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[newcapitalproperty]

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[whatisonthemoon]

South Korea Christianity Creeps Upon Buddhism (1984)

By Clyde Haberman New York Times March 26, 1984

Among the first sights to catch the visitor's eye are the crosses.

It is not just that there are so many of them, perched upon buildings and forming rooftop latticework across many blocks. What startles in South Korean cities is how the crosses are set on pyramid steel towers, struggling, in advertisement for themselves, to reach higher than those atop neighboring churches. At night, they glow in red neon against the sky.

In parts of Seoul, people leave home as early as 4:30 A.M. to attend church services. One Roman Catholic parish south of the Han River in the capital is so busy that it holds nine masses each Sunday. Here in the country's southwest, church officials say there are not enough ministers and priests to fill the spiritual demand.

''Every parish has three or four masses on Sundays, most of them four,'' said the Roman Catholic Archbishop of Kwangju, Youn Kong Hi. ''The main masses are always packed.'' Adherents Doubled in Decade

At a time when Christianity worries about its future in Western countries, it is flourishing to such an extent in South Korea that many people expect it to overtake Buddhism in a few years as the No. 1 religion. The number of Christians doubled in the last decade, and most denominations expect it will double again over the next 10 years.

The spectacular growth will be highlighted when Pope John Paul II visits in early May to commemorate 200 years of Roman Catholicism in Korea and to canonize 103 Christian martyrs who fell victim to persecution a century ago.

According to Government surveys, one out of six South Koreans now identifies himself or herself as a Christian, but church leaders believe the true figure is closer to one out of four, or a total of 9 million people among the country's population of 40 million.

Catholics account for 1.5 million of the total, and Presbyterians, with 5 million people, are by far the largest Protestant denomination. Although some Americans associate Korean Christianity with the Rev. Moon Sun Myung and his Unification Church, he is a minor force here. 11 Million Buddhists

There are, by some estimates, 11 million Buddhists, along with smaller numbers of adherents to Confucianism, Shamanism, Islam and a homegrown religion known as Chondogyo.

In many respects, Christianity here is a mirror of the South Korean spirit - assertive, pragmatic and given to a measure of fractiousness. There are at least 68 identifiable denominations and subdenominations. The Presbyterians alone are divided into five major groups and 27 smaller ones.

Christianity has become one of the strongest forces in the country politically as well.

Church officials and laymen, for example, provide a core of opposition to the four-year-old regime of President Chun Doo Hwan. Denominations associated with the often-anti-Government National Council of Churches in Korea claim 2.1 million members. Nor is the arrest of clergymen unknown during Mr. Chun's tenure.

It is the social activism of certain churches rather than their spiritual dynamism that attracts some followers. ''Many people feel that religious cover is safer than being alone in the opposition camp,'' said Oh Jae Shik, a National Council of Churches official. Most Sects Are Conservative

But while Christians may be conspicuous among South Korean dissidents, those who are actively opposed to the authoritarian Government constitute a small percentage of the overall church population. Most sects, if they have politics at all, are conservative, providing leaders of government as well as critics. Of the dozen aides to President Chun killed in last fall's bombing attack in Rangoon, Burma, during a presidential visit there, half were Christians.

Perhaps no better example of Korean Christianity's vitality exists than the Full Gospel Church in Seoul, a stronghold of evangelism that aggressively recruits its members, now said to number 350,000.

Sundays at Full Gospel bring echoes of Madison Square Garden. For each of the seven services, 10,000 people fit into the cavernous main chapel and 15,000 more attend in a dozen adjacent auditoriums. They watch on closed-circuit television while the preacher watches them back on a 12-monitor console. Through the day, nine choirs and two orchestras provide liturgical music.

The message at Full Gospel is hope - that life in the world, not to mention in South Korea, is fine. ''We must get rid of grumblings and complaints,'' the Rev. Cho Yong Mok said in a recent sermon. French Introduced Catholicism

Christianity traces its origins in Korea to French Catholic priests who came two centuries ago during the Yi dynasty. But the religion did not begin to flourish until after the arrival of an American Presbyterian missionary, Horace Allen, in 1884 - another anniversary being marked this year. By the early part of this century, the religion had taken such firm hold that not even fervently anti-Christian Japanese could root it out during their 35-year colonial rule.

The grand leaps in South Korean church membership began in the 1960's, particularly among the better educated and more affluent. Even those who try to explain why acknowledge they cannot be sure they are right.

''Traditionally, Korean people like to believe in something,'' said Lee Jung Bae, director general for religious affairs in the Ministry of Culture and Information. Buddhism, many argue, has become a relatively weak social force in South Korea and is thus easily supplanted by Christianity.

Some think the prominence of clergymen in the anti-Japanese resistance enhanced the church's reputation. Favorable views of Westerners, especially Americans after World War II, may have made it easier to accept the West's religion. Then, too, some say, Christianity's message of salvation can be a comfort to people who endured years of economic and political instability.

As practiced here, Christianity is flecked lightly with traces of folk religions such as shamanism, which stresses spirituality's more discernible benefits. Shamans - usually women - intercede on behalf of their clients with good spirits and exorcise the evil ones. 'Mechanistic Approach' Noted

In a similar manner, Christian prayer sometimes takes a ''mechanistic approach,'' according to Horace Underwood, assistant to the president of Yongsei University, a Presbyterian school. ''If you say it enough and pester the Lord enough, then he's going to do it.''

This underlying pragmatism troubles many clergymen, as does a tendency to concentrate more on increasing church memberships than improving the quality of worship. In a Gallup Poll taken last year, 62.8 percent of South Korean Christians surveyed said social work should be their church's primary mission, but only 16.7 percent thought that it actually was.

Whether Christianity's spectacular growth can continue is a matter for debate. Mr. Lee of the Culture Ministry argues that rapidly growing affluence makes it only a matter of time before South Koreans, like many Westerners, look elsewhere than the church.

Maybe, others say. ''The growth is bound to slow down,'' said Mr. Underwood of Yonsei. ''But I've seen no evidence of it yet.''

[mscottontail-stash]

The Downhill Path

All these days will pass; they will pass in crowds Over the face of the seas, over the face of the mountains, Over rivers of silver, over the rolling forests Like a distant hymn for our beloved dead.

Victor Hugo, Setting Suns

I. How it All Works Out

Paris was riveting in the spring.

With the Champs-Elysées in full bloom, the Eiffel Tower shimmering in the clear skies— it gave the heart of France an air of postcard made reality.

She couldn’t bring herself to care about any of it.

Still half-asleep, Céline turned away from the dimming lights outside and tossed in her sheets once more.

Almost a year in and she had never even glimpsed the full sun shining on the City of Love. Had never come close to exiting the Métro near its most popular stops, had not even entertained the thought of approaching the most prestigious arrondissements of Europe’s beating heart. And why would she have?

Crowds of tourists indulging in buttered pastries and snaps of the Louvre Pyramid were the exact things she tried to avoid. Granted, after five years lost in and out of physical existence, she would have thought her appetite for life would have emerged with a vengeance. And emerged it had, simply not in the way someone caged for months should have.

Eyes closed, she tried to pinpoint the exact moment the sun disappeared behind the building blocking the view of the ground floor she lived in. Slowly, her hazel eyes watched the shadows grow on the dried paint, coercing herself out of bed with the promise of black coffee and a lukewarm shower.

She used to claw at the promise of outside, of the sky under her head and the sun kissing her skin, closing her eyes to savor the heat. She would have begged for anything to smell something else than waste and despair— Until these frozen seconds, from life to dust and life once more. And now?

Now the world was just too much.

Too much noise and furious horns in the frantic traffic of the city, with delivery guys ramming their bikes around, with waiters and street vendors and people in a hurry, people, people everywhere. The sun, the heat, the voices— she drowned in it. Like a great wave pulling her under, she had quickly realized she was unable to cope with the furious pull of this sea.

So why did she crave each miserable second underwater?

Humming, she let her right hand stay under the faucet until it turned slightly red. This simple tingling made her want to stay under water until it bubbled, an ugly shade of white searing her flesh straight to the bone.

Calmly, she looked at her untouched skin and sighed.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she whispered to the empty room.

Lately, she had taken to being her main critic. It ranged from calling herself a dumb bitch close to twenty-four times a day to strongly staring at herself in the chipped mirror of her bathroom until she felt confident enough to go outside. So far, none of these highly sophisticated methods had managed to chase away weird ideas such as burning a perfectly-working limb.

The woman who had offered consultations at the free clinic down the road had called these ghastly cravings “recurring thoughts”. Invasive images or ideas that popped by uninvited. It came and went, oblivious to whatever she was doing or what state she was in.

She had tried really hard to do the mature thing and deal with her shit properly. The initial appointment with Mrs. Torpe had been okay: they had mostly dealt with paperwork, how therapy was supposed to go and what could be achieved in that timeframe. Fifty euros had seemed like a fair price for someone willing to put up with her twice a month.

By the time the second appointment had drawn closer, she had pictured herself sitting in the same room to talk about things that made no sense; wolves in the snow, mice trapped in ice and bleeding flowers creeping out of the stone cracks… she did not have the courage to think about what would come next. At best, she would be committed. Then her flimsy identity wouldn’t withstand close scrutiny and then someone, somewhere, would know. And wasn’t it how they had gotten to her the first time, the only time? When she had not known she was safe until it had been ripped away from her. Better sleep less and get crazy thoughts if it meant staying alive.

Perhaps she was just giving herself excuses. She wanted to get better, but being a coward had served her well and she did not feel ready to be brave just yet. Healing, at its root, was not a gentle thing; it was exhausting, drawing on whatever energy that was left to burn the wounds away. Did she really want to put herself through these hoops because it was the right thing to do? Nobody could ever decide when there had been enough pain.

