Piraeus at daybreak, when the normally busy port is just waking up. The port of Piraeus is the largest passenger port in Europe and the second largest in the world, serving about 20 million passengers annually. (from wikipedia)

You will see murals, street art and just plain graffiti all over Athens. Some of it is quite beautiful, like this lady here. I don't know if these are centrally authorized, or guerilla operations. A good deal is just sprayed tags. I don't get these. Are they gang tags like in the US? Much is obviously political, but I can't decode the messages.

Here's some more street art, in Metaxourgio, where I stay. Almost every wall, both part of buildings and temporary like this, has paint on it. The Athenians don't seen to notice how ubiquitous it is. I guess they think if it's not their building, it's not their business.

This is evidence of Athenians love of modern art. The building is a renovated cigarette factory (or kapnergostasio, which is what the bus stop on Lenorman is still called.) The present use is the Library of the Hellenic Parliament, and most of that is space for exhibitions. The one there at present is called "Portals' and is well-attended, even though it's not at all in the center or near the usual tourist areas.

This is an installation of chairs facing screens playing interviews of people talking about their experiences of violence. I didn't sit at all of them, but all the ones I sat at were of Turkish people, and apparently all from a certain town in Turkey notorious for violence.

This is another striking installation of an entire apartment made from gauzy blue or pink fabric. Everything in it is made of the same fabric - the furniture, the bathroom and kitchen fixtures and cabinets, the doors – everything. This image only shows the blue part of it.

These columns are from the Library of Hadrian, an archeological zone near Plaka, and below the Acropolis. This was taken at a night of the full moon. The library was created by the Roman emperor Hadrian in 132, and was destroyed by barbarians in 267, along with a good deal of classical Athens. (These were the Herulians, and fuck them for destroying what they didn't understand and could never build.)

This video is shot at the Library of Hadian in the daytime. That horn player is quite good, and plays around the ruins on various nights at various locations.

In the Metro station Thissio, they have posted old photos of Athens. It's quite interesting to see how different the area looked. That temple was called at the time Theseion because they thought it was dedicated to Greek hero Theseus. Now it's called Hephestion, because we know it was actually dedicated to Hephestus, the god of fire and craft and metalwork. Anyway, there are a lot more trees now, and a lot of the buildings that were not from the classical period have been removed, like that chimney-looking thing at the entrance to the Acropolis. It's not there now and I have no idea what it was.

The beautiful little temple of Athena Nike (or Athena Victorious) on the Acropolis.

Good-bye until next year!

[author-morgan]

Kryptic ↟ Deimos

twenty-four - a song of the fates

masterlist

But the great leveler, Death: not even the gods can defend a man, not even one they love, that day when fate takes hold and lays him out at last.

Death submits to no one, not even Dread and Destruction.

They are both weapons of flesh and bone, of warm blood and beating hearts, and they cannot be controlled.

“DON’T STARE TOO closely into the mist,” Tryphena chides from the helm, watching as Tundareos and his sister peer into the heavy fog, “last time you almost drove us into the rocks chasing sirens.” Lesya smiles, looking over her shoulder at the dark-skinned lieutenant as she helps man the rudder. For a brief moment, the lingering grey parts, allowing a glimpse of the Attikan countryside —patches of ash and toppled stone, yet the crimson banners of Sparta are nowhere to be seen.

A short while later, Tryphena calls to the crew, and the trireme jolts before falling still. The cool fog parts again, revealing the stone towers and wharf of Piraeus —the Ippalkimon docks near the Adrestia, tying off the mooring lines. The port is deserted in comparison to what it had been before. There are no bustling traders or hurrying slaves, nor sound —bar the sad tolling of a distant bell. 

Lesya and Tundareos pace down the gangplank, joining Kassandra and Herodotus in surveying the desolation. Wagons sit parked as though abandoned in haste. Some on their sides with the contents spilled and pillaged. It takes a moment for the smell to sink it, an insidious and potent stench of decay. The gods have forsaken Athens, Lesya thinks as she looks up at the Temple of Asklepius. 

The few sentries posted around the harbor wear rags over their mouths and noses. “Move along!” One of them shouts, gesturing toward the promenade running inside the enclosing sleeve of the walls protecting the road connecting Piraeus and Athens. 

“We speak to Aspasia and Perikles and then we leave,” Kassandra announces looking between the historian and Lesya —her brother standing at her side— before they set off on the promenade and through the grey mist. The path is different from the one they had taken nigh a year ago. The drone of flies, weeping, and plaintive chants fill the air. 

Bulky shapes line the roadsides, Lesya guesses they are shanty huts of refugees, but ahead the fog breaks, and bile rises in her throat. The ramshackle shelters are long gone, in their place are serried piles of dead as far as any of them could see —thousands of corpses. 

Some are soldiers, most are not. She stops, staring into the heap of cadavers —eyes shriveled or pecked out by crows, jaws lolling; skin broken and partly rotted or riddled with angry sores. Lesya has dealt out her fair share of death, leaving mangled corpses across Hellas, but nothing can compare to this —a dangling limbs, clumps of hair, dripping pus, blood, and seeping excrement. No wonder the Spartans abandoned the siege. Too many people cramped within the walls had cleared the way for the pestilence to rise and ravish the denizens and those fleeing to safety from the countryside. 

The path of death does not diminish as they near the agora —the stench of burning flesh and hair is heavy in the air, as is dark smoke. Lesya watches as men and women shuffle past with cloths on their faces, bringing fresh dead to add to the piles —one of them drops the body of a young girl and staggers away, sobbing. 

A troop of hoplites march by, pushing the sick aside. “Kleon,” a woman starts, straightening after kneeling next to a heaping pile of dead. “He seeks to use this plague like a lever, to make the acropolis hill his own. He’s bought the loyalty of citizen soldiers and has a demigod on his side.” She coughs, the rattling sound muffled by a cloth, and stumbles away. Lesya’s stomach drops, Deimos is still here. 

“I’m going to find mater,” Tundareos announces, doing well to hide his fear, though Lesya can still see it —one in three Athenians rest among the dead. Kassandra and Herodotus move along toward Perikles’ villa. After a moment’s pause, Lesya turns to follow her brother. She trails a step behind him, eyes downcast as she remembers what happened the last time she was here. More bodies line the streets. Some finely clothed and others stripped of their silk robes and jewels. Lesya's hands clench into fists. One in three, her mind echoes —she will not give herself false hope. 

Tundareos stops before the mosaic path and looks up at the pale stone —he was still a boy when he ran away in search of his sister. Now, though, he clasps onto her shoulder, smiling. It may have taken half his life, but he is returning home having found her. Mater will be proud, he thinks, anticipation and hope swelling within him. Lesya cannot return his smile in good faith. 

“Mater!” He calls, passing through the andron. Silence answers. Gathered in the courtyard are hushed voices, surrounding a corpse swaddled in linen. They are too late. Among those gathered is Hippokrates. Tundareos surges forward, pushing through the acolytes, and kneels at Kalanthe’s side, shoulders shaking. 

Lesya stops, staring at what she had known in her gut to be true. Hippokrates approaches her, resting his hand upon Lesya’s shoulders. The plague spared neither rich nor poor and Kalanthe had fallen into hard times since the death of her thesmothetai husband. Guilt twists in her stomach. She is not sorry for killing Leandros —would do it again given the chance— though a piece of her wonders, if her mother would have fallen to the sickness, had Leandros lived. “I’m sorry,” the physician confesses —both for the death of their mother and the desecration that must follow in an attempt to spare others. There will be no burial for Kalanthe, only a pyre or a nameless pit. 

The acolytes lift Kalanthe’s corpse, carrying her from the villa for a final time. Tundareos moves back to his sister’s side —watching the dark-robed figures disappear into the grey haze. He wipes the tears from his eyes and looks around the empty villa. There are no slaves bustling, no lyres being played, no fire burning in the brazier. “Pater?” Tundareos calls and silence answers him again —he looks up as if pleading with the gods, lost. 

Lesya’s blood runs cold, heart dropping to the pits of her stomach. She hadn’t told him Leandros, the man who sheltered them as children, was killed by her hand. There will be no more hiding after today. “Tundareos–” she rakes a hand through her copper hair, pacing around the courtyard “–I killed him,” she tells him, unable to mask the small shred of pride in her tone. 

“What?” He asks —the weight of Lesya’s words not sinking in or either he does not wish to believe his sister had murdered their father. 

“He was a hateful man who sacrificed me to the Cult, Tundareos!” Lesya shouts, voice trembling and laurel eyes burning with hatred. Everything ill that had befallen her in life was his fault. It was because of Leandros of Athens that her humanity and identity had been stripped away, leaving behind a hollow shell of a once lively girl. “It’s because of him I’m a monster!” It was nigh impossible to sleep with memories haunting her and no matter how much she scrubbed her hands, Lesya could still see the blood of innocent on them. There was no other way to describe what she and Deimos had become at the hands of Chrysis and the Cult of Kosmos. 

Tundareos’ face twists in ire and resentment. Leandros had not been a kind man, but he had loved his sons above all else and that love had been reciprocated. His hands turn to fists at his side. Perhaps you truly are the monster they say you are, sister. He swallows the thought, but cannot contain the mix of rage and grief. “He was my father!” He roars —spittle flying in the outburst. 

“I cannot change what I have done, brother,” Lesya starts, meeting his cold and clear gaze, “and even if I could, I would not bring him back.” Leandros —son of Kalliades— deserved to rot in the depths Tartarus for the pain he caused her.

Between his mother’s death at the hands of the pestilence and his father’s ruin at the hands of his sister, Tundareos cannot stomach the thought of looking at Lesya again. He turns his cheek to her and draws in a heavy breath. “Sister,” he says, voice suddenly hoarse, “go.” Lesya flees, wiping away tears, and travels down the street leading to Perikles’ home at the base of the Acropolis. 

No guards are posted though Aspasia pales, her back going rigid upon seeing Lesya enter the villa. Enyo always brings death and destruction in her wake. The champion has never seen her face without a weeping ivory mask, but her voice is unmistakable —the Ghost of Kosmos. “Leave us,” Aspasia tells Sokrates and the others taking shelter in a calm, commanding voice. They leave in silence, dispersing into several rooms with lowered heads. 

“You fucking snake,” she hisses, closing the distance between them in three strides and seizing the hetaera by the neck. Fear flashes in Aspasia’s amber eyes —there is no one here who can save her should the disgraced champion choose to act. Lesya squeezes harder. 

“She’s different!” Aspasia gasps, speaking of Kassandra as her hands wrap around Lesya’s wrist. “Not like Deimos,” she pauses, straining for breath, “or you.” Lesya’s face contorts, her grip tightening for a second more before she lets the hetaera go with a shove —sending her to the ground. Her hand goes to her neck, rubbing the tender flesh. Aspasia looks up at the weapon she helped create, a weapon that could still be put to use. “See me safely to the Parthenon,” she requests, but Lesya just laughs.   

“You trust me not to hand you over to the mob?” Kleon stirs the mobs to riots —many of them want to see Perikles’ head mounted above the city gates for his inaction against Sparta. Blaming him for the rise of this pestilence that had claimed both young and old alike. It would be easy to give Aspasia to the mob and let them dispose of her. The Ghost of Kosmos dead at the hands of the oppressed, it does not sound like a bad thing to Lesya. 

