#turk mountain overlook

[g-o-n-g-a-g-a]

Advent Children vs ACC

Movie Differences that I remembered to write down

Here are some differences I noticed, as I watched Advent Children  (2005), compared to the release of Advent Children Complete (2009); I also watched both in the Japanese dub

Some minor differences such as facial wounds and different spellings appear throughout the movie. Some include Healin Lodge [AC] and Healen Lodge [ACC] as well as the road signs in English (Midgul in AC vs Midgar in ACC)

AC times are based on the Youtube version

Contains spoilers below

Rufus and Kadaj engage in a discussion while overlooking Edge. A flashback sequence shows that this conversation takes place two weeks after the sequence taken from the Northern Crater. The mountains of the Northern Crater also has brighter lighting, better graphics with hail pelting the foreground. (In the original, a cloud of mist or smoke obscures the mountain.) Kadaj ends the shot with a single line "You are going to give her back eventually" as the helicopter flies off [1:00 ACC]

As Marlene monologues a recap of the events in FF7, Caith Sith rides atop of a stuffed mog next to Barret, Tifa, and Red XIII. They are both absent in the original [4:00 AC & 6:00 ACC]

After Marlene's narration concludes, the shot of the new town built outside the ruins of Migar are different. Two people paying tribute to a memorial statue of Meteorfall is shown, for example. The extended version particularly lingers on victims of Geostigma, including the girl with twin-tails  [7:00 ACC]

A commission report announcement plays over a radio as Tifa scrubs tableware in the bar, discussing the concentration of Lifestream on the surface and mako in facilities, with relation to Geostigma [9:00 ACC]

As Tifa enters into Cloud's room, the hallway outside is notably different [9:00 ACC] A closeup shot of Cloud's desk is seen, cluttered with books, including a medical science book. Cloud’s desk is originally littered with papers and the scene focuses on a framed photograph of Cloud, Tifa, Marlene, and Denzel together. [7:00 AC &10:00 ACC]

After his initial run-in with Kadaj and his gang, the scene transitions to Denzel lying in bed, staring at a photograph of him holding hands with Marlene, and Cloud behind them on Fenrir in the background [14:00 ACC]

At Healen Lodge, after Cloud and Reno clash their weapons together, Cloud initially locks the door after Reno charges at him. In the extended version, Cloud engages the lock after Reno momentarily peers back inside and greets him [13:00 AC & 16:00 ACC]

Rufus discusses the peculiarity of Geostigma with Cloud in depth and the Turks' exploration into the Northern Crater. A flashback of grainy footage is shown of Elena and Tseng encountering Sephiroth's remnants [17:00 ACC]

When Cloud asks what the situation has to do with him while speaking to Rufus, Reno replies, "You're our buddy aren't you?" Cloud violently kicks the door in response. This was absent from the extended version [15:00 AC]

When Cloud asks about who "Mother" is, Rufus deflects, bringing up the children he and Tifa are looking after [16:00 AC] As Cloud turns around and unlocks the door, he asks Rufus if he is hiding anything from him. Rufus remarks on Cloud's interest in learning more about Geostigma for the sake of the two children [20:00 ACC]

Rude and Reno worry about the disappearance of their fellow Turks (Elena and Tseng) and ruminate on their current situation, considering the point of atonement. A black, mysterious haze appears from underneath the door as Kadaj speaks "found you." The scene transitions to Denzel answering the phone while waiting at Seventh Heaven by himself. A flashback sequence of Denzel wandering the ruins of Midgar is shown, as well as his first meeting with Cloud. After it ends, Denzel hears the roar of a motorcycle in the distance outside and excitedly runs out, but sees a member of Kadaj's gang instead. [23:00 ACC]

Denzel sits outside where the twin-tailed girl and her brother are briefly seen, as other city-dwellers ignore them aside from Denzel [31:00 ACC]

Cloud’s flashback of Zack is extended. Cloud witnesses his last moments and inherits the Buster Sword. Sephiroth ends the flashback by talking to him [21:00 AC & 33:00 ACC]

Denzel sits outside of Seventh Heaven where the twin-tailed girl with a moogle plush invites him to come along with other children with Geostigma [38:00 ACC]

After Reno and Rude depart from the room (after rescuing Cloud and Tifa from the church), Cloud stares at a picture of Denzel. He reminisces through the continuation of Denzel’s flashback when Cloud first met/picked up Denzel. Additionally, the children inflicted with Geostigma are seen transported by the remnants to their hideout in the Forbidden City [42:00 ACC]

Music changed when Cloud and Tifa are lying together side-by-side in Aerith’s church to a sound with a different type of ambience. The original "Water" was replaced with the soundtrack "Anxious Heart." [27:00 AC & 40:00 ACC]

Cloud escorts Marlene home, dropping her off at Seventh Heaven. They briefly chatter where Marlene notes that Cloud was quietly seeking a cure for Denzel, to his astonishment [1:01:00 ACC]

As Kadaj and Rufus talk to each other on top of a building, new footage is displayed whereas the original replayed old montages while they spoke [46:00 AC & 1:03:00 ACC]