She did not know if it made her weak or pathetic to consistently avoid getting into something that she felt was too hard, but she had decided it was nobody’s business but her own if she lacked the stomach to face the truth.

And what truth would she uncover, anyway? Hazy, drug-fueled experiments had a way of making you doubt you’d even been through the things that seared your mind. And even so, maybe it wasn’t the memories she was so afraid of, but to make them real. Using words to conjure up the Wolf and its steel rod, to spin around and feel stone walls suffocating her in the dark.

What if she was told none of it had been real? That she just couldn’t enter a lift like a normal person because she was just fucked in the head and it was no one’s fault but hers, not some made-up prison, her.

Breathing in, she forced herself to reach a spot in the base of her skull. Here, she could feel the piece of missing skin that had kept her sane, the one feeling she knew would always be real no matter what flowed in her bloodstream. There were other ways to prove to herself and the world the unspeakable things that had been done in the name of progress. Each time her mind drew closer to this truth, every muscle in her body would tightens until she cramped. She was too afraid to reach for the space that existed in the pit of her belly; either because she knew the danger it could bring, or because it was no longer here.

Beyond everything, this theft was the loss she mourned the most. They had taken many things from her over the agonizing weeks. Her freedom. Her dignity. The humanity in herself, the belief of something good in each in every person. But to feel the vacant space that once housed that spark, the great bond to something truly marvelous that had been just hers— each time her brain tried to make sense of it she would come back to that crappy apartment more shitfaced that the night before. This was what pushed her out in the streets every night: a chase for something that was gone, and that she feared would never come back.

Humans were flawed in that way; sometimes they simply mourned themselves.

Céline snorted, head facing the showerhead: being gloomy was certainly no cure. She let the water roll on her shoulders some more before slipping out of the tiny bathroom corner, her soaked feet adding to the general mold of the place. Not that she was complaining about this “lovely, cozy flat with caractère” sold by the chain-smoker lady living above her. Her flat was crappy, but it was functional. Not unlike its tenant, she often remarked.

She counted herself lucky to have a roof over her head, especially post-Blip. The surge of population had not made living in the Capital any easier. She could have fallen prey to the marchands de sommeil, sleep merchants that rented terrible holes to desperate people. The only reason she had snatched this place was thanks to some acquaintances at the GRC, citizens stuck in the same administrative limbo she had enjoyed for a while.

Real estate was a mess and no place was easy to grab, yet she had managed that one, probably because her French was good and her manners quiet enough for this neighborhood at the edge of seedier streets. Madame Bruyère had only cared about the duration of her stay, if she was employed and if she was going to bring people in to party and criminal activities of any kind. It must had been a winning “Long enough-yes-no” because here she was now, living in the antiquated building close to work.

It could have been worse. She could have stayed penniless after being processed by the Global Repatriation Council, but the overworked staff had been glad to ship her off to central Europe when she had filled out one single flimsy application. She had lied, of course. Pretended to be shell-shocked by her body turning to dust and reappearing to find herself five years in the future. It had not been a hard lie to sell.

She had come back in the same state she had vanished, a bloody mess in rags on the verge of passing out. A blond man had asked her a couple of questions in broken English, tried to check on her before getting wary of her shrieks. Once he had understood she was in no immediate danger, a nurse had simply shoved her in a corner and waited a couple of weeks to start asking questions. Looking back, she did not know if she was more ashamed by her lashing out than her piss-poor resistance.

She had had time to understand what the hell had happened. Saw the ruined Avengers Compound on the news. Processed that the tundra was gone, the Wolf was gone, and everyone she had cared for was gone. She had watched out for anyone else, friend or foe, but the mednyy devochka, the brass-skinned girl, had been the only thing to ever come back from that particular limbo. Happiness. Bitterness. It all meshed into the same blur that had been the GRC camp.

The only thing that had left an impression were the people that had blipped back alongside her. They had been from all over the world, people on planes and boats, lost and confused, swimming in the same big parenthesis that was the time after their return. Who had left with them and who had remained? What had changed and what was still the same? Five years may have been a moment for them, but it was a long time for everyone and everything else.  

Oftentimes, kin would come to reunite with their loved ones. Other days, some returned would break down under the strain of this new reality. Céline had not known what had been more heartbreaking to witness. She used to have the selfish thought that at least other people eventually moved on, that the faces that came and went all around her changed. She didn’t know if she had improved much from her days in Kiev, but she liked to think so.

The girl in the mirror wasn’t sure either.

Seeing her reflection every day was a necessary pain. She needed to see, to look at herself touching her dark hair and golden skin and not have to repeat that all of this whisper of a life was real, not just a delusion brought by torment and anesthetics.

It didn’t mean reality was any kinder.

She wasn’t “just thin”. Baggy dresses and leather jackets helped to hide the hollow shapes of her body, but staring at her naked reflection had a way of bluntly highlighting her sorry state. Infrequent meals, hard liquor and poor sleep had not really helped her getting back to something more than a bag of bones. As with everything, she was trying, failing, and trying some more; little by little, one beef tacos at a time, six hours of sleep once every week, breathing in.

Her eyes trailed on the little fragments of paper pinned to the frame of the mirror. Bits and pieces of poetry, of articles, of words she liked. She let her fingers linger over John Donne’s No Man is an Island. She mouthed the words, comforting for a reason she couldn’t quite grasp: “every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.”

She didn’t like the way clothes sagged on her, didn’t like the yellow shade of her dark skin, the way climbing a few stairs left her winded. She even missed complaining about her period once every month, because the absence of blood made her painfully aware that her body wasn’t working as it should. That everything was not fine, that progress was slow. Still, she kept trying on her own.

She ended her examination with the same hopeful resignation: She would get there.

Grabbing the clothes she had selected for the evening, she finished her preparation with some makeup and a quick look at the club she had spotted a few nights ago. She had to work from 5 to 10, but the rest of her time was her own. It was easy to forget how good it felt to be able to do whatever she pleased, even if it meant doing nothing at all.

Slamming the door to her place, she exited the tight lobby at the same time her neighbor was doing the same.

An elegant, warm French-Nigerian student with pearls in her box braids, Gloria was a major in biochemistry, sold handcrafted clothes on Etsy to support an association funding single-mothers and led the singing choir of her parish on Sundays. Céline was convinced that by the time 2030 would roll, that girl would either become President somewhere or be canonized. She was simple, pure goodness. It almost hurt sometimes to be near her, to feel her compassion and strong faith in all things good and worthwhile.

They were crossing paths in more way than once; Céline, climbing slowly, on her jagged way to something slightly better. And Gloria, glorious as her name, a bright future ahead of her. That the two of them converged on a single thread in Moineaux Street never ceased to amaze the older woman.

“Hey, you!” Gloria chirped with a lovely French accent.

The onyx-skinned girl had insisted they talk English when she had realized Céline was fluent. Gloria was planning on applying to an Ivy League university next year and she wanted to “brush up” on an already flawless practice.

They exited the building together, chatting their way to the metro where they parted. Watching her disappear, Céline felt envy for the young French girl. Gloria knew without the shadow of a double who she was and what she wanted. She had plans for the next five years, and the means to achieve whatever goal she set her eyes on. No shadows had ever damaged her beliefs. It felt good to talk to someone so anchored in life, and yet it was still a curious thing, to watch life from the sidelines.

She had never been as outgoing and warm as Gloria, but she could still remember a young, hopeful girl volunteering to clean-up after global disasters and aliens fights. She hadn’t known real fear back then, only the aftermath of darkness. She still didn’t know how to feel about the Avengers, only that superheroes had been a part of her world ever since she was a little girl in a strange new place.

Céline still remembered where she had been during Tony Stark’s press conference and the revelation of his identity as Iron Man, and how they had watched the return of Captain America in her cramped dorm room not too long after that. Then the battle of New York had happened and it was the first time she had sensed the world had changed. She had been a 20-something then, fresh out of Canada and itching for a way to make her mark. Her work as a volunteer for the Red Cross had still seemed so small, the search for survivors in the rubble so daunting. Four years later and it looked like catastrophes would continue to happen, this time in Eastern Europe, and by the time she had turned 25 she had been caught into the politics of the Accords. The following years had been nothing but running, her delusions of grandeur shattered in the most painful way deep in a Russian hellhole.  

Now she was supposed to be 35 and she had let her a decade slip away from her, had let shadows engulf what could have been and, much like the world in the aftermath of Thanos’ hubris, uncertainty made her stand still.

Hesitation was a byproduct of fear, but every day she dipped her toe a little further, either found her determination or foolishness to cross the confines of humanity and back. A fine mix of liquid courage, happy pills and late-night despair often helped dissolving this great uproar into oblivion.

Then it was just easy.

There were no heavy burdens. No restraints, no threats. She did not have to ponder over her own existence, wondering who she was and where she was going and if anyone followed. She was Céline, the foreign girl who enjoyed raves and fluorescent lights on plaster. Céline was easy to talk to. She wore long-sleeved shirts because she claimed she was always cold, she loved the strong smell of camellias because it reminded her of home and she fancied Florent, the owner of the youth center she worked at five evenings per week. Céline was ordinary. Céline was safe.

Sometimes even she forgot Céline was not real.

At first she had found it difficult to make a life out of thin air. People had parents and friends, credit cards and social accounts. History. But then almost four billion people had a five-year gap to fill as well, and everything could be solved by six magical little words: I was part of the Blip. In a way, it was ironic that the first thing she had truly belonged to had been a catastrophe erasing half the world population. She didn’t know a single person that the Snap hadn’t fucked in some way or other, and yet Thanos’ decimation had saved her life. And now, to figure out what to do with it…

There was definitely a market for new identities in this world that had been empty for five years. She had been given an exorbitant price for her fresh one, a blank state that would probably be useful to criminals and con-artists.