Her amber eyes narrow. “I trust you not to betray Kassandra,” she says, rising to her feet. Lesya swallows, after potentially losing her brother, she is not willing to risk the loss of a friend for vengeance. 

THE EAGLE BEARER joins them on the steps of the great temple, tears streaking her face. Phoibe. It is all cut short by a ragged cry from behind the great wooden doors. Kassandra and Leysa push them open just as Deimos sinks to a crouch and wraps a mighty arm around Perikles’ neck. 

He looks up, meeting the eyes of his sister, Aspasia, Hippokrates, Sokrates, and Lesya. “I’m going to destroy everything you ever created,” he whispers in Perikles’ ear, placing his blade edge on the Athenian general’s neck. Deimos’ arm jerks. Aspasia cries out and lurches forward, stopped by Sokrates. The Eagle Bearer looks to the side grimacing as blood spouts and soaks Perikles’ robes —his wan body turning grey in a trice. Lesya’s gaze burns into him with all the grief of the day rising in her gut. Deimos releases the corpse and stands, his white-and-gold armor streaked with blood. “Stay out of my way,” he hisses, flicking off the blood dripping from his sword.  

The handful of masked men accompanying him advance, but Lesya slips away to pursue Deimos, confident Kassandra would be able to dispatch the remaining guards with ease. He is halfway down the marble steps of the Acropolis Sanctuary —armor glinting in the moonrise. “Deimos!” She shouts and his shoulders tense. “Stop!” Now her voice is baleful. 

He turns, unsheathing the Damoklean sword and levels it toward Lesya as she nears him with her own daggers drawn. “You need to stay out of my way, too,” he growls. She ignores him —knocking him back with a powerful kick. He has to be stopped. Lesya spins out of his advance but does not react quickly enough to block his elbow from colliding with her jaw. She spits blood and drags the back of her hand across her busted lip. 

“You’ve gotten slow,” he remarks, coming for her again. He swings his sword and the tip streaks down her shoulder and lower back, slashing open her leathers and tearing through her tricep —her side and arm suddenly hot with blood. She cries out and staggers backward, but levels her blades again, knowing she has endured worse pains than this. Deimos clenches his jaw as he eyes the blood sluicing down her leg. “Don’t do this,” he rasps —if they cross blades again, he might not be able to stop. 

She steps forward again, jabbing the point of her blade at his thigh and narrowly missing. He lashes his blade in a flurry of quick swipes and it is all she can do to parry them. There’s a moment’s opening and she sees a weak point at his knee and calf. Lesya stabs out, but like a viper’s tongue, he strikes downward, blocking the cut, and flicks his blade up, slicing across her face. Blood and sweat sting her eyes —her strength ebbs away. 

The blades in her hands clatter against the stone and then she is falling. The pale stone around them is painted with splotches of bright red. He watches, aghast this has been his own doing. “No,” Deimos utters. Sheathing his sword, he kneels and scoops her into his arms. She whimpers. “Lesya,” he breathes, stroking over the bloody cut at her hairline —he hadn’t meant for it to go so far. Her eyes are wide, staring up at him but unfocused.

He takes her to Hermippos’ residence —the air is thick with burning herbs and sweet incense to mask the scent of death. Deimos threatens to cut out the Cultist’s tongue if he speaks to anyone about this night. Hermippos has always been cowardly and Deimos uses the man’s fear to his advantage. Slaves scuttle in and out of the bedchamber, bringing water, rags, and a fresh poultice. 

Deimos tends to her with shaking hands, his heart heavy and guilt-ridden. You kill Perikles or we kill her, Kleon’s words echo in his mind. It is your choice, Deimos. It had not been a hard choice. Sitting back on his haunches, Deimos runs his hands down his face and is startled to feel the dampness on his cheeks. He waits at her side almost until the morning light.

“Enyo.” That is not her name, but Lesya responds out of instinct. A pair of tawny-gold eyes meet her own. Deimos. His face is a mixture of troubled emotions. Pain. Guilt. Anger. Two calloused hands settle on her sides —helping her sit. Fresh tears spring up in her eyes at the burning pain in her back and side. She looks around the dimly lit bedchamber, finding her bloody armor and exomis piled in a corner, and stained rags are strewn over the floor near a washbasin with red-tinged water. It is a familiar situation. One she and Deimos have been in too often. 

Deimos pulls his hands back, taking in her scars and injuries as though he has just remembered it is his hand that harmed her. “Where am I?” Lesya asks, raising her hand, fingertips ghosting over the scab cutting through across her brow up into her hairline. 

“Athens still,” he answers. An ember catches flame and burns in his dark eyes. “I told you to stay out of my way.” If she would have just listened to him, all of this could have been avoided. He looks down at his hands, numb. He had hurt her. 

“You know I can’t,” she mutters, reaching for the small tie holding stained white pteruges to his gold-and-white cuirass. Deimos does not object. Instead, he pulls free the knots, ripping the breastplate from his chest and the belt from his waist. Lesya takes his face in her hands, pulling him toward her until his rough lips find hers —hands slipping down his sides. He eases her back down on the feather-stuffed mattress, never breaking the kiss. 

Warmth blossoms in Lesya’s chest, sparks igniting when he parts her lips with his tongue. She finds an uneven brand at the base of his ribcage and sighs into his mouth —it had not been there that night in Korinth. “Deimos,” Lesya breathes, her heart aching to know they will have to part ways again. He braces his weight on his forearms, cupping her cheek as he meets her laurel gaze —something about how she looks at him now, after everything, makes his heart ache too. They were each half of the other’s soul as the poets would say.

No one could escape their fate and Lesya and Deimos’ were always meant to be entwined.

@wallsarecrumbling @novastale @fjor-ok-skadi @fucking-dip-shit

[fnlrndcllctv]

Tekken

In our Soundtrack Sunday series, we take a look at the music of fighting games, track by track!

For the fifth instalment, Shaun Eddleston takes a look at the music of 1994’s Tekken…

(For the purpose of this article, only the Arcade version of the game’s soundtrack is being covered).

In 1994, 3D fighting games were still in their infancy. SEGA’s first fighting game experiment in the form of Dark Edge and the boundary-pushing Virtua Fighter had barely been out for a year, and games such as Battle Arena Toshinden were still just around the corner for the next generation of home consoles such as the Sony PlayStation and SEGA Saturn.

Namco wanted in on the action, so enlisted the talents of Virtua Racing & Virtua Fighter game designer Seiichi Ishii to help develop 3D fighting game of their own, based on a hardware demo that was initially developed to show off some fancy new graphics off to investors. What started off as a game called “RAVE WAR” would eventually go on to become not only one of the most successful and longest-running fighting game franchises, but one of the biggest selling video game series of all time; Tekken.

As the technology was still somewhat limited at the time, Tekken’s stages were a simple affair. A seemingly infinite scrolling plane placed in front of some parallax backgrounds to give the impression of depth, each of these fighting arenas required a little bit more oomph to push forward and create a suitable, varied atmosphere in which players could beat each other up.

That’s where the music comes in. As Tekken was such an early entry in the realm of 3D fighters, the soundtrack played a considerably larger role in establishing how the game felt than in later entries.

So, how does the original soundtrack holdup today?

Let’s find out…

The game’s introduction is fairly non-eventful in its 20-second runtime, but it does make good use of the game’s stereo mix by panning left and right to create a more immersive effect, and reminds me a little bit of elements found in the PlayStation startup jingle.

Tekken’s character select music is a loop of what initially appears to be a fuzzy, overdriven funk bassline over a simple drumbeat, but to me personally, there was always something about this version that didn’t sit right with me. Upon listening closer, I think I’ve figured out what it is.

Behind the upbeat bass that is designed to get players pumped up before a fight, there’s two droning chords being played in the background that elicit a very serious, uneasy tone. Its a strange sensation that’s also present in the PlayStation version of the soundtrack (although it’s not as strong, thanks to better quality remixing!)

“Marine Stadium, Japan” is where the soundtrack has the most fun with the stereo mix, creating a dizzying effect by throwing samples at the listener from all directions in the left and right speaker. Once the track gets moving, there’s a call & response going on between many of the tracks separate elements, running a fine line between being a disjointed mess and a brilliantly cohesive piece.

Luckily the rhythm section and background pads do a great job of keeping things in check.

Definitely one of my favourites in the game.

“Chicago, USA” is probably the grittiest track of the OST, and is probably closer to what a lot of the game’s music sounds like in the modern era than the rest of the tracklist.

The fuzzy bass tone of the character select screen makes yet another appearance here, and immediately starts to make each of the “verse” sections feel incredibly busy and muddies the entire mix straight away.

The chorus, although very brief, saves the song in a big way. The soaring keys, accompanied by some fun percussive claps, make this one of the most enjoyable songs that still holds up really well today.

On a related note, the arrange version found in the PlayStation port is flawless.

The most immediate thing I noticed about this track is just how loud and distracting the bass is. It rumbles throughout the majority of the runtime, and almost ruins the whole experience for me, that is until the bass drops out and allows listeners to focus in a bit more on the tracks other elements.

Once you get past the overpowering synth bass, this is actually a really fun track. Utilising samples of traditional Chinese stringed instruments and gong hits, it’s a high energy track that perks up the players fighting in the mountainous stage.

Imagine a hard-hitting techno remix of Chun-Li from Street Fighter II’s music and you’ve got the right idea.

“Angkor Watt, Cambodia” is probably the closest that the game comes to an industrial sound, and I mean that in a literal sense. The drums and bass is accentuated with what sounds like stylised machinery interspersed with synth leads for the whole track. This robotic selection is an odd choice to use for a stage that’s based on the real life Angkor Watt (i.e. a complex of ancient temples in Cambodia, NOT a factory filled with heavy machinery).

The track also ends before it has the chance to build up into anything really interesting, and remains as a bit of a teaser for me.

“Fiji” is unlike anything else in the Tekken soundtrack, and is arguably one of the series’ most iconic pieces of music (it gets revisited a handful of times throughout the franchise’s long history). The track dials things up into party mode, with steel drums and a catchy salsa beat that really makes you feel like you are on holiday on a tropical island, with a bassline that you’d expect to hear in a bustling nightclub.

A true highlight of the soundtrack, and most definitely the biggest earworm of the whole tracklist.

With “Acropolis, Greece”, we steer into something with a much more dramatic mood.

While the drums and bass for most of the song leave a lot to be desired in terms of differentiating themselves from damn near every other song in the soundtrack, its the the chorus that saves the whole composition. Backed up by some choir keys that remind me of Angel Dust-era Faith No More (the best era, by the way!) and some military-style drumming that’s sprinkled throughout, it builds up to something pleasant, even though it doesn’t quite reach the majesty of the location’s namesake.

“Kyoto, Japan” follows in the footsteps of “Sichuan, China”, in that it utilises samples of traditional instruments from the location’s culture.

This is another track that makes great use of the stereo mix, with the instruments constantly in flux from the left to right speaker (and vice versa). The song does feel a little choppier than the rest of the soundtrack in places though, and the constant “un-tiss-un-tiss-un-tiss” drumbeat mixed together with the percussion samples of blocks being hit makes the song sound like something from the Samurai Shodown games if they were all on ecstasy.