After the rest of their teammates arrives to help out, Tifa and Denzel jog back to Seventh Heaven; Denzel is frozen as he witnesses Geostigma victims lying helplessly on the ground, and has flashbacks to when he watched the Sector 7 bombing on the news. Tifa cups his hand before resuming their jog before she engages with some enemies. However, she is knocked down to the ground. It adds a brief parallel of Zack and Aerith juxtaposed with Denzel and Tifa in danger; the former moments before their deaths and the latter currently in danger. Cloud re-appears, arriving in time to save the latter. He apologizes to Tifa for being late [1:13:00 ACC]

Denzel runs back home on his own when a monster attacks. He bursts a fire hydrant to deter it [1:15:00 ACC]

All of the Turks (Reno, Rude, Tseng, Elena) and Rufus meet up (after Kadaj, his gang, and Cloud head off) sharing a look together [1:23:00 ACC] Originally, Rude and Reno attempt to climb a construction tarp from the ground to reach the rest of their companions [1:03:00 AC]

During the highway chase, Rude and Reno join via a helicopter, destroying part of the highway as they engage with two of the remnants [1:24:00 ACC]

Sephiroth kicks Cloud into some rubble; Cloud unleashes his omnislash but is unsuccesful. Mirroring the original game, Sephiroth impales Cloud on his sword in the air, before flicking him away, sprouting a single dark wing in the process. Sephiroth then repeatedly stabs at Cloud viciously, before Cloud lands in a bloodsplatter. There is then a scene where Cloud and Zack speak as Sephiroth advances towards him. When he successfully unleashes his omnislash this time around, it glows purple and blue (rather than gold) and includes a momentary shot of a wolf (Fenrir). The end sequence of is also slightly longer [1:41:00 ACC] *In the original version, Sephiroth stabs Cloud into his right side, but Cloud pulls out the sword. Sephiroth does not sprout a wing, though he does retain a dark wing at the end before he disappears [1:19:00 AC]

In the shot with Marlene and Denzel (after the two remaining remnants fire at Cloud) the sky appears brighter with rain pelting in the background less noisely and noticeably before it appears to stop. A phone call sounds at Seventh Heaven in Cloud's room where the kids go to answer it. They run outside alongside a crowd of other children and people before joining hands with the twin-tailed girl. The crowd enters the ruins of Midgar and convene outside Aerith's church [1:25:00 AC & 1:49:00 ACC]

The second ending credits song when Cloud is driving Fenrir is changed from Kyosuke Himuro's "Calling" to Kyosuke Himuro and Gerard Way performing "Safe and Sound" [1:36:00 AC & 2:00:00 ACC]

During the credits, a brief glimpse of Aerith is seen in AC, but she is not there in the credits of ACC. She is replaced by a montage of scenes from the movie instead [1:39:00 AC]

Outside the ruins of Midgar where Zack’s Buster Sword originally marked his final stand, Red XIII narrates to one of his cubs about the spot being "where the 'hero' began his journey." The same flowers that decorate Cloud’s office also decorate the spot [2:05:00 ACC]

The final shot shows the Buster Sword (cleaned of its rust) at its new resting place in Aerith’s church [2:06:00 ACC]

Summary

ACC features new rendering of certain scenes (when Rufus talks with Cloud at Healen Lodge) and new footage (replacing the montage that plays with Rufus and Kadaj talking)

More focus on Geostigma and Cloud trying to find a cure for Denzel

Includes Cloud with more scenes where he directly interacts with the kids

More scenes and emphasis on the twin-tailed girl with a moogle plush

More blood splatter and wounds as characters engage in fights

[tboacademyin]

Exploring the Rich Tapestry of Turkey: 15 Unmissable Activities to do in Turkey 

Preserving the mystical charm and European sophistication, Turkey is a truly blossomed tourist destination. The country is famously known worldwide for its wide variety of natural landscapes, lively cities, and mouthwatering cuisine, and exciting opportunities for adventure. 

It offers an ideal vacation with numerous activities to do in Turkey such as lounging on a lavish Mediterranean beach, hiking in many untamed mountains, or also discovering the intricate cultural layers forged over many a thousand years of history. Even though one can't do it all in one trip, here are our top picks for activities to do in turkey. 

1. Visit the Blue Mosque in Turkey 

The Blue Mosque, also known as the magnificent Sultan Ahmed Mosque, draws visitors from around the world for its unique interiors. This magnificent mosque was constructed by an Ottoman sultan and is situated next to Hagia Sophia, another well-known structure. It has an interior and exterior courtyard, six minarets, and several balconies. The interior courtyard is also enclosed by a small domed portico and has a marble floor. 

2. Explore the Magical Hagia Sophia Mosque in Turkey 

The Hagia Sophia is another one of the well-known building with much historical value in Turkey. It is noted on the UNESCO World Heritage Sites list. Hagia Sophia was also once both an imperial mosque and a Greek Orthodox Christian patriarchal basilica and is now a museum. The sleek design features a huge dome, regarded as a turning point for that era's architecture. 

3. Revisit the history of Ankara Castle 

Ankara Castle, definitely one of the country's final remaining fortifications from the 7th century, is truly a gem of the medieval era. It was a very significant building for many of the empires, including the Roman, Byzantine, Crusader, Ottoman, Seljuq Turks, and many others, covering an incredibly rich and varied history. 

4. Hike at Mount Nemrut in Turkey 

Mount Nemrut hike provides a wonderful peek into massive sand-colored monuments and standing statues of ancient gods in the lush background while providing a refreshing hike. The Nemrut Dag National Park, which is also recognized as one of the World Heritage Sites, is also present. 