What languages had she been good at? English. French. Spanish. London had been the easiest flight to grab, so England he had been. Her dark hair, caramel skin and brown eyes had blended well with her supposed identity. She had been Tina Abbott, a shell-shocked girl from Bristol, on her way to an Asian vacation when her body had disintegrated in the commercial plane she made out of thin air. The middle-aged bureaucrat hadn’t cared to poke holes in her stories, ticking the boxes as the story unfolded.

“Tina” had ditched her papers as soon as her correspondence flight to Brussels had landed and paid cash for the next one. Tina became Sarah and Sarah became Céline, transiting from forger to smuggler without staying long enough to make a mark. With the chaos of 3 billion people simultaneously coming back to life, it wasn't like someone was bothering to check on her now that she had settled for a while. As long as she paid the outrageous rent of her borderline slum, she could be a legal alien as much as she pleased. Immigrations services and the GRC in particular had enough problems in the wake of the Flag-smashers’ uprising.

Céline didn’t have much time to ponder Karli Morgenthau’s actions when a sudden concert of shouts alerted her to some commotion inside the limestone building; carefully, she opened the door to the youth center of Belleville.

[mindlessdailytraveldiary]

5 Tips for Your Paris Visit

Paris in France is one of the most popular city break destinations on the planet, so there is no shortage of advice and guidebooks out there to help make your stay in the French capital one to remember. Here, however, you won’t find anything too complicated. Just five simple tips worth keeping in mind to make your stay even better.

Avoiding the huge Eiffel Tower lines

The Eiffel Tower is unsurprisingly the most popular attraction in Paris city centre and that means that it is always very busy. One way to avoid the longest queues of the day is to wait and visit in the evening. The Tower is open until 11pm every night and even until midnight during the summer months. Most visitors assume that there is an earlier closing time, meaning the queues at night are never as long as during the day. And the views of Paris at night look even more spectacular anyway.

People watching with a view

There is nothing better when in a foreign city than to simply sit and people watch. You really see the culture as it passes before you with everybody but you seemingly in a rush.

The BEST place to people watch in Paris, therefore, is the McDonalds on the Champs-Elysées with its glass front. It might seem a bit strange to imagine a McDonalds as a main attraction of the chic city of Paris, but with views of the Arc de Triomphe as well as the rush of locals getting to where they need to be, this is a top spot to pass a few hours.

Promenade Plantée

This is the world’s first elevated park and worthy of much more space in the guide books than it currently receives. A one mile stretch of abandoned railway line, it is a top spot for a walk or run and offers a unique angle from which to see Paris. Like most public parks, there are benches, plants and trees along the way – there really is nothing else like it!

Swimming on the Seine

Notice that this is swimming on and not swimming in the Seine. Swimming actually in the Seine is a big no no, so the Piscine Josephine Baker was brought along. Built in 2006, this floating pool makes swimming on top of the river possible and you will actually be swimming in water which is brought up from the river and treated before entering the pool. With a retractable roof too, this is a place to check out in all seasons of the year.

Le Louvre lines like a local

Feel like a local expert as you avoid the huge queues at Le Louvre. The lines at the pyramid entrance are always longer than those at the Arc du Carousel entrance. So save yourself some time and try the latter first. You’ll more than likely come face to face with Mona Lisa quicker that way.

 A blog post by Tanya, I’m 28 year old travel blogger & photographer.

Who am I? - I am a free-spirited fashionista, barefoot bohemians & haute hippies hopping around the globe slowly, seeking phenomenal adventures with a focus on more sustainable travel. I love the idea of savoring the adventure of each day, place and moment and now I am living my dreams.

My primary aim is inspiring everyone to go out and discover new places and things! Joint me on my travels.

[gingerandwry]

Brasilia, Brazil

Few people have anything good to say about Brasilia, the country’s capital. Built from nothing only sixty years ago, it is now the third biggest city in the country, yet it draws few tourists. Even many “residents” leave on the weekends-- they are only here for work during the week and return to their home towns whenever they can. But from an architecture and urban design standpoint it is one of the most distinctive, unusual cities in the world, and that’s why I wanted to see it.

A quick history... For most of Brazil’s colonial history, cities along the coast competed to be power centers. Many agreed that the capital should be moved to a neutral location in the central interior, and the new republic’s Constitution of 1888 even called for it. But it wasn’t until after WWII that a president, Juscelino Kubitschek, put a plan into action. He assembled a team of designers and architects-- most notably Oscar Niemeyer-- to design the new city. In 1960 (59 years ago this week), Brasilia was inaugurated, and the capital officially moved from Rio. Niemeyer (who had strong communist leanings) wanted it to be the city of the future, where rich and poor would live and work side-by-side. His distinctive Modernist buildings still define the cityscape and were the main draw for me.

The main city of Brasilia is shaped like an airplane (it’s surrounded by 25 satellite towns too). The cockpit, fuselage and tail (the “Eixo Monumental”) contain most of the government buildings, museums and other attractions. The wings are divided into a grid and areas are named after what they contain, such as shopping, hospitals, sports clubs, etc. (Yes this is very strange as you would think it would behoove everyone to have these things spread around.) Beneath the wings is a large (manmade) lagoon. In many ways it’s a brilliant design (not unlike Burning Man) but it’s executed very poorly.

I arrived Monday afternoon to a relatively cushy AirBnB in the Hotel Saint Moritz in the “Northern Hotel Sector” (at the top of the fuselage). I needed some food, and the only real option was a giant mall (Conjunto Nacional) across the street. Brazilians love malls, and that’s especially true in Brasilia since there is effectively no street life (more on that soon). This mall was massive and yet there were no maps or directories. I really couldn’t fathom how that works tho I tried to as I wondered for half an hour to find the food court. That night I decided to take it easy, but I did enjoy the rooftop view of the axis.

On Tuesday morning I stepped out to begin my walking tour, which, if you’ve been to Brasilia, you probably find laughable. First, the distances are much bigger than they seem on a map, mostly because there is so much dead space to cross (lawns, parking lots, empty lots, grassy knolls, etc.). Two, Brasilia is famously made for cars, so there are few sidewalks or crosswalks. This means forging trails where you can (including on medians), waiting for a break in speeding traffic on four-to-six lane roads so you can run across, teetering on narrow curbs, walking in the street alongside parked cars, etc. It is extremely unpleasant, sometimes terrifying and often inefficient. It’s also surreal as when sidewalks or staircases (some of the few concessions made to pedestrians) just end abruptly at a busy road; the city planners know people will walk across that road but have done nothing to aid them. I know that in some places (like parts of southern California), the lack of sidewalks reflects that fact that nobody walks anywhere. But lots of people walk here. The problem is that they’re poor. The middle and upper classes drive cars, and city government doesn’t care about poor pedestrians. I suppose that Niemeyer thought everyone would drive in the future, and that’s why he designed such a sprawled city that can really only be traversed by car. But the result is a betrayal of his egalitarian principles (not to mention an environmental catastrophe).

Nonetheless I was determined to walk. Google Maps’ walking directions pointed me to... the mall. Yes Brasilia lacks sidewalks but you can take malls to get from points A to B. (Once again I got lost in the mall, so it took about 15 minutes to find B.) On the opposite side of the mall from my hotel sits a small plaza (hilariously named Praca dos Pedestres or “Pedestrian Plaza”) with a view overlooking the Eixo. It’s similar to The Mall in Washington, D.C., but it is not inspiring. You can see some of the stranger Niemeyer buildings along the axis and the Congresso Nacional at the end, but it’s mostly a large empty patch of grass that seems unfinished. My first stop was the Teatro Nacional, a sort of pyramid without a top that would make an awesome waterslide. Then I visited the Biblioteca Nacional, a fairly new (and incomplete?) building. It kind of resembles a hi-fi stereo from the 70s and looks great from afar. But up close it’s a terribly wasted opportunity. The ground floor of the building is encased in opaque glass windows so that it’s impossible to see inside-- or even get inside. I walked around the entire building before I found the drab entrance. Of all types of buildings, libraries should be accessible, open and functional, but it seems Niemeyer preferred grandiosity for one of his final designs.

I continued on to the Museu Nacional and the Catedral Metropolitana, two of the city’s strangest, most recognizable buildings. They are both quite compelling in person, tho not well kept up and smaller than I imagined (or perhaps they’re dwarfed by all the empty space around them). The museum is a white dome with a Saturn-like ring around it and a large ramp leading to the entrance. It hosts rotating exhibits, but I was mostly interested in the building. The cathedral resembles a wheat bushel with leaning columns coming together in a peak at the top, separated by giant stained glass windows. The effect on the interior is unique and breathtaking.

I then walked to the “Banking Sector” which has more to offer than you might expect. Brazil’s banks-- and especially the central bank-- often offer cultural centers and exhibitions centers, which at the very least can provide a good opportunity to glimpse inside some beautiful buildings. Case in point, the Caixa Cultural, a large bank whose lobby is filled with stunning stained glass windows, one for each of Brazil’s states. Across the street is the headquarters of the Banco Central do Brasil, a deceptively light looking skyscraper, that is home to a “money museum” featuring currency from around the world (unfortunately I could not go in without my passport).

Cursing the traffic and city planners, I continued my walk, now scrambling south from the axis. My destination was Santuario Dom Bosco, a beautiful modernist church famous for its chandelier and illuminated Murano glass meant to resemble a starry night sky. It was also a nice place to sit for a minute and let my frustrations with the city subside. But that didn’t last long. I ventured back out and over to TV Tower, a broadcast tower that is one of the country’s tallest structures and offers sweeping city views. Supposedly. After a hot, lengthy walk dodging cars I arrived only to discover it was closed for construction. At this point I decided to treat myself to an Uber to get home, tho not before one last stop at... the mall. And yet again I got lost, this time in search of a grocery store which it turns out the mall doesn’t have-- apparently I should have gone to the grocery store sector. That evening I decided not to venture far from my hotel, which fortunately sits on a small plaza with a pizzeria, beer bar and convenience store.