“King George Island, Antarctica” is one of the more interesting items on this fighting game menu, as the song is driven forward by something outside of the simple drumbeat and funk bassline. Instead, it’s powered by an ongoing drone sound hidden in the background. While not quite in Sunn O))) territory, it’s something that makes the track feel unique to its peers, even though it largely contains a lot of the same elements as them.

This one took me by surprise.

Most of the runtime of “Venezia, Italy” sees the music simmering away comfortably, then once the chorus hits, it erupts into a slightly operatic, adventurous display of strings and choirs. Not only that, but for the latter half of the brief chorus, the drum beat instantly shifts into a jazzy offbeat section that definitely threw me off in terms of where I was expecting the music to go.

It’s a gamble that ultimately pays off, and it’s one that results in one of the more underrated tracks in the collection.

“Windermere, U.K.” is where the quality of the game’s music takes a hard hit.

Everything in the song sounds like you’re listening to it through a wall, with the individual instruments being drowned out by the overblown bass and frankly dull drum loops, and even then, the synthetic saxophone sections of the song don’t sound very interesting either. It’s a couple of minutes that holds the entire OST back.

At least the Arrange version in the following year’s PlayStation port was an improvement.

From the game’s weakest track, we head straight into one of the best moments in the entire OST.

“Monument Valley, USA” is one of the most ominous, evil-sounding stage themes that you’re likely to encounter in any fighting game. Just over a minute of harsh windy soundscapes, thunderous gongs, grandiose strings and monk chants that feel more like a summoning of an ancient demon than an actual song. It’s such a deviation from the rest of the music in Tekken, almost to the point where it could be from a totally different game altogether.

The PlayStation version of this song is rightfully in my top 10 favourite fighting game tracks of all time.

Tekken’s final credits music is an absolute pleasure to listen to. In just a couple of minutes, it effectively melds together all of the different vibes of each stage in the game without resorting to just clipping them together as a cheap montage.

Besides, it’s just a relief to have something relatively soothing after dealing with the horrid AI of Heihachi as a final boss.

Overall, the soundtrack to the very first Tekken game is pretty far away from people may be used to from the high intensity of the modern entries in the franchise.

Instead of punishing dubstep and songs you’d expect to hear from a harder-edged Dance Dance Revolution game soundtracks (is that even a thing?), the music selection here is much simpler and way more subdued.

Tasked with trying to represent the various locations from around the world, Namco Sounds did an admirable job getting the vibe right for each stage. From the absolute party of “Fiji” and the sports broadcast jingle of “Marine Stadium, Japan” to the gritty club beats of “Chicago, USA” and the windy soundscapes of “Monument Valley, USA”, the Tekken soundtrack is a varied, interesting mix that not only gives each landmark and setting more personality, but also attempts to set the bar for a series that has since become known for its great music.

Now, time to try and get “Fiji” out of my head until Tekken 2’s edition of Soundtrack Sunday…

The soundtrack is available on vinyl here.

Are you a fan of the original Tekken’s music? Let us know your thoughts in the comments below!

[we-are-all-obsessed-here]

Heart Strings And Melodies (Modern Musician!Poe AU) Part 15

(Not my Gif)

A/N- Guess who’s back! I told you I would get back to this series, admittedly its been over a year (literally, the last part came out in January last year!) But I am determined to finish this off!!! I can see this series having a few more parts, not many but hey ho, at least you guys will have a proper ending after all this time.

Summary: Reader and Poe enjoy the remaining days of their getaway to Athens. (I am bad at summarising, basically its just fluff)

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

The moment you woke, a pained groan left your lips, your body ached all over.

“Morning beautiful.” Poe’s almost whispered words caught your attention. You shifted to see him sat on the bed beside you, mug of coffee in his grasp, steam slowly rising from it. He took a sip before offering it to you. With slow movements you shuffled until you were sat upright, your back against the soft fabric headboard.

“How’re you feeling?” Poe wondered after you’d taken the coffee from him, offering him a sleepy smile and a murmured ‘thank you’.

“Sore. Really fucking sore.” You complained, stretching your legs out until you heard a click then curled your toes slightly.

“So…” Poe hesitated, “Last night was…”

“Amazing.” You beamed at him as the first sip of coffee seeped through your veins.

“Yeah, it was wasn’t it.” He grinned widely in fond memory. Poe shuffled to your side, his fingers brushing through your tangled hair, his other hand entwined with yours.

“Do you think we could go to the Parthenon tomorrow?” You pondered.

“Too sore to walk around it today?” Poe teased softly.

You hummed in affirmation.

“Want to have our beach day today then? Grab a lounger and a parasol and just spend the day snoozing.” Poe offered.

“As long as its with you, and I’m not moving and there’s ice cream, I’m game.” You almost giggled. 

You sat for a while, sipping your coffee and cuddling to Poe’s side, your head resting every now and again on his shoulder. Poe meanwhile ran his fingers through your hair gently, soothingly, then slowly massaged wherever he could reach.

“I need a shower.” You grumbled in disgust as you shifted slightly, the inside of your thighs covered in the dried evidence of your intimate activities the night before.

“I did offer last night, but no, you just wanted to sleep.” Poe teased playfully, grinning at you.

“Shove off, jackass.” You stuck your tongue out at him in response. You gasped as something cool was slipped onto your finger; glancing down you found Poe’s thumb brushing over a metal band on your ring finger.

“Is that what… you wanted to give me?” Your brow furrowed as your gaze met Poe’s.

“Yes. I know it’s not an elegant ring or anything like that, and technically its a wedding ring not an engagement ring but-“

“Poe,” You cupped his face and kissed him tenderly. “I love it. It’s really unique,” You stated as you admired the ring. “Where did you get it?”

“It… was my Mom’s. See, my Mom liked to tinker around with her jet, one day she came home and my Dad found it,” Poe pointed to the ring. “It just dropped out of my Mom’s flight suit when she got changed, it was just an old washer from one of the jet’s parts. He kept hold of it and fashioned it into a wedding ring. Of course my Mom was surprised at the wedding when he slipped it onto her finger, but my Mom was never one for traditional things, or so she told me.” Poe recalled fondly.

“This,” Your fingers brushed over the ring. “Was your Mom’s?”

“Yeah, she’d have loved you, you’re both badass.” Poe whispered softly as he nuzzled against your neck, before pressing a gentle kiss to the crook of your neck.

“Thank you, Poe.” You brushed your fingers through his dark curls. You breathed in the aroma of Poe’s favoured body wash and hummed in contentment.

“Someones had a shower this morning.” You commented.

“You weren’t the only one who was disgusting this morning.” Poe replied with a smirk. You groaned after taking the last sip of coffee.

“Right I’ll go shower.” You stretched your arms above your head then yawned.

“Want me to grab us some breakfast?” Poe wondered, shuffling to the edge of the bed.

“That’d be great.” You padded over the cool floor tiles towards the bathroom, your legs aching with every step. Poe grasped your arm before you could enter and pulled you into an embrace, he leaned down and captured your lips in a loving kiss.

“Love you more.” You hummed happily, flashing him a bright smile before finally stepping into the bathroom.

Despite not doing anything whatsoever, other than laying across a white plastic lounger with a towel placed on top for comfort, time passed rather quickly. You had to admit, the constant snoozing and relaxation helped your body recover from the night before, you felt much less achy and sore, more so, you looked forward for more sightseeing the following day. Poe had enjoyed watching how tranquil you looked laid soaking in the warmth of the sun, he knew you were worried about being unemployed and that you weren’t sure what you were going to do once you returned home. You decided very early on that day, that another beach day was in order at some point in the remaining days of your holiday. The heat of the sand beneath bare feet along with the warmth of the sun beating down for hours on end without interruption from wisps of cloud had made the occasional dip into the sea a godsend. However before you knew it, the sun had begun to set, the ocean lapping further and further up the beach.

“I think, we should head back.” Poe noted, propping himself up on his elbow. You frowned slightly.

“Do we have to?” You almost whined.

“Well as much as I love laying here, the tide is coming in and I’m pretty sure my stomach needs food” Poe replied bluntly. A small smile made its way onto your lips before you swung your legs around so you were perched on the edge of the lounger.

“Let’s get going. We should get an early night if we’re going to the Parthenon and doing to tours tomorrow.”

“Want to go via the market again?”

“Oooh, yeah, that sounds good!” You enthused while you began folding and packing away into the colourful cotton beach bag the few bits and pieces you had brought with you. Poe draped his arm around your shoulder as the two of you began to step back towards the hotel, discussing where and more importantly what you would be eating that night.

The sun beat down on both of you the next day during the arduous walk to the Parthenon; thankfully the cotton dress you were wearing helped keep you moderately cool. Poe had also settled on plain light coloured shorts and a cotton top. He took your hand in his for the entire journey, his thumb reaching to brush over the cool metal of his mother’s ring on your finger as you took a detour to wander through the market once again. Glancing over you couldn’t miss the grin adorned on his face. You gently bumped into him, drawing his attention.

“You utter sap.”

“I’m sorry?” He questioned, a brow raised.

“Nothing, just…,” You reached up and cupped his cheek before leaning in to kiss him softly “I love you so much Poe. My wonderful fiancé.”

Poe seemed taken aback for a moment before shaking his head gently.

“Fiancé. That’s going to take some getting used to.”

“Just wait until its husband and wife.” You replied with a bright smile. Poe chuckled in response.

“Yeah, calling you my wife is going to be wild.”

“What will be wild is us reaching the Parthenon and not be out of breath.” You joked, fanning yourself with your hand. The city of Athens bustled around you as you continued on, plenty of tourists like yourselves going to and fro from the many historical sights the city had to offer. Eventually you reached your desired destination, although you’d both made the decision to get a cab back to the hotel or God forbid you being able to walk the next day. Hours were spent listening to the tour guide walk you through the history of the Parthenon and the  Acropolis of Athens, you and Poe admired the stone ruins of the Parthenon and surrounding area.

“Smile sweetheart!” Poe called to you. Turning around to face him you smiled as only you would when with the man you loved most dear. Poe glanced down at the camera as the image he’d just taken popped up, he grinned pleased and joined your side.

“Here pass me the camera.” You held your hand out expectantly. After Poe passed you the camera, you looked around before grasping his hand and guiding him to what you imagined would be the perfect spot for a photograph. Poe followed willingly and the two of you wrapped your arms around each other before you held the camera up in front of the two of you. Several photos were taken, the first was simple, the both of you smiling at the camera. The following photos capturing Poe pressing a kiss to your temple, to the both of you laughing heartily and another photo captured the two of you looking at each other while smiling. That particular photo was slightly skewed, your attention more on Poe than the camera.

“It really is beautiful up here.” Poe commented as the tour eventually came to an end.

“Shame we’ve got to go back a skyline of concrete and glass.” You huddled closer to him.

“It has its own beauty. Back home, I mean.”

“There’s no denying that, but sometimes a change of scenery is nice.” You admitted, gesturing to your surroundings.

“You’re going to miss this aren’t you?”