5. Enjoy the Turkish delicacies 

Rich in flavors, Turkish cuisine definitely is full of surprises and delicious dishes. Tourists can eat at multiple authentic restaurants while enjoying the gentle traditional hospitality.  

6. Sail the Turquoise Coast 

The Turquoise Coast, also known as the Turkish Riviera, is a paradise for beach lovers and sailing enthusiasts. Crystal-clear waters, hidden coves, and picturesque villages await along this stunning stretch of coastline. Embark on a yacht charter or take a leisurely boat trip to explore the beauty of this region from the sea. 

7. Discover Cappadocia's Hot Air Balloon Ride 

Cappadocia's unique landscape of fairy chimneys and surreal rock formations is best appreciated from above. Experience a magical hot air balloon ride at dawn as you float over this otherworldly terrain, capturing breathtaking views and unforgettable memories. 

8. Explore Bodrum Castle 

Bodrum Castle, also known as the Castle of St. Peter, is a remarkable fortress that overlooks the Bodrum harbor. Dating back to the 15th century, this castle is now home to the Museum of Underwater Archaeology, where visitors can learn about the rich maritime history of the region. 

9. Rafting in Antalya 

For those seeking an adrenaline rush, rafting in Antalya's Köprülü Canyon offers an exciting adventure. Navigate through the emerald waters of the Köprüçay River, surrounded by stunning canyons and lush landscapes. 

10. Attend a Whirling Dervish Ceremony 

Witness the spiritual and mesmerizing Whirling Dervish ceremony, a Sufi practice that involves a form of meditation through spinning. These ceremonies can be experienced in various cities in Turkey and offer a unique insight into the country's mystical traditions. 

11. Marvel at the Ancient City of Troy 

Delve into the pages of mythology by visiting the ancient city of Troy. Famous for the legendary Trojan War, this archaeological site provides a glimpse into the ancient past and the tales that have captured imaginations for centuries. 

12. Skiing in Uludağ 

Turkey isn't just a summer destination; it offers thrilling winter activities too. Head to the Uludağ Mountains for a skiing adventure in winter. With well-equipped ski resorts and stunning snow-covered landscapes, this is a favorite spot for winter sports enthusiasts. 

13. Experience Local Festivals 

Immerse yourself in Turkish culture by attending local festivals and events. From the annual camel wrestling festival in Selçuk to the Whirling Dervish festivals in Konya, these celebrations showcase the vibrancy and diversity of Turkish traditions. 

14. Visit the Topkapi Palace 

Located in Istanbul, the Topkapi Palace is a grand complex that was once the residence of Ottoman sultans. Explore the opulent courtyards, lush gardens, and impressive collections of artifacts, including treasures from various civilizations. 

15. Wander through Antalya's Old Town 

Antalya's charming Old Town, also known as Kaleiçi, is a maze of narrow streets, colorful houses, and ancient city walls. Explore its boutique shops, art galleries, and historic landmarks, and enjoy the blend of old-world charm and modern amenities.   

Activities to do in turkey diverse offerings cater to every traveler's interests, making it a destination that never fails to enchant. 

Explore more with TBO Academy  

[chasingcrystal]

Hello from the Archaeological Site of Mystra! The wonders of Peloponnese never cease to amaze me. Overlooking the ancient city of Sparta, Mystra features two levels: the castle above and monasteries and churches below. It was built in 1248 AD by the Franks and then constantly exchanged hands by being captured by the Byzantines, Turks and then Venetians. It was finally abandoned in 1834 as the inhabitants of Mystras gradually started to move to the modern town of Sparta down the mountain. I came here early and was one of the only people walking around. Some of the walls, churches and monasteries are in very good condition. I enjoyed walking around the whole site and was very thankful to have my bike so I could ride from the upper level to the lower level. I’m happy I’m able to see all these amazing sites with my motorcycle. There’s no way I could see all these thing by just backpacking around. #chasingcrystal #bikeswithoutlimits #bikekingz #motorsports #sidi #dainese #asianstyle #asianwomen #motorcyclephotography #bikerlife #motorcycles #motorcycletravel #instamoto #bikersofinstagram #womenwhoride #dualsport #honda #dualsportbike #motorcycles #mystras #mystrascastle #mystrasgreece #sparta #sparti #ridegreece (at Μυστράς) https://www.instagram.com/p/CfIIxJWIMdD/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[queen-yalo]

FF VII | Headcanons | Proposing

Request: How would Reno, Tseng, and Rude propose? Thanks! 😍😍😍 [by Anon]

A/N: I feel like you guys really love the Turks. Can’t even blame you, they are yummy. ;-; ♥ Hope you enjoy!

Pairing(s): Reno x reader; Rude x reader; Tseng x reader

+++

• Reno would definitely do something unusual. 

• He’s not the kind of man to do the whole cliche ‘take you out to dinner and get on one knee’ show. No, he’s the kind of man to kidnap you with his helicopter and threaten you to drop you from the sky if you refuse to marry him. 

• Okay, he wouldn’t do that last part (at least not in a serious matter), but I feel like he would definitely take you somewhere far away from ShinRa (and Midgar in general). Not because he wants to seperate his work and his private life. He does, but there’s another reason behind it. 

• It’s more like... he wants to be alone with you in that moment. He wants to be away from any kind of prying ears or eyes. It’s just you and him. And that ring in his pocket. So maybe he will take you to the mountains, watching the sunset with you. He knows you always wanted to see that. It’s the perfect opportunity to propose. 