On Wednesday I set out (in an Uber this time) to finish my tour of the Eixo. I headed to Praca dos Tres Podres, the hub of the federal government. Sites include the Supremo Tribunal Federal (relatively dowdy); Palacio do Planalto (the Executive building which looks similar but its elevation on stilts makes it much more remarkable); Panteao da Patria e da Liberdade (a collection of striking geometric forms, including small dove-shaped performance space with a beautiful stain-glassed window, a stairway to an eternal flame and Brazil’s largest national flag); Espaco Cultural Lucio Costa (an underground lair honoring the city’s main urban planner which includes a giant scale model of the city); Museu Historico de Brasilia (a small, elevated marble block whose interior walls are engraved with the story of the city and several inspiring quotes about it, and whose exterior features a massive statute of Kubitschek’s head); and several art pieces. Up the hill are two beautiful buildings that house the Foreign and Justice ministries: Palacio do Itamaraty and Palacio da Justica. The former appears to sit in a lake that reflects the buildings columns and arches, while the latter’s exterior contains several cascading water falls. (Side question: if Brazil has not had a monarch since 1888 and Brasilia was built in the 1950s by a leftist government, why are all the buildings called palaces?)

The centerpiece of all this is the Congresso Nacional, an eye-catching masterpiece rich in symbolism. Two tall, narrow towers intersect a low flat building with two roof adornments, a dome and a bowl. The dome (symbolizing inclusivity) tops the House chamber while the bowl tops the Senate. These are lined up neatly with the towers so that they balance each other out, tall and short, wide and narrow, heavy and light, square and circle. It’s really a perfect structure that I could not take my eyes off of as I walked around it.

Once I had soaked in as much as I could, I took a car down to the “Sporting Clubs Sector” to the Centro Cultural Banco do Brasil, another bank-run exhibition space. This one is dedicated to contemporary art, and the current exhibition was on photorealism and hyper-realism, where artists use photographs to create amazingly realistic paintings that are able to convey qualities that the photography does not, such as depth, light, texture and social themes. The technical mastery behind these works was mind-blowing, and it yielded interesting insights into how different media and technology help each other to progress.

I then headed further south to Pontao do Lago Sul, a waterfront area with restaurants, performance space and meandering paths. It feels very new and contrived (like the whole city I guess) but it’s still a nice place to enjoy the light of the sunset. On my way home I stopped back at Praca dos Tres Podres to see it lit up at night, and I’m very glad I did.

There was not much left to see on my last day so I spent most of the time relaxing and catching up on this blog. I stepped out for a moment to see JK Memorial, Kubitschek’s museum and mausoleum (in the cockpit). It’s a modest, tasteful building full of the president’s belongings (documents, medals, clothes, pens, 1974 Ford Galaxie, etc.). The displays were in English which is always nice, but I do not have a strong interest in Kubitschek so I breezed through quickly. I did enjoy the recreation of his library (with 3,000 books) and the many historical photographs, particularly those showing the building of Brasilia. I noted how much empty space lay between buildings during the construction. This is to be expected but one would also expect that space to be filled in over the next sixty years....

Brasilia is a city most people don’t want to spend much time in or think much about it. But it’s actually a fascinating place that made me consider the value of architecture and urban design. I loved the notable buildings here much more than I expected to. Concrete Modernism does not sound aesthetically pleasing, and I thought the city would look more kitschy, like Epcot Center. But these thoughtfully rendered buildings really opened my eyes to how beautiful modernism can be and how well it can age. Just as important, the city founders (especially Niemeyer) did not try to emulate existing world capitals like London or Rome. They created entirely new buildings that were-- and still are-- distinctively Brazilian. If a country’s capital should showcase its own aesthetic, Brasilia has succeeded.

And yet in almost every other way it is a failure because of-- not despite-- its (over) design. Contrast it with Sao Paulo, a city that has grown up entirely organically. Yes it’s a mess but it’s a much more exciting, livable, human city. Brazil’s cities have incredible street life but that’s pre-empted in Brasilia. This city offers a lesson that cities grow from the bottom up and cannot be handed down from above. Clearly the designers had an idea about how a city should work, but they completely ignored how they actually work. Good urban planners will take note of existing human behavior and patterns and accommodate them (for example, building parking lots) while encouraging better civic mindedness (like building bike lanes). It’s also foolish to design a city around a technology that’s only 50 years old (driving) while ignoring what humans have been doing for tens of thousands of years (walking). Like so much of Robert Moses’ concurrent work in New York City, this urban design sacrificed the city’s residents to the greater concept of the city.

It’s probably too late to fix Brasilia and all its wasted space (and there does not seem to be much will to), but some elements could be corrected, starting with the city’s ambivalence-- even hostility-- toward tourism. Despite its short history, Brasilia is a unique, important city with many attractions in relatively close proximity. It would appeal to a lot of people, especially architecture enthusiasts and Brazilians interested in their own government. And the people are much friendlier than in Rio (perhaps because in Brasilia people are grateful to have visitors whereas in Rio they are taken for granted). But the city does nothing to encourage tourism. There are no good options for getting around, and all of the government buildings are either closed to the public (a terrible look for a democracy) or are only open in small windows or under specific conditions. From an outsider’s perspective it seems they don’t actually want tourists here. Everyone I met first asked me if I was here for work, then if I lived here. They were all surprised to learn I was just on holiday.

I think it would be fairly easy and inexpensive to turn the Eixo into a proper tourist destination. Put in sidewalks, crosswalks and stop lights. Fill in the empty spaces with trees, fountains, playgrounds, pathways, reflecting pools, etc. Over time add more buildings like museums, hotels (outside of the hotel sectors!?) and restaurants (currently there are zero). It’s practically a blank slate surrounded by some incredible buildings housing the seat of the federal government of one of the world’s biggest countries. Visiting Brasilia could be a treat, not the chore most treat it as. I wonder if there is resistance to changing the city so as not to dishonor the original vision (Niemeyer was still called upon to build the major new buildings up until his death in 2012). If the city wants to fulfill its ambition to be a city of the future, it needs to adapt and modernize. If it does not, its problems will only multiply, and it will stagnate and decay and will remain a city stuck in the past. I think a photo from my hotel roof taken on my last night illustrates Brasilia’s potential and its (so far) disappointing failure to live up to it....

It ended on a good note tho. Taking off from the airport I was just able to make out the airplane shape from my window seat, and that made it feel like my trip was complete.

[thejhydeparkblogs]

London’s Most Iconic Skyscrapers

London is a city of icons- the people, the places, the buildings; they all add up to equal one of the greatest cities on the face of the Earth.

If you have booked a room at the The J Hyde Park Hotel, the best accommodation near Paddington Station London, then you are in a perfect position to explore the city and see some of these incredible landmarks.

At nearly 2,000 years old it would be fair to say that there is a pretty incredible mix of old and new buildings in London, but it’s the skyscrapers that have made the biggest difference to the capital’s skyline in the last 100 years.

Britain takes real pride in these structures, and for good reason. We don’t seem to follow the traditional rules for grey, squared off office buildings, instead opting to think outside the box leading to an incredibly striking skyline.

Let’s take a look at the most Iconic Skyscrapers in London.

The Gherkin

The Gherkin is surely one of the city’s most recognisable buildings. Its unique shape stands above many of the buildings in the city- but it’s not even close to being the tallest.

At 180 metres tall it is actually only the 19th tallest building in London, but it is pretty much recognised by everyone as a true icon of the city.

Used mainly as offices, this building opened in 2004 actually uses half the energy of buildings of around the same size, thanks to super advanced green technology. Its round shape is supposed to maximise the office space inside- and it looks super cool.

To get here from your hotels near Queensway Station London simply make your way to Paddington and hop on the Elizabeth Line. Simple. 

The Cheese Grater

Otherwise known as The Leadenhall Building, this intriguing sculpture-like skyscraper appeared on the scene in 2014. Its unique shape is supposed to stop it from spoiling the view from the nearby St. Paul’s Cathedral, with its diagonal side allowing St. Pauls a wider view of the city.

Quickly regarded as a great piece of architecture, and a welcomed addition to the sky line of the city, this office building stands at an impressive 225 metres.  

The Shard

The Shard is one of the most popular buildings on the skyline, and was the tallest in Europe until pipped by a tower in Moscow. This modern glass spike pierces the clouds, well above the city, and is one of the most striking buildings in the world.

Standing tall at an amazing 310 metres, this building houses a few luxury apartments, a large amount of offices and of course, an incredlbe 360°viewing platform with a restaurant and bar. A pretty impressive place to have a memorable meal!   

One Canada Square

This is one of London’s most recognizable, but least interesting buildings. Pretty much a standard tower shape, albeit with a nice navy coloured pyramid cap. Easily the tallest building in the Canary Wharf business district, this behemoth can be seen from miles around.

It houses a flashing aircraft warning light atop its peak, even though there are much taller structures now, and is mostly made up of offices, with a few retail spaces down below.

So there you have it, the most iconic buildings to grace London’s skyline. All are super easy to enjoy from your centrally located hotels near Bayswater, so it’s up to you to get a snap of each one!