“We could always come back for our honeymoon?” You smiled softly, raising your arm and wiggling the fingers of the hand where the ring sat. Poe’s smile became a grin and he took your hand and kissed the back of it.

“We sure could. Although we might need to save up for a while before that happens.”

You sighed, realising Poe’s words held truth, you still had a job to think about when you returned back home.

“Hey,” Poe noticed your mood shift slightly, “The day’s not over yet, want to head down to the beach?” Poe offered.

“Yeah, sounds good.” You admitted.

“C’mon then sweetheart.” Poe held out his hand, you took it gladly, a smile returning to your face as the two of you began the journey back towards the beach. The taxi you managed to grab partway down was a blessing and a curse: your feet had time to recuperate from the long day’s walk, however it seemed even warmer in the cab than it did walking outside in the sun. While you stood fanning yourself, trying desperately to cool down, Poe thanked and payed the driver before returning to your side. You both walked along the seafront, enjoying the small sea breeze that seemed to cut away some of the heat from the sun. Poe hopped down onto the beach below and held out his arms, beckoning you to jump down.

“You better catch me Dameron. I swear to God.” You warned.

“What do you take me for?” Poe responded.

“An occasional klutz.” You replied. Poe’s face flashed with shock. You gave a brief laugh before hopping down from the ledge and into Poe’s waiting arms. For a split second, you could have sworn that he was in two mind of whether he was going to catch you or let you drop to the sands below. However, Poe wrapped his arms around you and gently placed you onto the warm sands. You cocked a brow at him.

“What?”

“You were going to drop me weren’t you, let me fall.”

“I would never!” Poe grinned through his words.

You gave Poe a playful shove before taking his hand in yours and stepping across the sands. Eventually the two of you walked along the shoreline, holding your shoes in one hand and your lover’s hand in the other. You closed you eyes and listened intently to the sound of the small waves coming into shore. The cool water washed over your feet, a welcome relief from heat of the setting sun.

“This is nice.” Poe murmured.

“Poe Dameron, singer, songwriter, poet with his words, and all he has to say is ‘this is nice’.” You teased, giving him a gentle shove with your shoulder.

“C’mon, you know I save my best work for my job, or for when I want to be over the top romantic. Otherwise I’m… what did you call me, oh yeah, a klutz, with my words.” Poe teased back, giving a small shove in return.

The two of you stood there, by the shoreline, for quite some time, simply looking out to the horizon, letting the water lap at your ankles.

“Beach wedding?” You offered after a period of silence.

“Don’t think we’ll find a beach in the middle of the city babe.”

“I mean if we tried super hard we could buy lots of sand and maybe a super big paddling pool. Hire a bunch of people to make waves with like wooden paddles or something?” You almost couldn’t help the laughter that slipped out.

“God, I’m marrying an idiot.” Poe chuckled from behind you, his arms tightening around your middle as he rested his forehead on your shoulder.

“Pot kettle and black, Poe Dameron.” You glanced over your shoulder.

“Guess we’re perfect for each other.” Poe breathed. You hummed in agreement. Poe pressed a small kiss to the crook of your neck, you felt heat creep across your cheeks at the sign of affection. Even now, despite how long the two of you had been together, you would still flush at his attention like you did when the two of you had just met.

“I love you, Poe.” You whispered, just loud enough for the two of you to hear.

“I love you too.” Your name fell from Poe’s lips in a whisper, caressing the shell of your ear.

“I’m hungry.” You stated nonchalantly a moment later. You heard Poe laugh deeply and heartily behind you, his hold on you loosening as he held his stomach.

“What!?” You exclaimed, turning to watch Poe wipe a tear from his eye.

“I’m sorry babe, but that just came out of nowhere. Talk about shattering the romantic atmosphere.” Poe laughed. You gently scratched the back of your head, embarrassed.

“I could smell food. Sorry.” You shrugged. Poe shook his head, a smile playing on his lips before he wrapped his arm around your waist and started to guide you in the direction of the hotel, within eyesight but a little further down the beach. The hotel was pleasantly cool, much to the relief of you and Poe. Your evening was spent sitting across from one another, sharing traditional Greek cuisine within the candlelit restaurant of the hotel, the evening air carried the smell of the ocean along with the flowers which decorated the venue. Poe would hold your hand in-between courses; conversation flowed easily, sweet smiles and words of love being exchanged continually.

Before long, the week came to a close, far too quickly for either you or Poe’s liking. There was something about this little getaway to Athens that made you never want to leave. To wake each day and visit somewhere new, to wander through markets and ruins as the sounds and aromas of the city came to life. To step out onto a beach with ease and enjoy the smell of the salty sea breeze and the feel of cool ocean water crashing over your feet. As you stood at the airport waiting to board your flight home, you often thought of the other moments you had spent here with Poe. Laid together in bed, some nights just sharing loving whispers while other nights were spent more intimately. A smile brushed across your face as your fingers touched the cool metal on your ring finger. Yes, never going home would be nice, but you and Poe had far too much of a future together yet to plan.

Tagged (It’s been a year- haha I wonder if any of these will actually work?):

@petah-parkah-and-potahtas @mirkwoodshewolf @sleepretreat @jessicaguerreiro07 @pdamn-eron @imagine-that-star-wars @yourwonderbelle @imaginecrushes @simplyonehellofapilot @unstoppableforcce @mirkwoodavengersherlockianwhofan @pinkdreamsandglitter @i-said-goddameron @ghost-with-spaghetti-arms @sassy-satanunicorns

@ponycake27

[mayaminamoto]

Longing for ancient worlds

I’ve been a fan of Assassin’s Creed series for many years now. I replayed early games many many times, I own several collector’s editions and I’ll forever be angsty that I missed Evie Frye statue and now it costs like, 200$ minimum. Unity put a temporary stop to all that (it took me TWO YEARS to finish the main story, it was such a slog) and I didn’t check any of the later games until now.

Earlier this year Irian (my wife!) and I visited Rome - and that of course meant I had to replay the whole Ezio trilogy (let me just say that seeing Colloseum in real life after climbing it in game is AMAZING). Riding on the nostalgia, I decided to finally give the new games a chance. I loved every freakin’ second of Syndicate. It had almost everything I wanted from Assassin’s Creed game - it had great parkour, it had beautiful world, decent anchoring to history, great main characters... I honestly think it’s the most polished AC game there is.

Then I picked up Origins. You know, that game when they saw how horrendously big fail Unity was and decided to “tweak the formula”. It was fun, though it felt much less assassin-y then all the previous games. And now I’m playing Odyssey and to be perfectly honest, with each day I’m more frustrated with it. No, perhaps frustrated isn’t the right word. Sad. It makes me sad.

Because it’s no longer Assassin’s Creed.

It hit me the most when I was exploring Ruined Sanctuary of Ajax. Do you remember it, I wonder? I won’t fault you if you don’t. Because you see, as I stood there with my trusty torch, watching the frescos I realised that I’ve already seen them. In another tomb earlier in the game.

Now, I’m not saying that re-using assets in a video game is a bad thing - quite to the contrary, I’m one of those small number of people who didn’t mind copy-pasted caves in Dragon Age 2. The problem is that DA2 didn���t try to sell me the idea of “vast realistic world”. In previous AC games the world was always as close to reality as humanly possible - and the game took every advantage of it. Main story missions often took place in or around famous historical buildings. Small (and hated by many) collectibles often took the player to some hidden gems. Missions were designed in a way that both showcased the architecture and was interesting to play. Meanwhile, almost every mission in Odyssey takes place in almost identical forts or camps.

Maybe let me explain things more clearly. When you first get dumped on the map, you can see two kinds of markers on it - quest markers and question marks. Question marks indicate locations - if you get close enough to one, they will change to reflect exactly what kind of location it is. It can be fort, bandit camp, animal den, village, tomb... There’s so many possibilities!

The first problem is that when you look closer at said possibilities, you see that there’s not as many as it seems. Because let’s be honest for a second - the difference between “military camp” “camp” “fort” “port” and often also “ruins” is minimal - to “complete” location you always have to loot a chest and possibly kill someone. They differ in size and kind of enemies (bandits, cultists, Spartans or Athenians - all fight the same btw) and in some flavor aesthetics... But still, each and every one of them is build from the same blocks. When you compare fort to fort, camp to camp, there’s no way to really differentiate them, nothing memorable to stand out.

I could let it pass with military structures, treat it as a filler activity and nothing more. But the same kind of design applies to potentially super interesting historical structures, all those temples, fucking Acropolis! I can tell that the building itself is very carefully designed to fit the real thing as closely as possible - but when I get to it, all I can do there is still old same “kill a dude, loot a chest”. Absolutely no gameplay variation and a huge missed opportunity to showcase the setting.

“But Mai!” you say “they ARE filler activities! They don’t have to be flawlessly designed! They’re just here for grind and loot”. Sure. But many MISSIONS are connected to these filler activities as well. I get a mission to rescue someone from bandits - I go to the bandit camp and “complete” the bandit camp... I get the mission to find a thing, guess what, it’s in that fort over there... And secondly, I’d like to remind you, let’s say, races in Assassin’s Creed Brotherhood. You know, those that took you in a mad dash through great historical buildings, showing them to you in a cool fashion, while also giving some unique gameplay, different from the rest of the game. Those were also filler activities after all.

And this “same-y” feeling goes further and further - main quests involves killing a whole bunch of cultists - from gameplay perspective they are no different than a “normal” Person-To-Kill from filler camp. While I dig the “each dead cultist leaves a clue about another” thing, the killing itself doesn’t feel like a part of main mission at all.

There are other things too. The whole gameplay shifted from “stealthy parkour assassin” to “warrior with occassional stealth”. Assassinations got seriously nerfed, there’s lots of enemies you simply can’t one-shot assassinate, as in all previous games. While previously, if you got into combat it often meant some sort of fuck-up on your part, here it’s much more expected - after all, if you stab a guy in the back and he DOESN’T die, it’s kinda understandable that he’s gonna want to fight you. The same-y location design doesn’t help here either - because if all locations are similar, then stealthing into them is similar too and, well, it gets boring. It’s a huge shift from the previous games, one that annoys me very much.

Parkour, one of the most if not THE most defining features of the series, got seriously dumbed down. No longer you have to carefully choose which way up to take, find a decent start-up point, move a bit left to catch a brick there, move a bit right to stand on a gargoyle... Now the path between point A and B is almost always straight line. You can climb almost anywhere, with no issue, by simply pushing a button. Now, parkour never was very hard in these games, sure - but you had to find the path to the top. You had to pay some attention. Many hidden locations where designed specifically for fun parkour experience, for figuring out the best way to the top. You don’t have to find the path now. You just press “forward”.

And all this has an impact on the character too. Because you know, if the game shows me location on a map, I’m gonna want to complete said location. Oh, it’s an Athenian military camp, cool. I have to kill the camp captain and loot some chests. Meanwhile, in the main mission, I’m in the middle of doing some favors for Athenian leader, including completing some Spartan camps... Basically, if I want to complete the map (and I do), I have to be an immoral murder thief hobo. Kill whoever, steal from camps, temples, homes, be loyal to no one and nothing... It feels wrong.