• He will still not get on one knee, that’s just not his thing. He will hold a little monologue though. Reminisce over how you two met, how you kicked him in the balls but how you still peeked his interest and he just couldn’t forget your lovely face and that attitude of yours. 

• You two would laugh a lot before he becomes unusually quiet, pulling out the little black box out of his pocket. ‘I love spending time with you, (Y/N). I don’t want it to end. I don’t want us to end.’ 

• He will kiss you immediately once you said ‘yes’. And he will not stop for a few minutes at least. You would spend the night away from Midgar (camping maybe?) before returning there on the next day, announcing your engagement to your families and friends. 

• Rude is traditional. 

• He’s the one that will cook a three-course meal, have you over for a candle-light-dinner and get on one knee for you. And all of that without his sunglasses! 

• Jokes aside, he wants the night to be perfect. No mistakes, no interruption. He even prepared a little speech, repeating it over and over again - to the point where Reno asked if he was alright and why the hell he was mumbling to himself. 

• Reno knew about the proposal before you did. He wouldn’t stop pestering Rude about telling him what was going on... so eventually Rude gave in and told him about it. Reno was literally screaming since he was shipping you two so hard. He actually managed to not tell you about what was happening that night.  

• So, when you two sat down to eat, you didn’t suspect a thing. A date like this wasn’t unusual. What was unusual though, was that Rude was wearing his best suit. You felt a little underdressed but he assured you that it was fine, kissing your hand softly as he let you into his apartment. Rude is a gentleman through and through, fight me.

• Rude tried to propose several times, always waiting for an opportunity... but ending up missing all of them. It wasn’t until a long time after dessert that he finally gathered all his courage and spoke up. 

• He stuttered. He completely forgot all about the words he prepared. But he got the point across. He loved you. And he wanted to show you and the world how much by placing a ring onto your finger. He got on one knee and presented you the most beautiful ring you have ever seen. Rude knew exactly what you liked. And he picked the ring accordingly. 

• Needless to say that you said yes. 

• Tseng is prepared. He’s so prepared. He got everything. The suit, the location, the speech, the ring... all he needs is... a date. 

• He knows exactly what he’s going to do, he just doesn’t know when. 

• He will definitely choose one of your dinner date-nights. You always go to that fancy restaurant in Sector 1, dining on the very top of the building, at the only private dining table that restaurant has to offer.

• He was lucky that night. It was a wonderful, warm, late-summer night. You were able to dine outside, far away from any noise inside, surrounded by the blurry lights of Midgar and some quiet music. 

• You and him were standing at the railing, overlooking the city when he wrapped one of his arms around you and pulled you close to him. That was it. The perfect moment he had been waiting for all night. 

• Tseng is nervous, but still very collected when he held his little speech. No stuttering, not hesitation. It was exactly like he planned it out. All you needed to do was say ‘yes’. 

• He freaked out on the inside when you didn’t say that magic word immediately. You looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Was it this ridiculous that he wanted to marry you? 

• No, not ridiculous. Just very unexpected. His job was his life. It was a miracle that you two got together in the first place since he was always so busy and devoted to ShinRa. You actually thought this was some cruel joke. 

• But it wasn’t. It was then he pulled out the gorgeous ring he picked for you, convincing you of his pure intentions. He truly wanted to marry you. And finally, you said yes. 

[rune-writes]

I'll Come Visit

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

@zerith-week » Day 2: Promise

Word Count: 2344

Rating: G

Summary: All Zack ever gave Aerith were promises: promises of a date, to see the sky, and to come visit after he returns from Nibelheim.

Chapter 2 of Of Wishes and Promises: Zerith Week 2021

Read on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~

All Zack ever gave Aerith were promises. The first was the promise of a date, the first time he met her when he dropped out of the sky and onto her flowerbed. The second was to show her the sky, because it wasn’t as scary as she thought, and he wanted her to see it. Then he bought her a ribbon and said they should make fun, little promises for when they next met.

“For example, when we meet, you always have to dress in pink.”

Aerith giggled and said that was silly, and it was, but it’d be fun. So she nodded and said okay and wondered what kind of pink dress she had that she could wear.

Then just before he left for Nibelheim, they went to the Sector 6 playground to sell flowers. Operation: Midgar Full of Flowers, Wallet Full of Money seemed to have a good start. The blooms were a big hit. One woman wished she could see them grow all around the slums.

“Yeah, that’s me and Aerith’s dream,” Zack said. “Not just the slums, either. We want to fill the whole of Midgar with flowers!”

Only a dream then, one he hoped would come true once he returned to Midgar, when he could finally take her to the city above and sell flowers under the sky together.

***

Zack sighed at the heavens above as he lay on his back. Thin wisps of cotton-soft clouds drifted past; though, did anyone really know whether clouds were cotton-soft? An age-old imagery that originated from how it looked from the ground, made by people who had too much time on their hands with too little thoughts in their minds.

Zack had too much time on his hands now. With Sephiroth having locked himself in the mansion’s library and still no lead on their investigation, there had been nothing to do but check on the reactor every day. Everything stayed the same. The monsters still slept in their pods, no more reactor malfunctioning, no more signs of Genesis—or any other intruders for that matter.