[newcapitalproperty]

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[madamlaydebug]

FLOWER of LIFE ~~~ TREE of LIFE ⚜🔥⚜ Ley Lines ~ The KEY To Unlocking The MATRIX ~ Yet again we come across another mysterious force of nature known as the electro magnetic fields of the earth, Shuman Resonance or better known as ley lines. The rediscovery of ley lines in this century is unveiling (apocalypse; greek for unveiling) the secrets of Nature. Ley lines are the luminous strands that many are pulling at today, hardly suspecting what riches lay at the end of these subtle light lines. All ley lines lead to the planetary Grid, the primary light and energy matrix, creating, enveloping, and maintaining planet Earth, our Gaia. What Are Ley-Lines? A ley-line is a straight fault line in the earth’s tectonic plates; this is a scientific fact. Through these cracks in the earth’s tectonic plates the magnetic energies released are very powerful indeed. Many people have claimed to have felt the energy surge up their body, and some have claimed that they have blacked out, as the surge was that powerful. How Long Have Human Beings Known About Ley Lines? Our ancestors have known about these lines for thousands of years. Every race and culture on the planet has known about these lines yet every one had different names for these lines. All we need to do is to look at the ancient cultures of the earth. Take the native Indians of the United States; they used to call ley lines spirit lines and their Shaman’s used to use the electro-magnetic energy in these lines to help them contact the spirits. They even designed their medicine wheel on the spirit lines, as they knew that these lines followed a straight round line. How did they know about these lines and the energies that they give off? The answer’s simple: the sky Gods told them. In Europe we are lead to believe that the druids called them mystical lines, in Wales they used the same name as eastern countries; they called them dragon lines. We know that Eastern countries called them dragon lines as the sky Gods flew in dragons along these lines. The aboriginal people of Australia called these lines “dream lines”, once again they claim that knowledge was passed on to them from the sky Gods. The Da Vinci Code was based on Rennes Le chateau in France, which is also on a leyline. It is documented that Alexander the Great was guided by Aristotle to take control of the major dome centers of these intersecting ley lines from dark forces. Which is why he put his top General, Ptolemy to rule Egypt. Interestingly Cleopatra, the last pharaoh along side with both of her husbands — Julius Ceasar and Marc Anthony of Rome, — were defeated by the Romans where they eventually destroyed the biggest library in Alexandria Egypt, before taking all the knowledge with them, sending us into the “Dark Ages”. During the medieval times anyone who had any knowledge of Hermetic’s was designated a Heretic and died a horrible death. This held true for anyone who knew how to read or write- a Heresy. Leaving only the royals and the monasteries literate. Throughout history all megalithic structures have been strategically built on top of these so called ley lines. From the pyramids of Giza to Stonehenge, Notre Dame, Solomon’s Temple, Parthenon, Oracle of Delphi, Rennes Le Chateau, Ziggurat, the Vatican, DC Capitol, Mecca, Agia Sophia, Aztec Pyramids, Bermuda Triangle, Coral Castle, Tesla’s lab in Shoreham NY, including all Nuclear power plants, military basis and stadiums — which are also used to harness energies — like giant batteries! Many of the sections where two or more ley lines intersect are marked with obelisks, such as Washington DC monument, Vatican Courtyard, and Cleopatra’s Needle in Central Park. These electromagnetic lines of the earth are its veins and receive its energies from the sun that connects and effects, every living thing on this planet. We are electrical and our atoms are surrounded by electrons (electricity). Gregg Braden explains it best by asking us where does our heart get its electrical capacity form? We are connected to the earth’s electro magnetic fields and our heart is our battery. Many of our ancient spiritual figures knew this hidden knowledge and meditated or prayed on these lines or megalithic centers, which elevated their electrical auras, intellect, and connection to higher self, through the activation of the 7 energy centers (chakras). Could this in fact be what the golden halos depicted on all spiritual figures throughout history represented? Many of our top intellectual minds such as Tesla, Einstein and others all have something in common. That is, they all at some point have shared that their idea, invention, or formulation, came to them in a daydream or dream, which is in fact a meditative state of mind. For example Einstein was very knowledgeable on the physics of the Cabala and Tesla became very close with Swami Vivikanda – where through Swami’s teachings, realized that his ideas, that would come to him in a “Aha” moment, were coming from his close interaction with these ley lines, allowing him to access archaic records. Nikola Tesla who was born during a terrible thunder and lighting storm, used these ley lines to conduct his famous tower, which would give free energy to all. Of course there are dark forces as well, that are, and were knowledgeable of these ley lines such as, secret societies and Hitler who was very much into the esoteric realms, and worked very closely with Maria Orsitsch, also known as Maria Orsic, who was a famous medium who later became the leader of the Vril Society. Might I also add that days before the last Blood moon on September 28 2015, the Pope came to the US. He gave a speech at the Capitol, and then came to New York, where he went from Times Square up to Cleopatra’s needle in Central Park, and ended his trip at the Liberty Bell in Pennsylvania. Coincidently, he went through key ley line points… hmmm… hidden esoteric knowledge? It is interesting and we should take notice that the Swiss Lab “Cern” and the “Brookhaven Lab” in New York, both sit on ley lines and both of these labs have a Hadron Collider that directly impact these ley lines negatively and/or positively. Cern Lab is the father of the Internet and if you look at the hadron collider at Cern, you will notice it strongly resembles a web. Outside of Cern sits a large dome with an opening on top, same as the dome at St Basilica in Rome as well as the dome on the Capital building, and same as the top dome of Nikola Tesla’s Tower. Nikola Tesla Tower In addition this lab has a large statue of the Hindu Goddess of destruction “Kali”, right in front of its greeting entrance. Seems that there is a concentrated effort, to effect and manipulate the earth’s electro magnetic fields using these technologies. In a JFK and Eisenhower speech they both warned the public, in detail and refer to this well coveted group of elites as “technocrats” – for a reason. By controlling or influencing the geo-electrical grid they can effect the earth, and also indirectly/directly can control our thoughts and emotions artificially, because we are all connected to Gaia. Registering, digesting and ultimately transmuting is the key. We can change the channel if we choose, turn down the volume, fine-tune the specific radio band. The Grid Engineer has the potential for transmuting (freeing the inherent energy by releasing it from its form of bondage) the solar/celestial energies by intelligent interfacing with the Electromagnetic 1746 Grid through any of the 144 planetary Round Table holograms, or terrestrial Zodiacs on Earth. This Grid, we must remember, is the Golden Alchemical Bowl of electromagnetic opposites, and the potential of our transfiguration from gravitationally bonded humans to Humans of Light also known as ascension. Just because our accustomed technocratic elite (Lucifer-light bearer – aka fallen angle of music), play their favorite tunes on their radio station, doesn’t mean we have to always dance to that rhythm. We can change the channel and learn how to use the electromagnetic grid to play a more harmonic tune. Maybe they need a machine because it is only a handful of technocrats attempting to control the masses. When enough are awake and aware the machine is- no match for us. Love and empathy for humanity is key, and right now we are still lacking this, due to the lack of true knowledge. Instead we are all quick to step on each others toes to get to where we think we need to be in business, our personal lives, and even within the spiritual communities. The bee hive is fragmented , programed, compartmentalized and not jiving together, which is needed to thrive together. The introduction and understanding of the reality of the local celestial Zodiac clock system, brings us to the possible interaction between the human and the Grid. This is where the Grid Engineer and Knight of the Holy Grail become one- “alchemy”. This unification of seeking the Grail and serving the Grid is played out in the local geomancy of the zodiac landscape, and our direct involvement in this terrestrial grid system through a heightened consciousness interaction, within a local Zodiac complex. It may sound like a sci-fi movie to you , but these energy points all exist and even more so these technocratic elite make all their decisions and agendas based on this celestial/terrestrial knowledge. So you better sit up, take notice and start your diligent research to unveil what they know, for we are in an informational war. If you don’t know the game then you are no match for the current architects and that is exactly what they plan on. But how does an ascended individual voluntarily, consciously experience this huge planetary Round Table? And how does the Grid Engineer make intelligent, compassionate, and timely adjustments in the geomantic web of this vast-revolving solar table on Earth? You are reading this because you are meant to unlock more hidden truths in order to better understand who we are, and how we relate to this planet. “As Above So Below” An overlay of Cabala’s Tree of Life with the mythic Round Table/Zodiac image is most illuminating. The Earth is one of the 12 resonating spheres, one of the 12 Round Table members, one of the 12 Notes in the solar octave, in the Solar Tree of Life. Thus we can picture these relations either in terms of the Tree or Round Table. Our Body of the Sun is expressed as a 12-sphered Tree of Life, with 12 Knights, or 12 Notes; Earth is Malkuth (the 10th Sephiroth) representing appropriately, Earth (the 7th Sephiroth, Hod, for example represents Mercury). In the human body we have the 7 chakras which are energetically interdependent and activated sequentially, beginning with the 2nd, proceeding to the 7th, then returning to the 1st, the Root, the seat of Kundalini, the fundamental creative cosmic evolutionary energy. Similarly in this model, the Earth, has a chakra system, arranged not in anatomical but energy sequence at 7 key Dome centers. An Earth chakra, such as at the Great Pyramid of Giza, Egypt, or at Glastonbury Tor, England, is a huge energy vortex, several miles in immediate diameter. Root (1st) Chakra – Mt. Shasta, California. Red; Raw biological life force energy- precursor to deviation into individual life forms. Sacral (2nd) Chakra – Lake Titicaca Peru (but also includes Machu Picchu). Orange; Creation of new species and positive evolution. Specification of pure life force into individuals. Solar Plexus (3rd) Chakra – Uluru and Kata Tjuta Australia (twin monolithic sites). Golden/Yellow; Maintenance of the vitality of earth and all of its species. Immortalization of life force. Heart (4th) Chakra – Glastonbury and Shaftesbury, England. Green/Pink; Representing the Holy Grail and the Sacred Spear of Purpose, Respectively. Throat (5th) Chakra – Great Pyramid, Mt. Sinai, and Mt. of Olives, Middle East. Blue; Voice of the earth emerging, listening to the will of the earth needs to be mastered Third Eye (6th) Chakra – Mobile Chakra, Shifts every 150-200 years, currently coincides with world heart chakra in Western Europe. Purple/Indigo; Moves 1/12th of the way around the world, westward, at the dawning of every new aeon. Distills gathered wisdom of life on earth for collective advancement of consciousness, aligned with astrological sequences. Crown (7th) Chakra – Mt. Kailas, Himalayan Mountains, Tibet. White; Broadcasts the earth’s purpose or true will. Each dome vortex carry through the Grid, some have been activated, but otherwise humankind has either not been aware of this divine potential or not bothered to make use of them to create the intended Earth Paradise. The option, however, still remains. Because of their heightened electromagnetic fields, the Dome enclosures were like immaculate, high consciousness meditation halls where human awareness could be healed, uplifted, even inter-dimensionally transported through the domed exit points in the Houses of the Gods, facilitated by megalithic engineering. All megalithic structures, famous estates, obelisks, and historical sites are on these lines and can be influenced and experienced in mass, to elevate and change the current matrix. The Hermetic Keys to the planetary Grid are inscribed on the Messenger’s mythical “Emerald Tablets”, which summarize the 7 Hermetic Principles underlying all manifestation. These are the keys to Hermes’ Geomancy: “The 7 Keys to higher levels of consciousness.” The Principle of Mentalism (The Universe is Mental, the All is Infinite Mind, which is the fundamental reality and the womb of all universes). The Principle of Correspondence (Whatever is Below is like unto that which is Above, and whatever is Above is like that which is Below, to accomplish the miracles of The One). The Principle of Vibration (Nothing rests; everything moves and vibrates). The Principle of Polarity (Everything is dual, has poles, and pairs of opposites). The Principle of Rhythm (Everything has its tides, its rise and fall, its equal pendulum swings to the right and left, its peaks and troughs). The Principle of Causation (Every effect has its Cause, every Cause has its Effect, all proceeding by Law, never by chance). The Principle of Gender (Everything has its “masculine” and “feminine” aspects). Experiential knowledge of Hermes’ principles through meditative interfacing with the Earth Grid leads us into the secrets of geomancy. I believe that if more are aware of this natural phenomenon, break our mental bonds to the material matrix and take action locally as groups on these ley lines, that can be found all over the planet, then we can take back what is rightfully ours and positively manifest paradise on earth. As the true empathetic, intellectual light beings, we were intended to be – Human (Hue=light being). Knowledge is Power and Applied Knowledge is Freedom. By Magdaline http://dreamcatcherreality.com/ley-lines-matrix/