Don’t get me wrong, the game has some very good points. It is beautiful. Combat is quite fun. Kassandra is funny and hot as hell. Story so far is quite interesting (if sometimes cringy). But it all feels so... game-y. Wherever I look, I see that it’s an artificial setting, I see the building blocks. Long way from much smaller, yet so much more alive streets of Florence or Istanbul.

That tomb I talked about at the beginning. It could have been amazing. It could have been a parkour sequence, where you really have to find the way to a secret chamber. It could hide a piece of intel about the cult you’re fighting. It could be filled with enemies that you have to carefully avoid by climbing high over their heads, holding to the heads of columns between each part of a fresco. Instead you get in, you kill some cobras (fucking cobras), you rob the tomb, probably desecrate some corpses in the meantime and touch a mystical tablet from ancient times without a single comment about it. A message appears on the screen saying “location complete”. You get a skill point. You never forget that you’re playing a game.

[bites-kms]

Kalimera! Something to eat?

Greek hospitality means food. It taste like kalamata olives, fresh, sweet figs and strong, delicious olive oil, not to forget the soft grapes that torn you between harvesting them for the next delicious sip of House White versus indulging yourself in them straight out from the vine.

There are certain musts you should try in Greece (if you haven’t done so in Turkey or in Georgia) like Tomatokeftedes or sun dried tomato croquettes, Greek Fava Dip, that delicious yellow split pea puree, feta cheese in one of their multiple, exquisite special preparations, meat filled zucchinis and tons, tons of wine to pair with all of it. 

I gained almost 2 kilos in 2 weeks, - thank god I was prepared and I lost weight before traveling - but no regrets nor harm feelings: those were the best 2 kilos I gained in a while. All the beauty and history surrounding you deserve a proper celebration, and when it comes to commemorate something, Greeks know exactly how to do it. A little bit of cheese, some home made pies or veggie croquettes, you name it. And that is just for starters.

We took this hospitality really seriously, and as my friend Mau would say, we knew our “priorities”, so FOOD became a crucial part of our experience and tour. The heat also made it easier for us to stop every 2 hours for a soul refill- since when we ate, we were happy. Here’s the recap of our favorites places went in Athens:

Diongenes  Lisikratous, Athina, 105 58

It was our first dinner and we were both starving: Mau from flying 10+ hours from the future and myself flying almost another 10 from the past. Luckily, this restaurant which we researched before and was recommended to us, was around our place. It was a gorgeous taverna. Exactly as you would imagine a mild night in Greece might be like. We ordered some zucchini, tomato croquettes and an octopus, which seemed to be more tasty than what they usually and actually were given our flight famine. But still, the place is worth giving it a shot since the ambience and the service is very, very good.  Kayak  Durrachiou 30 & Amvrakias  Athina, 10443

It wasn’t a brilliant idea, to be honest, to have a kick-in-the-butt-awaken Ellinikos or Greek Coffee that night instead of a regular espresso. Same as in Turkish culture, their coffee is extremely strong, heavy and with the grounded bean in it so it has this dusty and dry taste. Strong. Killer. Not at all jet-lag helpful. Worth it, though? Absolutely!  Everest  various locations Bites&Kms Fav: Syndagma Square, Athina, 105 63

photo courtesy of polyarch.com We found this place by chance and, oh, odds are in our favor! Since that moment, each time we needed a refilled, we stoped by the closest Everest we could find in seek for an orange juice or a cappuccino. Cheap, delicious, great service. Tons of food and snack options to go along, even at this store on Syndagma Square, freshly made pizzas, sandwiches and croque monsieur were available!  Klepsydra Tavern  Klepsidras, Athina 105 56

Finding this secret gem was pure coincidence but once again, we ended up in the most wonderful corner in between Plaka and Anafiotika. There was only one table left, with a “reserved” sign on it, and as soon as we mentioned we were there for lunch, they remove it, reverse their glasses and brought the bread. It was meant to be. The view, the service and the food was all perfect. We ordered some of our favorites: spanikopita, tzaziki and greek salad. Spanikopita or otherwise known as Greek spinach pie is a traditional yet delicious recipe. With its versatility the dish matches with every time of the day. Feta cheese, butter, olive oil all are mixed and baked until golden crispy perfection.

Greek salad is a must have for Greeks with almost every meal. Choriatiki, as they called them in Greek, are made of tomatoes, olives, cucumber and a large piece of feta cheese and served undressed. Dressing is left at person’s choice hence all restaurants serve vinegar, salt, pepper and olive oil with the salad - although, in our experience, most of the times, it came already prepared. With the tradition of being a starter, Greek salad can also be a great side dish. Look at this beauty! We were definitely in food heaven!

Stamatopulos Tavern Lisiou 26, Athina 105 58

At night, we had a reservation on this place a Greek friend recommended. A little bit touristy yet fun, the only regret was that a couple came in after us and sat super close to our table, and started smoking non-stop, which became really annoying. Yet, there was nothing left to do, since it was an al fresco dinner place. Regardless, it was a lovely evening. They had live music with the traditional guitar and two guys with the typical voice you expect from the Greek coasts. The highlight of the night, aside from the great Moussaka, a lemon dressed lamb and some more croquettes, it was the time the musicians start playing the amazing Zorba Song! I couldn’t help myself and stood up, went to the front, and tried to learn that beautiful dance. After a while, right next to a two-left-legged old guy, I managed to do something, but the highlight of the night was when Mau joined and we killed the dance floor, throwing shame to all the other not-so-gifted people with our grace and moves! Coming back to the food, the moussaka is a legendary, traditional dish that is creamy and juicy. Moussaka is served in almost all tavernas in Greece. In the big family gathering this dish is prepared by Greek homemakers. In Moussaka, tomato sauce is used to cook minced beef which is subsequently layered with sweet eggplants and creamy béchamel sauce. This irresistible cuisine is filling so you don’t need too many side dishes. I was a little bit skeptical about moussaka at first since the ones I had before weren’t that good, but this one, OMG, completely changed my mind about them! Brettos  Kidathineon 41, Athina 105 58

Brettos is Athens’ oldest bar and distillery, established by Michail Brettos in 1909. Most of the alcohol served there such as ouzo, mastiha, liqueurs and other beverages, are home made and they still respect the old recipe from Mr. Brettos. You can taste them are feel the fermentation happened in the old oak barrels placed inside. As soon as you step inside Brettos, you will be amazed by the wall adorned with colorful glass liqueur bottles and impressive original wooden barrels.  Its unique décor is probably one of the reasons why Brettos is one of the most photographed locations in Athens, behind the Acropolis, Syntagma Square and other ancient monuments and sites in the city. We had two strong and delicious drinks: Aphrodite, which was ouzo gold, raspberry liquor, pink grapefruit soda and mint leaves and the one called Sea Breeze, made with Gin, fresh lime, fresh orange cubes and soda. Guess who got what ;) 

Acropolis Museum Café Dionysiou Areopagitou 15, Athina, 117 42

When researching about the Acropolis, when to go, how to get tickets, etc, etc, the obvious question of “is the Acropolils museum worth a visit?” pops up. It is if you are super into history. Its greatly display showcases all the valuable stuff they removed from the Acropolis seeking for preservation. But, if you are like me and decide to go just for the real ruins per se avoiding an overflow of information, then the Acropolis and the other monuments spread out around Athens should do the trick. Although, there’s one thing not so many sites mention, and is that the Acropolis museum has a terrific terrace where to contemplate the Parthenon and a delicious seasonal menu to go with the view. We had some eggs, two delicious cappuccinos and the fantastic feta me meli - another Greek food dish that can be tasted as dessert or an entrée. Feta is wrapped in filo pastry before oven baked and honey is drizzled over it. The optimum balance between salty feta and sweet honey creates a mesmerizing taste. They served it with a tomato jam on the side instead of the honey and was absolutely delicious.  Da Vinci Ice-cream  various locations Bites&Kms Fav: 4 Selley Street, Athina, 10558 

Play it safe, avoid a heat stroke: have an ice-cream! And if it’s a gelato, even better. The creative cone flavors at Da Vinci match the delicious and unique ones from the gelatos so be sure to pick wisely, or come again and again to try them all!

Thea Terrace  Rooftop of Central Hotel Apollonos 23, Athina, 105 57

This was another fantastic, last minute Mau finding. It was so great, we ended up going twice. Close to Plaka but far enough from the crowd, this boutique hotel counts with a privilege terrace and rooftop bar from where we could see the sunset. It wasnt happy hour, but the drinks were so cheap and the prosecco was so good, we had two!

Nolan  33, Voulis 31, Athina 105 57

This place is definitely unique within the fusion restaurants I’ve been to. This is truly a delicious blend in between Greek, Asian and German cuisine, all the influences its owner has ingrained. As a Michelin recommendation, we left it aside pursuing Greek traditional tavernas, but it happens that after a while, you’re craving for something different like a burger or some pasta. What you don’t actually know is that what you need is a stop by Nolan. Once again, wondering in what we thought was a new, orthodox neighborhood, we ended up by its corner and its name rang a bell. We went in during a sunny Greek noon and we were lucky they were able to sit us regardless of not having a reservation. Minutes after, the restaurant got full, local artists started playing music on the streets and we were having a true fusion feast. We had some marinated tuna, a delicious octopus salad and some lamb dumplings. It was amazing, a must stop during your stayed in Athens. 

Taf Coffee Shop Emmanouil Benaki 7, Athina 106 78

This is one of the top coffee places I’ve ever been to. Not because its price, look or location, but because of the love and passion they put on each brew. This is how they described their daily special - hence, the coffee of my choice: “Rosebud double shot cap creaming feeling, smooth body caramel chocolate and nutmeg aroma. Taste of cherry and caramel with apricot tangerine and almond nuts.”  

Mind the Cup  Emiliou Veaki 29, Peristeri 121 34

I took the train to Peristeri, just outside Athens, to check out what according to Buzzfeed “one of the coffee shops around the world you must check out before you die” Happily, it didnt disappoint. Not only the little town is super cozy, where I got a pair of amazing leather boots, but also, took the morning to write and to enjoy this wonderful plaza where Mind you Cup is located. It reminded me of old Montevideo, the city where I was raised when I was younger. I keep specifying this time and space issue since nowadays it’s quite different. It also reminded me of an out-side the tourist epicenter mini towns around the north of Spain or outside Porto, in Portugal. Even a “ciudad del interior” or countryside town from Uruguay.  Even the tree to which shadow I was sitting and enjoying, was the same Willow tree I had at my school. It was a beautiful time travel adventure, on top of the delicious European house white wine, the home made pizza and the great service from the place. The menu looks like an old and corky newspaper and is not in English, which makes the adventure even more authentic, but the gentle waitress will assist you with all your questions. People were selling their crafts and some plants, and I couldn’t resist to get an envy eye anklet. On my way back, I found this delicious and traditional dessert Greek people have for Christmas, but I could have them every day with a glass of milk. They are called Kourabiedes, a shortbread-type biscuit usually made with ground almonds, flavored with either brandy, vanilla, mastika or rose water and they are shaped into little cute balls. In the end, they are sprinkled with icing sugar and they are just to die for!