Cloud would grab any chance he could get to accompany Zack. Probably to escape the town and its people. Probably to be near their ebony-haired guide. He couldn’t blame the guy, and he had no intention to interfere, but sometimes, Zack would look at his stubborn younger friend and wish Cloud would let loose and show them who he really was. Not a SOLDIER, but still a proud member of Shinra’s infantrymen. They’d understand.

When the time came to return to town, he let the two kids go on ahead, saying he wanted to explore more of the mountain. Tifa offered to come with him, but Zack refused. It was still light out. If he’d gotten lost, his SOLDIER pride would be at stake.

Zack had expected a chuckle at the very least, but his guide only stared at him and said, “Okay.” Then she looked at the grunt and nodded her head down the mountain path. “Shall we, then?”

Grunt Cloud jerked, and for a fraction of a second, his wild, panicked eyes met Zack’s through his helmet visor. Zack waited until Tifa had turned and walked away before he slapped Cloud on the back and whispered, “You got this.”

“I got this.” A self-reassuring nod; Cloud gripped his rifle tighter before following Tifa down the mountain. They walked with a little distance between them, but never too far apart. Zack watched, a little grin playing across his lips.

He’d set off in another direction then: a greener, more life-abundant direction; a contrast to the barren, jagged mountain he’d left behind. He’d found the clearing shortly after, with trees on one side and a sheer drop on the other. It overlooked the Nibel plains and the small town below with the clear blue sky stretching far into the horizon.

Fragments of a cloud broke away into little dots, collecting in places that, somehow, reminded him of the yellow blossoms he’d find growing under the shades of a dilapidated church. Thoughts of the blossoms led to thoughts of the flower girl, and Zack couldn’t help but draw another long breath.

It’d been a week since he arrived in Nibelheim, longer still since he last saw Aerith. The closest interaction he'd gotten was the phone call mere days after reaching the mountain village. His PHS had rung when he’d been about to go to the mansion, and it had taken him by surprise when her voice came out of the receiver. But he’d been too busy then, so he’d told her that he’d call later.

“No, no, you don’t have to.” There had been a slight drop to her tone.

He'd pressed his lips together. “Okay, then I’ll come visit.”

“I’ll be here.”

Zack hadn't missed the momentary pause or the wistful sigh, hadn't forgotten her downcast eyes when he told her he would leave Midgar for a job. There had been nothing else he could say but: “I’ll see you, I promise.” He could almost see her smile as he hung up, hoping it had been enough until he returned to her side.

The drifting clouds offered a brief respite from the sun's harsh glare. Summer had long since gone and autumn was well on its way, but Zack still felt hot. Hot and restless and sweaty and wishing he was back under the cover of the church, where a ray of pleasant sunlight slanted in through the broken rooftop right onto her flowerbed. He’d doze on her lap, and Aerith would weave a flower crown to put around his head, and when he opened his eyes, he would see the brightest smile he had ever seen.

Zack reached for his PHS in his pocket. He had half a mind to go to his mails before he realized Aerith didn’t have a PHS. She’d borrowed Tseng’s when she called him before. Zack didn't want to call Tseng. The last time he did, the Turk had chuckled and said that he was at work, that he had one of his men watching her and that she was safe. He would, however, send her Zack’s regards the next time he saw her. Zack's mouth twitched at the memory.

What if he called her house? Elmyra probably wouldn't mind. The last time he met her, she had acted like he was already part of the family. It made him smile and miss her homemade stew, miss the warmth of the kitchen and the vibrant colors in her garden, miss that motherly touch.

But as good as the idea sounded, it was still daylight and Aerith was probably not home. He stared at the open mail draft on his PHS screen, then typed in Kunsel's name.

‘What are you doing?’

The reply came shortly after: ‘If you resorted to mail me in the middle of a mission, I can only imagine how bored you must be feeling right now. So let me tell you some good news, friend. I visited that church your Aerith frequented and I gotta say, she is such a lively fella. You have no idea all the little details she’d asked me of you.’

Zack jumped, glaring into his PHS screen as those last few words hammered their way into his head. He dialed Kunsel’s number. Kunsel immediately picked up.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?”

On the other side of the line, Kunsel cackled—a shoulder-shaking, back-bending, stomach-hurting cackle. “Gods, I can’t believe you fell for that one.”

Zack blinked, too mortified to catch up with the joke.

“I’m on a mission, if you remember—or maybe you don’t. Different from the one when you left for Nibelheim. With our Firsts out on a mission on the other side of the Planet, it seems the top brass has decided to have the rest of us—meaning us, Second-Class—take the lead on the remaining jobs. So I’ve been away, again. Far away from your lovely girl. So you have nothing to worry about.”

Another blink. Right.

“How’s the job anyway?”

A short pause, and maybe it was the easy-going tone of his voice that made Zack's tongue loosen up and tell Kunsel about the current state of his investigation, the current state of Sephiroth, the current state of his restlessness. Then at the end of it, Kunsel chuckled.

“Even in the middle of a mission, you still got time to worry about your girl.” Zack heard a scoff, soft and amused. “She’s fine. Aren’t the Turks watching her?”

“They are…” But even knowing that, there was a disquiet in his heart that he couldn’t quite figure where it was coming from.

“Well, if it’s any help at all, I promised to check up on her, didn’t I? Once I get back from my assignment, I’ll see how she is. Does that ease you?”

It did, even if only a little.