[nikita-godse]

Modular Refinery Market - Global Industry Analysis, Size, Share, Growth, Trends, and Forecast, 2020 - 2027

Modular Refinery: Introduction

Modular refinery is a skid-mounted modular structure based crude oil processing refinery plant. Each modular structure is an essential component of crude oil refinery. It is connected to each other by means of pipelines.

Structures or individual components of modular refineries are usually fabricated in a factory or site far from the required location in a controlled environment. This reduces costs to a larger extent and also improves efficiency of the process. Modules manufactured are transported to the required site for installation, resulting in a much quicker installation time than conventional refineries.

Major components of modular refineries generally include modular atmospheric distillation units, modular vacuum distillation units, hydrotreater units, hydro desulfurization units, catalytic reformer units, and hydrocracker units

Key Drivers of Global Modular Refinery Market

Rise in government initiatives to increase local refining capacities, especially in developing and underdeveloped countries across the globe, is expected to drive the demand for modular refineries in the near future. Governments across the globe are striving to curb import of refined products in order to reduce their fiscal deficit. Demand for refined products is rising at a rapid pace in these countries. As a result, their import and burden on economy is also increasing. These facilities enable governments either to import or produce crude oil, which can be broken down into refined products.

Governments are investing significantly in modular refineries to increase their refining capacities in order to lower the cost and maintain continuous supply of refined products. These facilities not only ensure security of continuous supply of transportation fuels, but also enhance the power generation capacity and secure LPG supply.

Quick installation period and lower investment costs are another key drivers of the market. Modules of these refineries are pre-built and tested before shipping to the site; therefore, their installation requires comparatively much less time than conventional on-site building approach. These refineries are much smaller in size and processing capacity; therefore, they require comparatively low capital investment than conventional refineries. These refineries can be relocated depending upon the situation and requirements.

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Key Develpments in Global Modular Refinery Market

In December 2019, Equatorial Guinea’s Ministry of Mines and Hydrocarbons ordered the Atlantic Methanol Production Company LLC (AMPCO) to dismantle its methanol plant at the Punta Europa Gas Complex on Bioko Island. The Government instead notified the company to set up a modular refinery in the location, primarily due to the lack of investment in the Alba field and the corresponding methanol plant. Modular refinery would prove to be value addition project in that space.

In December 2019, Brahms Oil Refineries Limited and Africa Finance Corporation (AFC) announced that the companies have signed a Joint Development Agreement (JDA) in order to develop and finance a petroleum storage and link it to the Kamsar refinery project in Guinea. The agreement would include establishment of a 76,000 cubic meter and 114,200 cubic meter crude oil storage terminal and refined products storage terminal respectively; along with supporting transportation infrastructure and modular refining facility of around 12,000 barrels per day (bpd).

In August 2019, AIPCC Energy Limited announced that its 6,000 bpd capacity modular refinery under Edo Refinery and Petrochemicals Limited at Ologbo, Ikpoba Okha, would become operational by October 2019. The company announced that the fabrication of its modular refinery has been completed in China. However, the company is awaiting the inspection and approval of its modular refinery by Department of Petroleum Resources (DPR) in order to ship the facility to the Nigeria site.

Middle East & Africa Likely to Lead Global Modular Refinery Market

Middle East & Africa is likely to hold leading share of the global modular refinery market during the forecast period. Increase in investment in onsite crude oil refining and rise in refining capacities in the region are driving the market in Middle East & Africa. Modular refineries require lower investment than conventional refineries. Therefore, they are highly popular in the region.

North America and Asia Pacific are estimated to follow Middle East & Africa in terms of share of the global modular refinery market. However, the market in Asia Pacific is anticipated to expand at a significant pace during the forecast period, primarily due to the increasing demand for oil & gas in the region, especially in China and India.

Latin America and Europe accounted for relatively minor shares of the global modular refinery market in 2018. However, rise in investments in the oil & gas industry in Latin America is likely to boost the market in the region in the near future.

Key Players Operating in Global MarketKey players operating in the global modular refinery market include:

Honeywell International Inc

Chemex Modular

Brahms Oil Refineries Ltd.

M77 Ltd

SEERS OIL AND GAS LTD

?TO R.E.N.E.W.

Peiyang Chemical Equipment Co., Ltd.

Amerisource Energy

AIPCC Energy Limited

Pyramid E & C

Are you a start-up willing to make it big in the business? Grab an exclusive PDF Brochure of this report

Global Modular Refinery Market: Research ScopeGlobal Modular Refinery Market, by Capacity

Below 5,000 BPD

5,000 – 10,000 BPD

10,001 – 30,000 BPD

Above 30,000 BPD

Global Modular Refinery Market, by Operator

Private

National Oil Company (NOC)

Global Modular Refinery Market, by Region

North America

Europe

Asia Pacific

Latin America

Middle East & Africa

U.S.

Canada

Germany

France

U.K.

Italy

Spain

Russia & CIS

Rest of Europe

China

Japan

India

ASEAN

Rest of Asia Pacific

Brazil

Mexico

Rest of Latin America

GCC

South Africa

Rest of Middle East & Africa

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[curious-minx]

Lost Treasures

Short story based around the recently shut down Fletcher, NC thrift store called Lost Treasures. 

Memorabilia store owner Trent Darcy is heaving himself ontop of his store’s rooftop all while carrying his plastic tortoise shell strapped to his back. Upon reaching the roof Trent begins lolling towards his store sign Lost Treasures snuggling up inside of the Old English script letter O, which for a man of Trent’s capacity proved a valiant challenge. Down below, a clearly plagiarized mascot from the Nintendo corporation appears  stenciled across the store’s feeble shopping display. This spritely maintenance man with a goatee and Medterrenan swarthiness  is  waving out while holding a large gold Button behind his back like a smoking gun. His eyes crossed out and replaced with large crude Xs. The city of Hendo pleaded with the memorabilia store owner that his store could be left empty wearing a graceful expanding sticker declaring Foreclosure, For Sale! A man wearing a typical outfit most associated with the death of the working class American’s ambitions, a full khaki suit and denim jacket,  is shouting through his cupped hands heavenwards,  his man is a walking ambonation declares Trent with all of his might, which considering the strains of his orthopedic shell his declarations are only audible to Trent’s own inner ear. Trent begins pacing.

“Mr. Trent Darcy, I beg of you to please come down! I am here on the behalf of te town of Hendo to let you know that you are well within your rights to resist this demolition.  A full on demolition crew is pricey business. I get that. Once they start demolishing your former building they are then likely to spread their bulldozing onwards and outwards  towards just anywhere. They are insatiable and unreasonable degenerates, but at least they’re not the government.. Put that samurai sword down Trent. You’re making me nervous!” as soon as  the khaki denim man mentions his nerves, Marfa Poonce wirls her rifle around and  fires off several rounds, all shots missing around Trent.

Officer Poonce wipes her gun down with an offensive cloth and keeps staring down up at Trent as she says as loudly as anyone would call across a cubicle,“I’m gonna go get me some okra fried donuts do you want anything?” Trent hears each word crystal clear.