Avli - Agiou Dimitriou Agiou Dimitriou 12, Athina 105 54

In the historic triangle of Athens there is a small tavern in a backyard called Avli which means ‘backyard’. This place is kinda secret: more and more people are accessing to its charms due to TripAdvisor’s fantastic reviews - although it still is easy to miss if you don’t go specifically looking for it. Within a small alley, behind a not so charming door, you can hear loud voices, laughs and some Greek music in the background. If you dare to go inside, disregarding your first thought of “oh, this is a private house, I shouldn't trespass it”, the scenery you will see is like it came from the ’60s. Checkered tablecloths, traditional chairs, old photos and a makeshift kitchen create an authentic feeling reminiscent of old Athens.

The always smiling owner, Takis, has operated this tavern since 1985. He pretended to know me, and after a nice “Kalimera, I remember you, please sit”, I sat down on one of the last free tables of the alley. I sat down right next to Stellios, this wonderful old man who greet me with yellow prunes, peanuts and come other spicy snack while we both waited to be served. He ordered some cheese and tomato, while I ordered the delicious feta with olive oil and some grilled peppers which were outstanding. I was so excited that I decided to copy Stellios and ordered a beer, the first Greek beer during by whole trip was waiting for me on my last day, and I ordered a Manos. It was good - that’s how far my beer knowledge and palate goes: good, not good :D To thank him for the company and the snacks, I invited him two more rounds of beer, which of course I’m not sure what happened since my Greek wasn’t that fluid so I made the best I could with Takis, so let’s hope at least some of the cash went for another Manos and the rest as tip! The whole experience was amazing, Stellios told me about his family, his lovely wife and two kids, as well as about his dog in very broken English. I showed a picture of my parents and told him I lived in New York, but that I was from Uruguay, land of football and meat. Yeap... some have Aristotles, others have Benedetti, and both of us share a Manos. Yamas, Athens!

[chrysaliseuro2019]

Cliffhanger

Dimitsana has been a wonderful base to explore from and it would be so picturesque in winter when the snow season sets in up in them there hills. Mind you you’d want to have a mighty fine travel insurance policy because its worn marble steps are lethally slippery when dry let alone with snow and ice to add to their treachery.

Our accommodation was truly fabulous with the most gloriously comfy wide bed, luxurious pillows of varying structure (good for we of the dodgy neck brigade) complete with a fireplace for those colder months and a spacious and modern bathroom - don’t get to say that too often in Europe. On top of that the room had a number of books and masses of DVDs of good taste. No Rambo or Diehard here instead quality such as The Lives of Others etc. Clearly our host Dimitri was of sophisticated taste, and judging by the breakfasts his wife prepared, so was she.

Dimitri insisted the Outdoor Water Museum was a must visit before we left the area so that was our next stop. Staff almost outnumbered visitors as there were three of them and in the 1.5 hours we were there only one other couple arrived. Don’t think I’m being too harsh in saying that they could have cut the staff by 2/3rds and still have managed the ticket box (4 tickets in 1.5 hours) and turning on the switches of two machines without being over-taxed. Will be checking Seek for a job like this when I get back home.

We thought the displays were well laid out and enjoyed learning that millers made a living by milling customers grains and rather than charging a fee took a percentage of the milled grain. Too bad if you’re celiac, but I guess corn was an alternative. The tannery was definitely the worst of the jobs. The tanner’s hands must have been tough as old boots to deal with processes including salting, stripping, soaking the pelts in wood chips, and Chris’ least favourite, dunking the pelts in a blend of dog shit and water. Can only, and quite frankly, don’t want to imagine the smell. When we visited the still-alive-and-well tanneries of Fez several years ago we were told they used pigeon droppings. If I were a Greek tanner I’d have invested in a dovecote.

The final exhibit was the gunpowder exhibit. Dimitsana was one of the villages that knew how to collect saltpetre, a vital component gunpowder and they made gunpowder from the Greek War of Independence (1820’s-30’s) until early 20th century. Water was used to power the machines that mixed all the ingredients of gunpowder into a powder - OH&S was a bit of an issue because the powder if not treated correctly during processing had the tendency to to what it was intended to do....blow up.

The museum should be applauded for the effort that had gone into making it accessible for tourists. Not only did it supply a detailed brochure with map in the €4 entrance fee, there was a huge amount of written detail around the displays and, in case that wasn’t enough, 3 lengthy videos describing how water was used in milling, tanning and making gunpowder. No other Greek Museum has had so much information including the big ticket items like Olympia and the Acropolis. Well done little provincial Outdoor Water Museum of Dimitsana.

Still high amongst the mountains we made our way to our next destination around the challenging roads. Challenging not only because they were narrow and winding but the surface could switch from brand new to rutted and potholed in an instant. And to top it all off a steep drop down into the valley without barriers on one side and a sheer cliff face that occasionally shed its rocks across the road on the other. (I think we both occasionally let our minds drift to the possibility of being squashed or plummeting.) Apart from that it was a doddle! Chris did very well negotiating the hazards although a couple of times did go a little too close to the edge where I could peer over into the abyss as I gripped white-knuckled onto the door...Penny if you’re reading this you’ll get my drift.

On the winding drive down to the monastery car park we passed an isolated tower with Greek music playing and a solitary car parked beside it. We could only surmise it was the manned fire lookout. A little incongruously the lookout was a wooden construction and there appeared to be no Wifi according to our phones. We wondered what would happen if there was a bushfire. Does the warden hotfoot it from his out-of-range combustible tower to the local town to send the alarm? Meanwhile as he minds his post it would be a hot lonely job as there also appeared to be no air conditioning. Suggest Fire warden consider a career change to a much cushier position at the Water Museum.

Stopped at the car park to visit the Prodromou Monastery reportedly a 20 minute walk away. By now it was 12.40pm and we had just spotted the bane of the tourist’s life - a sign saying’ ‘Closed between 1pm -3pm’. A Dutch couple pulled up so discussed the inconvenience of this and set off at fast pace, well as fast as old knees going down rocky and shale paths and steps will allow. Fortunately the walk was only roughly 10 minutes through a verdant forest so got there in time being totally awestruck by the monastery. How this Monastery of St John the Baptist was constructed into a sheer cliff face is mind blowing. The original site dates back to 16th century and was used as a hospital during the Greek War of Independence and was rebuilt in 1976 over the remains of an old hermitage. Surrounding the monastery are large forested mountains and down below is the Lousios Gorge with the Lousios River flowing through it. It’s truly a picturesque scene.

Having donned our modesty wraps to hide our shorts we were allowed to enter the monastery. Up the stairs into a small vestibule chapel carved into the rock with the bare rock face exposed. A kitchen and a sitting room were off this vestibule and that was the complete floor. Up some steps to the chapel proper, a small dark room with paintings on the rock walls, about 10 seats lining the walls and a little altar. Then further steps up to the balcony off which were the monks’ rooms. One door was open showing just how spartan a monk’s life can be. The room contained 6 basic beds, no feathertop mattresses here, each with a bundle of basic blankets folded at the foot. Absent were bedside tables and lamps, chairs, desks, wardrobes or any form of creature comfort beyond a bed. Even more basic than some of our dodgy holiday hotels.

The verandah was an old creaky affair that ran the length of the monastery suspended out from the rocks and supported by a rustic wooden structure beneath. We felt it prudent to tread lightly! The only ornamental relief there were some church bells, a wooden gong and mallet which by the look of the gong were there for function not appearance and three further oblong metal gongs of graduated sizes.

Back down to the vestibule level where the priest made visitors (and there were only 6 of us during the time we were there) coffee and provided biscuits, water, and most incongruously, Turkish Delight.

After about half an hour, so 20 minutes into “closed time” we headed off, grateful for the priest’s kindness and leniency.

Huffed and puffed our way back up through the forest path, took some more photos of the lovely surrounds. Had also heard of a town nearby worth looking at so went in search. Followed yet more bendy roads (warning: motion sickness sufferers do not come)to a small but full carpark. Many minutes passed faffing about where to park along the road, ‘Here?’ ‘Yes that’ll do, other cars can pass.’ Then ‘No, think we’ll park there.’ ‘OK then.’ ‘No maybe not. Let me just go there’ followed by a reversal without taking the bend of the road and getting eye bulgingly close a small dip off the road that the little Micra would have trouble getting back up again (nothing to do with the navigator this time). Stopped in the nick of time which coincided with a minivan on tour studying Ancient Greek about to head off from the carpark. Chris waited for the stragglers to pile back in the bus and meanwhile the tour leader advised the town not worth a visit. We took him at his word. Instead went down to the fast flowing Lousios river where a few people were picnicking for the day. Would have been a beautiful place for rafting and swimming but getting the bathers out for a 10 minute swim for one (me) too much fuss. Instead filled my water bottle with fresh cool water and we headed off towards Mystras.

Stopped off for lunch of yet another Greek Salad -perfect lunch fare - under a terrace in a pretty stone village then 1.5 hours more of mountain roads which eventually flattened out a bit to olive tree and orange tree country

I’d had a Mystras accommodation suggestion from Teresa the lady I’d fortuitously met in Melbourne who runs Peloponnese tours. As we approached Mystras we passed it and luckily it had a vacancy. Quirky and large room with magnificent view over the valley and to the mountains beyond. Dinner was at a restaurant Chris had seen recommend in Lonely Planet. 250 metres up a steep hill and rewarded by a seat on the terrace overlooking the mountains and the ruins of Mystras not far away. Dinner was ok, not quite as fabulous as its reviews intimated. Also hindered by no vodka and tonic, rosé that was like engine oil, my first menu preference not available and lots of dishes with creamy sauce that Chris can’t handle. Still the setting was first class and we didn’t go home hungry.

As usual when time came to settle, mine host requested cash declaring his card machine wasn’t working today. I can bet my bottom Euro it wasn’t working yesterday and it won’t be working tomorrow either. This ruse was delivered in hushed tones to each table but it’s the way of things nearly everywhere in Greece. So then we played a game of bluff. I said I wasn’t sure we had enough cash so he double-bluffed me saying we could leave without paying and transfer the cash to his account later. Would like to have taken him up on this to see if he would seriously let two strangers leave on an eat-now-pay-later basis. I think the machine might have sprung into action if all diners took this stance. But I miraculously ‘found’ a €50 note and paid. After all it’s endemic through Greece and one tourist’s obstinate moral stance will change nothing.

[rgr-pop]

When Cathedrals Were White is really strange and strangely underconsidered. It’s Le Corbusier’s Democracy in America, kind of: went on a speaking tour and wrote a book about looking at New York. It’s part travelogue and part proposition for a new New York. But it’s not just about New York (everyone says it is about New York!), it is also about Detroit, it contains scenes from his visit to both Ford and Cranbrook. It is a surprising book mostly, but the visit to Detroit is like a thousand others I’ve read before. It’s not surprising. This passage is funny!

This book is about the color white, and whiteness, both, interchangeably. 

Yes, the cathedrals were white, completely white, dazzling and young-and not black, dirty, old. The whole period was fresh and young.

I guess this book was written in the thirties but translated into English in 1946. In 1946 Corbu was working not only for the UN, coming back to the US to find a site for the headquarters, he was also working for de Gaulle’s Ministry of Reconstruction. Vers une Architecture is about revolution, Cathedrals in translation feels sometimes like it is about reconstruction.