“So just focus on your assignment right now and make sure you get your ass back in Midgar. Quick.” Then he added, “You know I have a whole folder of you sneezing out snot, right?”

“Kuns—!”

The line was cut. The last thing Zack heard was his friend's laughter. It still echoed even when Zack had put his PHS down and stared at the screen, when he laid back on the sunny grass and covered his eyes with an arm. Maybe it was a bad idea to have Kunsel check on Aerith. Who knew what the guy would show her? All the embarrassing details of Zack's life! But Kunsel was the only person Zack could trust in SOLDIER right now…

Zack let out another quiet exhale. He lifted his arm. The clouds drifting past looked uncannily like the girl with the brightest smile.

***

He called a little after dusk. Zack was alone in his room; Sephiroth was still not back; Cloud and the other grunt stood watch somewhere. A few moments passed with only the dial tone filling his ears. And then:

“Hello?”

The smile came unbidden. Like a dam about to burst, his lips wavered at the intensity of the emotions overcoming him—overwhelming him.

“Aerith?”

“Zack?” Her surprise was almost palpable. He could imagine her wide-eyed stare as she stood beneath the warm lights of her home. “This is a surprise. You're not busy?”

“Aw, don’t you miss me?”

She giggled, and it was the most beautiful sound in the entire world. “Silly.”

They talked about everything and anything: what she was doing, how her days had been. "Same old, same old," she said. Tending to her flowers, running errands around the slum, then just as she’d headed for the church, the Leaf House kids had crowded around her and asked where Zack was.

Zack chuckled. “And what’d you tell them?”

“That Zack is on a very important job right now, but he’ll be back very soon and give everyone presents.” Her laugh made him smile, and he imagined her sitting next to the pots and vases, swaying her feet and twirling her hair. He closed his eyes, committing it to memory.

“Hey, Aerith.”

“Yeah?”

When he made that promise to visit, Zack had thought they would finish their mission soon and he'd be back by Aerith's side before she knew it. But it had been a week since then, and he was still stuck in a small mountain town with nothing to do but look for missing persons who refused to be found and wait on a stubborn comrade who refused to leave.

“Think I’d have to take a rain check on that promise. I don’t think I can come back soon.”

“Oh.” She paused. “Okay.” Then, because maybe she’d noticed the hesitancy in his voice: “Is there something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing wrong.” He was quick to answer, quick to ease her worry, even as his mind went to the mansion sitting on the town's outskirts, where Sephiroth was still perusing the many thick volumes stored in the basement. The last time Zack had checked on him, he'd been unaware of Zack’s presence. It’d been like talking to a statue, if statues could walk and talk. Ceaseless mutterings; unending strides; then at times, Sephiroth would stop and look up, and Zack would sigh and thought, finally! Because the meal the townspeople had prepared still lay untouched on the table, and all of Zack’s attempts to tell him to rest had flown over his head. But like a man possessed, Sephiroth had only walked past without truly seeing him, then discarded the book in favor of another.

“Zack?”

Zack blinked, then said again, “Nothing’s wrong.” It was less convincing. “Anyway,” he went on, brightening his voice. “Did you really tell the kids I’d bring them presents?”

“Of course,” she said, her voice too chirpy, as though she’d noticed his unease and opted to play along with his act. “Well, you have to give them something , after all their efforts to learn your combat moves. They’re really taking this Protection Squad business seriously, you know.” She giggled, and he chuckled too.

The kids had been hounding him every time he took the trip beneath the plate. What was supposed to be a quality time with Aerith always ended up as sword-fighting lessons with a bunch of children. Not that he minded them. The more time Zack spent with them, the more endearing they all seemed to him.

“Then I’d better get them something really good.” He wondered if the store next door sold souvenirs. He could ask Cloud for advice. Or Tifa. “But don’t tell them yet. It’ll be a surprise.”

He could feel her smile as she said, “Sure thing.” In the distance, he heard Elmyra’s call. Aerith had to hang up. “Do you think we can talk again tomorrow?”

“Of course. I’ll call you. Or you can call me too, if you want.”

“Really? Then maybe I’ll do that.”

Zack’s lips parted into the slightest grin. “I’ll be here.” Another promise. Her goodbye was the last thing he heard before Aerith ended the call.

~ END ~

[plurdledgabbleblotchits]

“Lady Hester Stanhope, niece of the Prime Minister of England, William Pitt (the Younger), was born into an aristocratic family in England. Despite this she spent the last twenty-five years of her life in Lebanon while waiting to be crowned "Queen of the Jews". She took the prophecy that she would one day be "Queen of the East" from a British insane asylum inmate way too seriously. (Many of her closer friends admit she was always a little off her rocker.) At thirty-three she set sail on the frigate ship Jason. She got as far as Constantinople before the ship sank.

She was then rescued and taken to Rhodes, even though she had no luggage. Since that day she decided to adopt the wardrobe of a male Turk and never wore a veil, which was a big risk at the time. Most of the citizens were amused by her spunk, so it didn't matter. Many of the cities she went through, including Damascus, took her to be an English princess of extraordinary wealth. Some of the locals even started calling her Queen Hester as a joke. She took it as a sign of her impending royal destiny being fulfilled.