“No Marfa! Get the fuck out of here you dirty rotten cop!” spittles the demolition Crew representative, a sinewy and scarred body wearing black out goggles with a tube running from his nose to a device inside his pocket. The rest of his clothes are the same color as his flesh, a gray and chalky. He sizes up the billowing armored cop wielding fetid destruction in all of her puffy and padded horror. Marfa Poonce turns her body camera off and scratches at her badge. She  evaporates into a bile and donut soaked pit of charred organs, billowing around the shopping center, the sound of one thunderhead clapping.

“You understand that I won’t back down. I’m putting the sword away it’s way too sentimental of a sword to be used against a  nobody like you. Now me, my enfeebled struggling botanist wife, and our clefted son are going to be gathered right here. Not inside this lettering but somewhere else nice inside the store, and then you’re going to demolish my store and only then” Trent waddles down from the rooftop and pokes inside the emptied out Lost Treasures, a lone copy of a VHS of that one movie that emotionally scarred you in your childhood that is different for everybody remains in a dust covered box. The demolition representative follows Trent inside, clicking on his head lamp calculating every movement to avoid accumulation of as much of the stench of failed capitalism as possible. The demolition representative  had to go home to his partner who said they could smell him before he’s even thinking about turning into the driveway. He will have to sleep in the underground isolation chamber and constantly hose himself off for hours, steam, rinse, eco-bleach, and then maybe even inject hair dye.

“This is ridiculous. Me and the wrecking crew can’t come swinging blaze a glory while you and your whole brood sit and munching on pocky sticks.”

“Then you’ll construct us an opera  box or some sort of observation deck  in which me and my brood can sit and watch the demolition safely and out of harms way. This is not a negotiation.” Trent begins the slow and careful descent into his car, shaped and designed after an electrical rodent that he always admired since birth but refused to say the name of the creature. The name held too much weight in Trent’s mouth.

“The demolition team build a structure?” The demolition expert is banging on the roof of Trent’s Pickachu car. The Pickachu car alarm begins off which is a recreation of the actual soundbite  of the electrical rat being hit with a rock type attack. Trent heaves himself out of the car, holding back the tears being produced from the shredding and the shocking of his muscles. The demolition representative immediately backs off of the vehicle and leans up against the storefront glass he turns around and then shouts, “Hey isn’t that a copy of Gremlins 3: Rude Awakenings? Christ alive that movie scared the shit out of me! My ma and pa got into so many fights over trying to remember who was the one to blame for exposing me to this curious nightmare. Looks like it's in pretty good condition. Can-can-I have it?” The demolition representative before spitting out the request was already tucking it away in his rubber flesh colored suit.

“Do we have a deal?” Trent scowls and turns his tough guy Doosan Bears baseball cap around and lets the folds of his face meld into one sour pucker.

“Sure sure sure, now get out of here! I will personally see to making sure that You’ll have your safety box,but I can’t say for sure it will be able to fit you and what is sure to be your beastly family. That said the Demolition Experts of Hendo are bonded to their word.” The demolition representative pushes Trent out of the store and locks him out. Trent stumbles backwards and catches himself  his flip flops sticking to the pavement releasing a squelching hiss with every heavy step taken back into his Pickachu car and then drives across the street to an opposite parking lot for a different shopping center and gets into his  actual vehicle of choice the Nerd Van. All of the action figures from franchises big and small,  bobble heads, hula hoopers, and even one Black Buddha all precariously cluttered in salute on his dashboard were shaking with anticipation for his return. Trent tried his best to ignore his icon gang whose only crime was thinking the world of him.

Trent drives the eight miles back to his unspectacular open faced neighborhood comprised with rambling shacks, mcmansions, anonymous trailer parlors and Trent’s squat one story home. The yard, much to the annoyance of his neighbors, was utterly barren rough silty clay and sand except for one proud purple cactus that towered above the Trent residence sharing a blooming bushel’s worth of shade.

Inside the house was devoid of Trent’s wife Delia and son Agnus “The Flex” were nowhere to be seen. Trent flings his shoes off his feet without bending down and collapses into his easy chair. Before allowing himself the grace of a hard earned slumber he made sure to program an alarm on his phone in the morning. He knew he wouldn’t need the alarm because Delia would wake him up anway tending to her screaming mottled plants in the master bathroom she turned into a greenhouse. Agnus would be sizzling up some kind of different egg, he made sure to have a different type of egg for every day of the week, Trent kept getting mysterious charges for parrot eggs and want to bruise Agnus’ ego black and rude, but he always managed to dodge Trent’s questioning. Sometimes he would just stuff money in Flint’s cup of chalky morning Jose.

Trent woke up to his phone’s alarm feebly wheezing as if the phone was mocking Trent’s condition. Trent plugs the phone in and blearily searches the house  for Delia and Agnus who remain elusive. They probably beat him there. Knowing how much they wanted to see all of his hopes and dreams get flattened out was the kind of bonding time each was hoping was going to fix all of their internal familial strife. How much longer was Agnus planning on sticking around? Will his mid life crisis be moving out of his parents house? Trent hoped not  and then he found himself openly weeping, calling out for Agnus and Delia resigning to their absent responses and getting himself dressed and ready for the big day. A triple XL tuxedo print t shirt and respectable camouflage khaki trousers with a lot of zippers and pockets, all mostly functioning. He puts on a pair of black dress socks and slips them into his black flip flops and goes outside and sighs at the sight of the Nerd Van missing. He reaches into his apps and summons up a ride share. The ride should only cost $5.99 plus a tip depending on the smell of the car. Trent was willing to pay any price for demolition day.

A ragtag ragoo racer pulls up the driver, a gaunt Mexican woman that looks like a stren vampiric  boarding school teacher in a telenovela with a touch of calibrated goth. Her pouting lips said “hop in and let’s ride,” but her smoky eyes said, “but you’ll not leave the same person.” Fine by Trent who sloshed himself into the back of her sleek and shiny new car that smelled like a Tuscan Leather gimp’s kiss. Trent begins calculating an exorbitant tip.

“You know you can ride in front if you like. Especially if you’re all beat up.” the driver says in a clear and distant voice, a gossamer transmission. How could someone with such striking features, whose expressive face takes up your eyeballs’ entire attention, could have such a feeble and creaky voice/ Trent remains silent and tries to stare out the window covered in pyramid stickers. She manages to get Trent to Lost Treasure in five less minutes than it takes Trent to drive. He wishes he could just get one good glimpse outside to figure out what her route looked like. Four stars, and he tips her five dollars. The powder iceberg blue bullet of a car peels out of the shopping center and drives up into the opposing side of traffic, thankfully there are no oncoming cars and disappears from view.

“Watchu you looking at Trent?” asks Agnus who is wearing a domed helmet and heavy goggles that make his eyes look depthless.

“I think the lady who drove me here may be some kind of famous person. I missed you this morning, and last night too. Where were you and mama bear?” Trent says as he begins the ascent up into the observatory box suspended from a crane. Trent and Agnus squeeze inside the box gasping with air with Delia. Agnus is desperately trying to avoid touching either of his parents by closing his eyes and shaking back and forth.

Lost Treasures is torn down, each pillar and column displaced into rubble, the ceiling scrapped and dismantled, glass raining down in sheets, the whole enterprise is now a dust cloud and debris. The demolition crew makes sure to go about the whole process as solemnly as possible. Turns out having spectators made the whole crew uneasy and where they normally would have triumphed and gone ahead and committed acts of inevitable far reaching destruction on other doomed businesses. The exposed wall of the connecting empty for sale building was covered up with a thick fresh wall of concrete and the demolition crew slinked away without even destroying the observation box. Trent tries calling out  “You’re forgetting  the platinum rule of demolition: Make some smash em’ up fun!”  the demolition representative shrugs and silently responds that they would come back for it some other time. With no one to operate the crane Flint, Agnus and Delia were left stranded and suspended, or they would have been if not for Delia being wise enough to bring along her pocket ivy tucked in her bra. Delia produces thick and stable roping strands of ivy that provide the trapped family with a means of returning to soil.

[southeastasianists]

For many people, the idea of Cambodian architecture begins and ends with the lotus-inspired sandstone towers of Angkor Wat—the medieval temple complex that is considered the largest religious monument in the world. Mid-century modernism, on the other hand? Perhaps not so much.

However, in the 15 years that followed Cambodia’s independence from France in 1953, the capital of Phnom Penh transformed into one of the foremost outposts of modernism—largely thanks to the vision of a single man, architect Vann Molyvann. On September 28, 2017, Molyvann passed away from natural causes in Siem Reap, the gateway to the ruins of Angkor Wat, which had inspired much of his work. But rapid construction and changes in the capital city now mean that Molyvann’s legacy—which already survived coups, purges, and wars, barely—is under threat.

“Before the term ‘green architecture’ was thought in anyone’s mind, he was already designing buildings really creatively to integrate natural light and airflow,” Canadian filmmaker Christopher Rompre, who directed The Man Who Built Cambodia, a 2014 documentary on Molyvann’s life, said in a recent interview with Cambodian magazine Voa Cambodia.

Rompre, who has been based in the Southeast Asian nation for several years, turned his attention to the architect’s work after spotting some “really interesting, unique buildings” that were slowly being enveloped by Phnom Penh’s construction boom. These encounters sparked his curiosity into the work of a lesser-known giant of modernism, a man whose career and vision were deeply entwined with the turbulent history of his country.

“I was trying to understand the origins of the Cambodian people,” Molyvann, then 87, said in the film. “Cambodians have a very spiritual understanding of the world.” After earning his degree from Paris’s École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts, where he studied with famed French-Swiss architect Le Corbusier, he returned to his newly independent country during a cultural renaissance that is considered by many to be modern Cambodia’s “Golden Age.” Then-ruler Prince Norodom was eager to let go of the country’s colonial identity and project a modern face to the world. His plans included remaking the appearance of what had been a sleepy provincial capital. He picked 30-year-old Molyvann to do it. 