Middle Ages? That is where we are today: the world to be put in order, to be put in order on piles of debris, as was done once before on the debris of antiquity, when the cathedrals were white.

This isn’t Corbu’s only book about color, but I think it’s his only book about the color white. I wondered why none of the books I have on him talked much at all about his theories of white, why white. I had to memorize his dumb points in architecture history class, but never why white.

In Cathedrals, white is a material and it is also, explicitly, often, race:

When the cathedrals were white, Europe had organized the crafts under the imperative impulse of a quite new, marvelous, and exceedingly daring technique the use of which led to unexpected systems of forms-in fact to forms whose spirit disdained the legacy of a thousand years of tradition, not hesitating to thrust civilization toward an unknown adventure. An international language reigned wherever the white race was, favoring the exchange of ideas and the transfer of culture. An international style had spread from the West to the East and from the North to the South-a style which carried with it the passionate stream of spiritual delights: love of art, disinterestedness, joy of living in creating.

The cathedrals were white because they were new. The cities were new; they were constructed all at once, in an orderly way, regular, geometric, in accordance with plans. The freshly cut stone of France was dazzling in its whiteness, as the Acropolis in Athens had been white and dazzling, as the Pyramids of Egypt had gleamed with polished granite. Above all the cities and towns encircled by new walls, the skyscrapers of God dominated the countryside. They had made them as high as possible, extraordinarily high. It may seem a disproportion in the ensemble. Not at all, it was an act of optimism, a gesture of courage, a sign of pride, a proof of mastery! In addressing themselves to God, men did not sign their own abdication.

The new world was beginning. White, limpid, joyous, clean, clear, and without hesitations, the new world was opening up like a flower among the ruins. They left behind them all recognized ways of doing things; they turned their backs on all that. In a hundred years the marvel was accomplished and Europe was changed. 

The cathedrals were white.

Get this!:

To speak of American trains is to speak of something quite different from the dull gloom of our conveyances. Grand Central Terminal is a marvel, and I am not referring to the technical accomplishment of the engineers. I am speaking simply as an ordinary traveler and I say that taking a train here is a pleasure excursion.

First, it is clean. It is kept clean constantly by an army of excellent Negroes who are polite, attentive, and never obnoxiously grasping. 

He has solutions both strange and unsurprising. There is a chapter called “The Spirit of the Machine, and Negroes in the USA” in which jazz functions as space does elsewhere in his writings. But then, also:

The jazz is more advanced than the architecture. If architecture were at the point reached by jazz, it would be an incredible spectacle.

Here is a bit on Corbu in Harlem. I do not know that it answers my question, jazz-as-space. This chapter is about jazz as “machine,” as technology to some degree, but it activates his concern with the dual problems of history/prehistory and humanism/essentialism. 

Psycho-physiologically it is so powerful, so irresistible that it has tom us from the passivity of listening and has made us dance or gesticulate, participate. It has opened the cycle of sound of modem times, turned the page on the conservatories. New cadences, new cries, unknown groups of sounds, an exuberance, a flood, a vertiginous intensity .... Launched by the Negroes, it is American music, containing the past and the present, Africa and pre-machine age Europe and contemporary America.

It looks in many ways the same as his approach to classicism--almost. 

Peter Eisenman said, in some interview somewhere, he didn’t know who started calling the New York Five--the five subjects of Five Architects--“the Whites.” I gestured about this the other day. Maybe it’s worth explaining: the name comes from the color of their work. The color of their work is conceptual in a sense, but it is also functionally a reference to Le Corbusier. Because they were doing, rehabilitating, a kind of international style in a moment when legacy of the international style was in dispute. “The Whites” was probably to some degree a joke from the beginning, because “white box”--a term in critical revolt against the international style--or variations thereof, anyway, had been floating around by 1973. I don’t know how old it is. Frank Lloyd Wright talked about “the white-paint-men” in 1952. “White” had content, it was referring to more than the work itself. To Wright, “white” meant an absence of content. In Five Architects white was about formalism without utopia--contentless content. But to Le Corbusier, white was dialectical; in Cathedrals its content is not just revolution, but maybe reconstruction; it’s newness that demands perpetual renewal (and a labor force to do so). It also contains the classical.

So (and this is maybe less interesting and important than what I just said) it is hard to say “the Whites were called the Whites in reference to their reverence for Corbu in a moment where we are supposed to understand that the forces of history were moving against Corbu” even if that is true. Because in Five Architects Colin Rowe said that Five Architects was about looking at the formal solutions proposed by the avant-garde but leaving both the social content and the revolutionary position to which “avant-garde” referred: to do modernist boxes in 1971 was both pure formalism and, a little bit, historicist (historicist about the thirties). Neither revolutionary nor reconstructionist--well, there was arguably a kind of reversion to wholeness (Modernism) at play in their work, but I kind of think that’s been overstated. 

But in Cathedrals, white was not just formal (as in Richard Meier’s work, an extension of space) nor conceptual (as in Eisenman’s work, white in service of space as pure abstraction, plus deep structure that looks a little like Corbu’s humanism), it was both symbolic (newness) and his way of articulating a material of revolution (also newness).

In sum: How express this program?? By techniques.

[elastigirl72]

Day 21: Shkoder>Lizbahd

620km to go...I’m finally in the mountains!

7 May: Shkoder 07:27am

Given I am a certified and ex practicing sports and rehab massage therapist who still actively promotes stretching and regular massage for active people, lying in my €35 spa having the massage of my life, I was alarmed to fail to recall without some effort my last similar session. It was well over a year ago. Also apparent was my failure on good, regular stretching. I’d been on a cycling yoga week last year, trying to will myself into better self-care with the lovely Sinead, cycling yoga star in Ireland. I am proud to have kept a few of hers, which should only be done in the confines of privacy as they could be taken as some sort of lap dance in the wrong setting. I have my own MASH stretch which I have to say is pretty damn awesome 😊. This young lady, who combined this job with school was one of the best therapists I’ve stumbled across, including myofascial release as part of her treatment. Weirdly, even knowing I was a cyclist, time ran out before she got to my quads. I paid her extra and she spent a good 15 minutes on each, each stroke reminding me how much abuse my legs had taken, largely over the last few weeks. I didn’t train hard for my adventure, and this was by design. Looking at my training log, you could be forgiven in thinking that I might have retired completely from cycling in November, only seeing an ember burning almost undetectable in January. Then, one dark, wet, typical Forest Saturday morning, making Kalamata olive ciabatta toast, I wondered “Where exactly is Kalamata?”. About an hour later, I not only knew where, I’d booked a return flight, and figured out a 2,200 mile route there in April, how long I’d ride each day, and about 1000 permutations of getting there. This was it. It was set. Only it wasn’t. Work threw in the possibility of a work event a day after I was due to fly back...and 3 days before setting off, it was confirmed as Istanbul.

Flying home from Kalamata on 11 May and back to Istanbul a day later would have meant a minimum of 16 hours travel doors to doors. The options I considered were to fly home, cycle to Istanbul, charter a yacht (yes, seriously, I did look into this!), get a bus from Athens to Istanbul (no pre-booking possible for the bike). After much deliberation, cogitation and planning, Athens won, with my bike case and work clothes being shipped to a hotel I booked on hotel rewords points. It seemed fitting too, as I’d never made it to the Athens Olympics as an athlete, but I got close, and next to qualifying, this trip is the biggest sporting conquest I’d attempted. It would be great to finish my ride at the Acropolis, but let’s see...thinking about how close I got to being an Olympian still is a bittersweet memory. Less than two minutes, a toilet stop in fact, and just a little bit faster and I’d have been there. But what I take from trying is that even though I ran my first marathon when I was 18, and didn’t think I was any good at running (this left it in the past until the months after my mum died in 1998, and from that event and to this day, sport has been my Lynch pin in coping with and celebrating life’s rollercoaster), I qualified as a mum o two young children, who to this day, probably still don’t see what hard work went in, and may well believe if you dream it, you can do it. It’s not a bad philosophy to have! That and blessed with good genes 😊.

And yet all so laughable! Here I sit, waiting for breakfast, the barista chuckling at my need for a third cappuccino (they’re tiny really, but delicious, and I giggle too, explaining I’m very tired 😆). I need it, it’s a big day today.

I’ve decided to cycle into the mountains, towards Pogradec, a village or town by a mountain lake. To check the route, I’ve planted in Athens a billion times and plotted by car (avoiding motorways, ferries and tolls) and by foot, put a pin in what looks like a country lane or a busy road to check the road conditions, and loosely made a plan: get past Tirana and head South East. It looks like I’ll spend another two nights before hitting Greece. Dare I say it, but the weather forecast and maps look fairly decent, but for now, the gear stays stuck on my back...

May 9: Librazhd - 05:19

Well, so much to digest from the last 40 or so hours in Albania. There’s still around 120km here to cover, and if my bike and body survive, we will make Greece today and my bed in Kastoria in around 100 miles...another big day - in the mountains.

In just 120 miles in this country, I have seen so much. The good, the bad, and yes, the ugly. Hearing that this is one country my pioneering explorer dad has not visited (I think this is a lifetime first between his coverage of the globe and mine) because its borders were closed when he ran is Overlander business, and learning from a Roman Empire history documentation that whilst the Roman Empire ruled all of the Mediterranean, except Albania, leads me to believe this country has an incredible past, and I need to investigate.

I learnt that Albanians have an industry built on roadside trade, most notably, car washes, petrol stations and attached to every petrol station, a hotel. Most of the people visible in daylight appear to be men; I barely saw a woman, either in the villages or city, and as a woman, this felt quite overwhelming, for no other reason than the imbalance. It meant that whilst the multitude of coffee shops were on offer, I didn’t want to stop. Already looking like an alien dropped from space, putting myself directly amongst gangs of rugged men who seemed to have nowhere to go and nothing to do was too much. That’s just me! But cycling past the many who stood at the side of the road and had stopped doing whatever they were doing, if in fact they were doing anything at all, they stood frozen, eyes and mouth agape. In no other country have I passed through have I had so many positive shouts and I guess, encouraging comments (for all I know they could have been shouting “loser!”). The contrast between those that have and have not was huge.

The road surfaces were very curious. In most places I’d visited, as you entered a town or city, the roads in Europe would be pothole free and markings better than the surrounding country roads. But in Albania, any town or city, the roads dissolved. A network of potholes you could disappear into and a patchwork of concrete “plasters”, and for no apparent reason, countless and pointless road jumps, unmarked, without any warning, which all cars, bling or ancient, rolled over so slowly, as if dampners and suspension were extinct and they had to maintain what they had.

Tirana, Albania’s capital, brought all my observations to a massive climax. Any Highway Code had not been introduced, and for a long time I decided they needed traffic lights at the very least (they did eventually appear). I saw the most insane driving I’ve ever seen in my life, making the film Ronin look like a police training video on how to drive safely around a city. At no other point during this trip had I felt as petrified for my safety as here. Checking my options at the worst point, I stopped at an intersection where coaches pulled up and double parked, a large verge, covered in mud, waste and men, sitting between and on it, police standing close, travellers trying to wheel suitcases over uneven verges, and me needing to make a decision on how the hell to get it out with my life. Google suggested what looked like the motorway, which started at this same junction. I confirmed with the police standing close by and they confirmed I could ride my bike on this road, and stopped the traffic to let me go. It was Russian roulette, but as soon as I hit the ring road’s massive hard shoulder, I felt my life had been saved and escape was nigh.