Soon her money began to dwindle, but that didn't stop her from taking a great journey to the ruins of the great city of Palmyra in the Arabian Desert. Few Englishmen had seen it for there were warlike tribes of Bedouin robbers and killers waiting to strike unsuspecting caravans. Dressed as a Bedouin, Hester and her caravan of twenty-one camels and a mountain of luggage crossed through the desert. At night she had a black slave with an axe guard her tent. Soon her reputation grew and when she finally reached Palmyra. The tribes gave her a mock celebratory pageant. To Hester it seemed the prophecy was coming true.

In 1814 Lady Hester had enough of traveling and decided to settle down in the abandoned monastery of Mar Elias which overlooked the sea near Lebanon. She had a beautiful garden and all of her house was run in a strict Turkish-like manner. Over the years her home became a refuge during religious wars and her refusal to back down to local authority became famous among the people. Soon Hester had hundreds of refugees come to her shelter and Mar Elias became too small. So she moved to Djouni, another very remote, abandoned monastery.

Lady Hester entertained many of the famous people of her day and spent all her fortune and then some, hoping that the British government would foot the bill. She even went on a treasure hunt expedition at the British government's expense and it turned out to be a flop. The government looked the other way after that.

Hester spent the rest of her life waiting for the call that would proclaim her "Queen of the East". All the while she became a legend in the area. Tourists would come from miles around just to meet her.

At the end of her life, Hester became very reclusive. She sealed all the entrances and doors in her house. One day a British consul came to see her and he found all of her house sealed up. He expected to find great treasure, but instead all he found was some old medicine and rubbish. At the age of sixty-three, Hester died in poverty. Her funeral was a procession of some of the local people who knew her well and was lit by candles stuck into the eye sockets of her deceased ex-lover's skull.”

from The Mammoth Book of Oddballs and Eccentrics

[jewish-privilege]

On April 24, Armenians all over the world will gather for the annual Armenian Genocide Remembrance Day, recognizing the onset of the Ottoman Empire’s campaign of ethnic cleansing. It began in 1915, ultimately killing 1.5 million Armenians, including my Nana’s mother, my great-grandmother. She died as many Armenians did — on a forced march to a concentration camp.

My great-grandfather was murdered in another Turkish murder spree, a rehearsal to the genocide, the 1909 Adana massacre.

For me, my family and Armenian-Americans from Watertown to Fresno, our hearts are hardened doubly on the day of remembrance. Once, for the cruel deaths of our parents, grandparents or great-grandparents. And once again for the insulting fact that the perpetrators continue to this day to deny, with impunity, what happened.

Scholars worldwide recognize the Armenian genocide and many western countries, including France and Germany, have formally declared the event a genocide. But Turkey maintains that whatever happened in 1915 was a civil dispute between Armenians and Turks — with deaths on both sides.

Turkey’s denial of the truth has for years admonished Armenians to never set foot in Turkey. I had always taken the warning to heart.

But something changed as I grew older. Like many Baby Boomers, I’ve been reflecting on my past and discovering a deep well of gratitude for the immigrants who sacrificed to give us a good life.

I wanted to honor them, especially my Nana, who died in 1995. I wanted to do what she would not: return to the village she’d fled as a child, to declare — by my very presence — that she survived and even thrived.

In the spring of 1909, Gulenia Hovsepian — who would become my Nana — was a 9-year-old girl tending her family’s livestock in Bitias, a mountainous village in the Musa Dagh valley overlooking the Mediterranean. She recalled in a tape recording that a Turkish boy ran up to her, declaring “They’re killing the kafirs!” Kafirs were Christians like her family.

She ran home through a grove of mulberry trees, the leaves tickling her cheeks.

When she arrived, her father was arming himself to join other Armenian villagers to fend off the Turks. But he was among hundreds of villagers killed, most likely stabbed to death.

My Nana was rescued by missionaries and spent her teenage years in a Lutheran orphanage in Beirut, safe from the genocide. But when she was 19, she made her way to America for an arranged marriage with an Armenian man living in New Hampshire. They had six children, including my mother.

She lived in a tenement on a dead-end street in our New England mill town, Dover, New Hampshire. My mother, father, brother and I lived in the same tenement, one door away. Nana raised me as much as my parents did, feeding me when they were at their factory jobs, reading Golden Books to me, singing me a lullaby she learned in the orphanage.

Despite her tragic life story, I never heard hateful words from her until I heard her on the recording talking about the Turkish government.

“Damn them,” she said. “They don't want to admit it.”

On a warm day in June 2018, I boarded a flight to Istanbul with my 38-year-old son, Nick. He asked to come along to honor his great-grandmother and help his 70-year-old dad negotiate any obstacles.

Our driver took us up the lush Musa Dagh valley to Bitias, through steep switchbacks, swerving around pedestrians, women pushing baby carriages, couples on scooters and wayward chickens.

Nick and I walked the narrow streets of my Nana’s hometown, absorbing what surely had not changed since she roamed here: the intense sunlight, the heat, the Mediterranean breezes, the smell of wood fires and cow manure. Standing in a field we believed once belonged to our family, I thought: An awful thing happened here. But instead of anger, I felt something unexpected: pride and defiance.

There was one more thing we could do. We went looking for mulberry trees. We walked up and down the hilly village; olive and orange trees everywhere. Nary a mulberry, until we spotted one in the corner of a yard, its branches overhanging at eye level. I snatched a dozen leaves and carried them home in the pages of a notebook. I couldn’t bring my grandmother to her home, but I could bring a piece of home back to her.