Molyvann served for 13 years as State Architect—1957 to 1970—during which time he worked on nearly 100 projects, including signature creations such as the National Olympic Stadium, the National Theatre, Chaktomuk Conference Hall‚ and the Institute for Foreign Languages. His works represent a unique combination of modernism and elements of the architecture typical of the Khmer Empire, which ruled the country from the eighth to 15th centuries. The style has became known as “New Khmer.” 

“This was not inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright, not a European clone, but an authentic style that arose independently in Cambodia,” wrote urban planner Helen Grant Ross, coauthor with Darryl Leon Collins of Building Cambodia: “New Khmer Architecture” 1953–1970, in a recent interview with reporter Ron Gluckman.

As Molyvann himself explains in the film, he wanted to draw from the past to create something entirely new: “Why did I study Le Corbusier? Because he used to built his ‘unites des habitation’ on stilts. Houses on stilts had been existing since prehistoric times in Cambodia. So I only adapted his vocabulary to Khmer architecture.”

Much like Frank Lloyd Wright or Le Corbursier himself, Molyvann’s design process started with an attentive analysis of setting: cardinal position, prevailing winds, and the local rocks, earth, mud, and grass. “The most important is to find what the site suggests,” he says in the film, “what it provokes in the imagination.”

Phnom Penh’s National Olympic Stadium—an ellipitcal, 70,000-seat arena and associated sports complex designed in the early 1960s—is widely considered his signature creation. Moly, as his friends called him, was inspired by the way in which Khmer architects combined earth and water at Angkor Wat. Some 17 million cubic feet of earth were dug out from the site to shape the stadium’s grounds, while an elaborate system of inner canals allowed water to flow from its roof to pools, or barays, at the base—recalling the ancient temples, preventing floods, and keeping crowds cool at the same time. He intended the stadium to be an example of sustainable and accessible architecture that welcomes all for exercise, socializing, or relaxing in the cooled breezes.

The structure was supposed to host the 1963 Southeast Asian Peninsular Games but the competition was never held because of growing political turmoil. In the late 1960s, the kingdom of then-ruler Prince Sihanouk was challenged both by the Communist Party of Kampuchea (CPK), informally known as “Khmer Rouge,” and by his own generals. In 1970, while he was on a state visit to Moscow, the prince was overthrown in a coup led by General Lon Noland. Molyvann, a long-time collaborator and friend of Sihanouk, fled with his wife and kids to Switzerland in the hopes that he could soon return.

But the situation worsened. Civil war broke out between United States–backed Noland and the Viet Cong–supported Khmer Rouge, which eventually seized power in 1975. The new state’s calendar was set to “year zero,” with authoritarian rule and mass executions to follow. For 15 years, Khmer Rouge leader Pol Pot set in motion his plan to “cleanse society from modern elements,” which included the forced displacement of people from cities to the country and the systematic killings of artists and intellectuals. An estimated 1.5 million lost their lives at the hands of his regime.

Pol Pot’s dedication to wiping out modernity and urbanism also took aim at Molyvann’s efforts. All of the materials documenting his works were destroyed, and his buildings were abandoned or converted to military use. The stadium he had so carefully designed as a public resource was used as a site for mass executions.

Molyvann only returned home after the Paris Peace Accords of 1991 ended the Cambodian-Vietnamese War. He found many of his buildings transfigured or deeply neglected. In 1994, during reconstruction efforts, a fire burned down his Preah Suramarit National Theatre, which had just been reestablished as a home for the artists who survived the Khmer Rouge years. It’s charred remains were demolished in 2008.

His creations that weathered those years are now facing an entirely new challenge—Cambodia’s turn back toward urbanism, and the construction craze it has created. Over the past 10 years, the nation’s GDP has doubled, and Phnom Pehn’s population grown nearly four percent a year. New residential blocks are sprouting like mushrooms. The White Building—a residential estate that Molyvann designed with Khmer architectural principles, such as exterior air vents and a partially raised floor to create a shaded social area in the basement—is now being replaced by a Japanese-designed, 21-story mixed-used building. The Council of Ministers building, with a pyramidal shape that recalls Angkor Wat, was replaced in 2008 by a Chinese-designed and -funded building that looks, well, like a contemporary Chinese government office.

The National Stadium remains intact as a place where locals can exercise, conduct business, and socialize day or night, but it had been sold to a Taiwanese developer. The Angkor-inspired drainage system was altered, so now the site frequently floods. This symbol of the New Khmer style also now sits among high-rises and construction cranes.

The problem of recognition and preservation of Molyvann’s creations centers around the fact that they are old enough to be in need of restoration—but not old enough to be considered cultural heritage in a country with such a recognized and significant ancient lineage. As Ross and Collins explain, even French colonial buildings get more international recognition as world heritage than the New Khmer places do. Further, the current government, which came to power in 1979 after defeating the Khmer Rouge, is keen to wipe out any legacy of pre-1979 history.

“The government doesn’t want to leave anything from before 1979, because it wasn’t their achievement. History is completely manipulated,” Molyvann said in a 2010 interview with the Los Angeles Times. Wiping out, by action or neglect, architecture to reshape the country’s identity is a recurrent historical theme—and one that’s not particular to Cambodia.

The father of New Khmer Architecture spent his final years trying to impart his vision to younger generations. “They [young people] should all get together and create New Khmer architecture,” he said with emotion, in one of the last scenes of the film. “No more Vann Molyvann, but a movement of the young.”

The Vann Molyvann Project, started in 2009 by Canadian architect Bill Greaves, is now working to prevent history from interfering with New Khmer architecture yet again. The project calls for Cambodian and international architects to catalog Molyvann’s legacy in paper and digital archives, and through physical models of his buildings. The team also organizes walking tours and records oral histories from people who still inhabit or use the structures.

“We took care of so many things at the Project” says Seng Chanraksmey, a recent architecture graduate from Phnom Penh’s Norton University, who took part in the Vann Molyvann Project in 2015. “I applied because I wanted to know more about his impressive design concept. We were surveying Molyvann’s buildings, making models, interviewing local people for our oral history records.”

Seng is just making her first steps as a professional architect in the booming—and mostly foreign-funded—Phnom Penh construction sector. When asked what is it about New Khmer that inspires her, she goes back to the wellspring of the style. “There are too many things that inspire me about it, but it is especially the will to combine Khmer and Western style to keep the Cambodian identity alive,” she says. “And the message Vann Molyvann left to younger generations: Learn from the past, but do not copy.”

[sciencespies]

Egypt draws ire with artifacts' move to busy Tahrir Square

https://sciencespies.com/biology/egypt-draws-ire-with-artifacts-move-to-busy-tahrir-square/

Egypt draws ire with artifacts' move to busy Tahrir Square

– In this Feb. 10, 2011 file photo, a flag is waved by anti-government protesters as they demonstrate in Tahrir Square in downtown Cairo, Egypt. Egypt’s recent decision to transport ancient Pharaonic artifacts to Tahriri Square, the epicenter of Egypt’s so-called Arab Spring uprising in 2011, has fueled fresh controversy over the government’s handling of its archaeological heritage. Archaeologists and heritage experts fear vehicle exhaust will damage the ram-headed sphinxes and an obelisk, currently en route to their new home in Tahrir Square. (AP Photo/Tara Todras-Whitehill, File)

Egypt’s recent decision to transport ancient Pharaonic artifacts to a traffic circle in the congested heart of Cairo has fueled fresh controversy over the government’s handling of its archaeological heritage.

Cairo has some of the worst air pollution in the world, according to recent studies. Archaeologists and heritage experts fear vehicle exhaust will damage the four ram-headed sphinxes and an obelisk, currently en route to their new home in Tahrir Square.

Egypt’s President Abdel-Fattah el-Sissi has weighed in to say that similar obelisks are displayed in Western cities, according to a statement late Monday.

But Dr. Monica Hanna, a heritage expert, said Egyptian artifacts in cities like London, Paris and New York are themselves endangered by being outdoors.

“The sphinxes are made of sandstone, they are part of the dry environment in Luxor, when they would be moved to Tahrir Square with all the pollution, they will deteriorate as a result of the reactions with the carbon dioxide and carbon monoxide in the air,” Hanna told The Associated Press.

She and a member of parliament are part of a lawsuit to block the artifacts’ move, filed recently by a local rights group.

Mostafa Waziri, secretary general of the Supreme Council of Antiquities, said the government “will do everything” to protect the artifacts.

Tahrir Square was the epicenter of Egypt’s so-called Arab Spring uprising in 2011. The square also contains the Egyptian Museum.

The decision to move the artifacts as part of a larger renovation of Tahrir Square was taken without debate in parliament. The controversy only surfaced after archaeologists objected.

Since coming to power in 2013, el-Sissi has touted a number of megaprojects aimed at rebuilding and expanding infrastructure. Those include an expansion of the Suez Canal and a new Egyptian museum near the Giza Pyramids.

A centerpiece of the new museum is a towering statue of Ramses II. It once stood in a busy square near Cairo’s main railway station, but was removed in the 1990s due to preservation concerns.

Waziri, the antiquities chief, said the four sphinxes are not part of the famed avenue of sphinxes in the city of Luxor. They were among several located behind the first edifice of the temple of Karnak.

The obelisk was recently moved to Cairo from the San el-Haggar archaeological site in the Nile Delta, the ministry said.

But Hanna, the heritage expert, stressed that the obelisks in Western capitals had been moved during the colonial era. “We really had no say in their shipment.”

Explore further

Egypt says ancient cemetery found at Giza famed pyramids

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