7km later, and I had reached the mountain road, SH3, the old Elbasan Road, replaced by the recently completed A3 that ran parallel. Order restored, the road started to climb. Given this was recently a major thoroughfare to the mountains, I wondered what would happen to the many restaurants and hotels that flowed with the road, through villages up towards the sky. It was quite haunting, and the stray dogs began to reveal themselves again. Children waved and one even raced me up a section, whilst another shouted “Hallo! Have an enjoyable day!” The climb was amazing, good road, and it felt like I owned it. I saw three cyclists in all, all heavily laden with panniers. I past cheerily one octogenarian going up and two coming the other way going down. It’s easy to see why they built a tunnel to take cars through the mountain, but it was their loss and my gain.

Here, in the land where I have seen more people walking their cow than their dogs, who in turn, run free , civic pride does not exist for what I have seen of Albania so far. It contrasts the most breathtaking landscapes, and shows diversity to the rest of Europe, yet fly-tipping is common, expected even, and mounds of wrecked cars are all to frequent. There are many ruined buildings and near Lehze, I passed what can only be described as a ghost town and factory, which was really sinister. Is this down to a poor state and government? Clearly there are people here who have wealth but the overriding feeling is this country is poor. It wants to be western but can’t quite bridge the gap. I feel very keen to explore its history.

Approaching the top of the mountain, which seemed like the top of the world, I happened upon the most cunning canine skullduggery I’ve ever witnessed. The mountaintop restaurant invited guests to it for 6km, and it was a real possibility that I might drop in. But as it appeared, there appeared to be a dead dog lying in the road directly in front of it, with two more dogs lying in wait to the side. Feeling both sad, but also danger, I pedalled slowly and quietly, not wanting to alarm the dogs to my side, and hoping to pass the dead dog without seeing too much gore. Then, just as I ran parallel, BOOM! he was up, his mates joining him in charging for me, up the remaining mountain! Luckily, I’d anticipated this ambush, and put down the biggest power of my life, as if being chased by a bear. I escaped, but my god! How brilliant of these stray masters of terror? Please, no more like this!

The climb was the day’s highlight, and telling myself that whatever hotel arrived at 100 miles, that’s where I was staying. As if my magic, a petrol station and a Swiss chalet looking hotel.

There’s not much to say about this place, except a stark contrast from the same priced oasis I had stayed at near Shkoder. Here, the food was bland and sparse, and the staff didn’t care as much as my last hotel. At Launi-A, seeing how much food I had put away the night before, at breakfast, they just kept bringing basket after basket of food! That hotel and its staff will keep me going for many years to come as the nicest surprise, and a great introduction to Albania.

And now, breakfast. A lovely Albanian who speaks good English and has lit the fire me and I have amazing coffee. It will be a good day! Ξεκίνα 😃 Even here, this far south, there’s snow on the mountains ahead! Titanium by David Gueta and Sia playing on the empty restaurant speakers...bring on the day 🌈

[author-morgan]

Phobia ☤ Alexios

three - a songbird’s cage

masterlist

“Be strong, saith my heart; I am a soldier; I have seen worse sights than this.”

Fate decrees two kindred souls from two different empires will find one another, and the spear shall be made whole again.

"ATTIKA!" THE SHIP captain announces three days after they depart from the Port of Miletus. Piraeus rises from the sea in greeting with Athens in the background. Zephyr pays for their passage across the Aegean and leads Irene from the docks.

The civilians point them toward the leader's villa in the southern half of the city. Irene looks to the acropolis, ruins sit upon the hill but one of the columns falls. Its impact shakes the earth. Zephyr takes her hand, pulling her back to the task at hand. A pair of sentinels keep vigilance outside the entrance. They both step forward as Zephyr and Irene approach. "We must speak with Perikles."

Athens' leader comes forward, hands clasped in front of him. At first, Zephyr's request for an audience is denied, but upon seeing the unbroken seal of Hydarnes on a scroll the statesman quickly reconsiders. Perikles invites both of them into the villa, escorts them up to his private solar and away from prying ears.

Zephyr hands the scroll to the statesman and waits while he reads over the message. "This is grave news," Perikles announces –sticking one end of the parchment into a burning candle then dropping it into a krater to continue burning. He motions for the young Persian man to come closer. Irene sits quietly, listening intently.

The door opens, and a woman with dark hair, clothed in a fine blue peplos enters. She walks over to the Athenian, rests one of her hands on his shoulder. "Aspasia," Perikles greets with a warm smile, extending his arm from her to their guests. "This is the son of Princess Amytis and the daughter of Hydarnes. They have come seeking sanctuary."

"Welcome," she replies with a smile –gaze lingering on Irene. Discussions resume promptly and proceed into the late afternoon. Perikles and Zephyr have come to terms -they will be allowed to stay in Athens.

"While I cannot give you my absolute word, I can give you opportunity," Perikles notes. The young man has already proved himself to be an efficacious and taciturn speaker –two qualities present in most politicians. Aspasia leans toward her partner, whispers something in his ear causing him to nod in agreement. "Come to the symposium on the morrow. For now, Megara will see you to a villa."

On cue, a young woman enters the room. Zephyr rises and bows his head in gratitude. "We are in your debt, Perikles," he says, motioning Irene over to him. The statesman gives a reserved smile, but the dark glint in Aspasia's eyes does not sit well with him. Given the opportunity, Zephyr excels in politics and philosophy and though young, Irene watches and learns.

FOR THE ENTITY of their evening meal, he has been staring at a scroll –its seal already broken. Zephyr doesn't know how to tell Irene what the scroll says. People say he has a silvertongue, but now it has turned to lead. "Hydarnes is dead," he says –regretting the lack of empathy in the words. "Slain by the Order of Ancients." He spares her from the details. The princess is still young and does not need to know the tortures her protector endured.

"What?" Irene asks, dropping an apricot to the floor. She doesn't think she heard him right. Hydarnes couldn't be dead. He was one of the best warriors in Persia. Everyone respected him –even the likes of Perikles. She thinks back to the night when everything changed, the old general had been adamant about seeing her flee Ephesus and refused to follow. The princess starts to shake, tears gather in her eyes. "Did he die because of me?"

"No!" Zephyr says quickly, gripping onto her shoulders. "The Order of Ancients did this, Irene. Not you." He draws in a slow, deep breath and glances down at his hands. He isn't meant to be the one to tell her, but there is no one else in Greece who knows the truth. "I suppose it's time you know." Irene looks at him as if he has grown a second head. She knows her truth -as the daughter of Hydarnes. "You are a Princess of Persia," Zephyr tells her. "Amytis was your mother and mine."

Irene wants to laugh, but it sticks in her throat. "Brother?" She whispers, uncertain.

Zephyr nods then offers a weak smile. "Sister. You never supposed to know," he admits, kneeling in front of her. Hydarnes had been convinced anonymity was the only to protect Irene from the Order. Though now that she knows her heritage, she can begin to protect herself as well.

"My father-" Irene starts, unsure if she wants to know the truth, "-was Apollonides of Kos," her brother finishes. Zephyr brushes away her tears and moves short wisps of dark hair away from her round face. "But what matters is that we have each other now, and we always will."

HER BROTHER HAS laid down his sword and spear, settling instead for intellectual battles with the likes of Sokrates and Anaxagoras. Irene is not so accommodating of the change. Hydarnes had trained with her every afternoon. She was not going to give up years of lessons and trade a sword for a pen when she could effectively wield both.

Zephyr finds her in the courtyard of their villa, jabbing an invisible foe with a broken spear. He would find it amusing if they were not supposed to attend a meeting in the upper agora with Perikles and his ward. "What do you think you're doing?" He asks, crossing his arms.

"Training," she answers, pausing only to pick up a blunted kopis.

His sister wields the two blades with efficiency. She is light on her feet and quick. Though for all her training she has never seen combat. Zephyr hopes she never will, but relations between Sparta and Athens are deteriorating and war looms on the horizon. "For what?"

Anger flares up in her eyes. She has grown tired of the sheltered life Zephyr insists is for her well-being since entering womanhood. Small moments of freedom and glances at the world outside the city walls feed her ambition. "War? Peace? For when I walk the streets alone at night?" In her ire, she doesn't notice the spear is glowing until its power knocks her back and to the ground.

Lightning flashes and thunder erupts. A woman screams and a boy falls from the mountainside. It's always the same thing –a memory that does not belong to her. "Irene!" Her brother exclaims, falling to his knees next to her. It always frightens him when this happens.

The vision fades almost as quickly as begins. She sits up, glances between the spear and her brother then rises to her feet. "I'll be down to the agora shortly," Irene tells him and through her false smile, he can see the war waging in her thoughts.

ONE NIGHT, SHE sneaks out of the city and roams the countryside. It is quiet and peaceful, even among the ruins of Hera's temple. From the felled columns of marble, ships can be seen entering Saronic Gulf from the Aegean in the west. To the east are the rugged stone hills that protect Athens on one side. Anthousai dance among the shadows of the ruins and white flowers bloom under Selene's light.

Irene's calm is interrupted by the desperate cries of a woman and the laughing of men. She looks up at Selene, draws in a heavy breath and follows the pleading cries into the forest.

Two men loom over a bloodied woman –no older than Irene. She glances around the small clearing, sees there are no others around. Zephyr would tell her to move on. Every act of injustice cannot be prevented, and it is not her place to intervene with the will of the gods. But Irene knows she must act.

Quiet as a shadow, she approaches one of the men –grip tightening on the broken spear. The man cries out as the spearhead sinks into the hollow flesh under his left arm. Blood sluices down the wooden shaft as Irene wrenches it free.

The second man frees a rusty kopis, comes toward her swinging. She ducks down, and the man's swing cuts air. He is slow and clumsy with the smell of wine heavy on his breath. Each miss enrages him, but his moves are predictable. Irene closes in, finding an opening and thrusts the spear up and through the drunkard's neck. The sword falls from his grasp. She jerks the spear free, steps back as the second man stumbles and falls –unmoving.

Hydarnes told her you always remember your first kill, the first time you see the life fade from someone's eyes by your own hand. The spear slides from her fingers –she feels sick. The two corpses wear the sigil of Athenian soldiers. "You killed them," the woman states, backing away from Irene. The princess says nothing in response, only tries to calm her erratic heart and labored breathing. The woman recognizes her rescuer as one of the Athenian elites. "You're-" she starts.

"Go!" Irene shouts lowering her head to hide her face before the woman can finish the sentence. Footsteps fade into the forest and when the princess looks up, she is alone. Blood coats her hands and stains her white chlamys. Gathering the broken spear from the ground, Irene runs.

She stumbles, falls into a stream and begins scrubbing her hands and the white linen, desperately trying to wash away the blood –it only makes the stains larger. The sight causes her to retch. The princess wonders how many lives a soldier or mercenary must take before the guilt goes away.