A few weeks after returning to the U.S., I drove to Pine Hill Cemetery in Dover where she was buried in the shadow of a tall spruce. I slipped one of the leaves out of my notebook, set it on her gravestone, securing it with a rock. I stepped back and took in the scene: Nana’s name engraved on the stone, the mulberry leaf and the ground below me where her body lay.

My breath quickened and tears came unbidden. All I could think, all I could say was, “Nana, here’s that leaf that tickled your cheeks when you were a little girl about to lose everything. Nana, I’m here, and I’m sorry.”

On Remembrance Day, like other descendants of Armenian genocide victims, I don't know whether to bow my head in grief or shake my fist in anger.

[rufusofshinra]

We’ve got some walking to do.

It should have been a way less problematic arrival at Midgar coming from Junon. Palmer had sent the message out for Rufus to come, there supposedly were problems. And some very interesting rumours about long dead SOLDIERS.

Of course Rufus would call the Turks for the job of safely bringing him to the company. But as professional as they were, bullets and a rocket launcher could even destroy their helicopters.

So they hadn’t made it to Midgar. At least not fully. Some of Avalanche had forced the helicopter down right outside the outskirts of the slums of Sector 7. Or what was left of it.

Rufus overlooked the mountains of rubble and debris. An entirely new landscape made from devastation, some obscure mix of the platform’s finer neighbourhood and the barely recognizable buried slums. There still was smoke lingering in the air.

Turning back to Reno when he heard him announce the next step, Rufus scoffed slightly. The Turk still had the duty and mission to bring him and Darkstar to the HQ safely. It only got kicked up in difficulty several notches now… Reno was reliable. But Rufus knew every psyche had its borders and ends. Shortcomings.

“Will your conscience manage to walk through what my father forced on you?”

[red-stick-rambler]

Day 5

Virginia 

Depart Floyd in the quiet of the morning while the dew is still fresh. I have the Parkway nearly to myself. It’s 10 miles before I see my first car, another 7 before a group of bikes pass. It’s not until 56 miles that I come across a car headed my direction. I quickly put it in the rearview. Past the cow stuck between his barbwire fence and the guardrail, his tail waving above the road. Past the deer at the side of the road wondering which direction to run. (It ran to the woods then turned left running parallel the road showing off his natural speed and grace.) Past the dead pine needles of fallen trees the color of a deer, particularly with the glow of the sun. 

4rth and 5th gear today, the road stretches out, the curves widen. Still 45 mile per hour speed limit, still almost entirely double solid yellow but the conditions permit a higher speed. Exit for lunch in Lynchburg. Granola bar and apple, same as the day before and the day before that. Chai for caffeine from a market that’s been open since 1783. Walk amongst the historic buildings along Maine St. Out of the shade of the Parkway the sun beats down. It’s hot under the riding gear. Time to move. Back to bike. Over the James river, past Buffalo Forks, back to the Parkway for its duration. Down the road, Blue Ridge Parkway complete. Skyline Drive begins. Shenandoah National Park. Continue north east, past Sawmill Ridge, Turk Mountain, Wildcat Ridge, Riprap Overlook, Horsehead Mountain, Dundo Overlook, Rockytop Overlook, Bacon Hollow Overlook, Hightop Mountain, Baldface Mountain, Naked Creek, and Big Meadows, to Skyland Lodge. Built in 1895 at the highest point (3680 ft.) on Skyland Drive. Then a dude ranch, accessible by horse or wagon. The sky is getting dark. A storm is coming. I inquire about a cabin. The woman working tells me nothing is available. I call back down the road to Big Meadow Lodge who tells me they have a cabin but Skyland has more. I return to the lady who continues to insist there is nothing available. People enter and speak to another lady who shares a multitude of options available then checks them in.  I return and say I’ve been on the phone with the other lodge and was informed many cabins are available, that the people who came in after me were checked in. She says they had a reservation; it was clear they did not. I tell her I don’t understand as I try to keep my cool. She finally says she can rent me a cabin but only a deluxe one for three times what the previous people paid. Is it my unshaven beard, my leather pants, the hue of my skin? Before causing a scene I speak with the other woman who is happy to help, shows me several available options at the price other people paid.  I take Dogwood,  a primitive cabin a part from the others. Perfect. I ask why the other woman refused to help and she shrugs. It’s been a beautiful day, a perfect road and I try to let it go. Thunderstorms are forecast through tomorrow. I decide to take a day off the saddle and to be still, to appreciate where I am.    

Beer and burger from the lodge, dining outside with a mountain view. The air is cool. A relief from the summer heat. Back in the cabin I curl up under a blanket, stocking cap on and read “Into the Distance”. 

“His loneliness was perfect, and for the first time in months, despite all the roaring and lashing, he found calm. “

[militant-holy-knight]

The Turkish Atrocities in Bulgaria: Horrible Scenes at Batak by J. A. MacGahan (The Daily News, August 22, 1876)

Since my letter of yesterday I have supped full of horrors. Nothing has as yet been said of the Turks that I do not now believe; nothing could be said of them that I should not think probable and likely. There is, it seems, a point in atrocity beyond which discrimination is impossible, when mere comparison, calculation, measurement are out of the question, and this point the Turks have already passed. You can follow them no further. The way is blocked up by mountains of hideous facts that repel scrutiny and investigation, over and beyond which you can not see and do not care to go. You feel that it is superfluous to continue measuring these mountains and deciding whether they be a few feet higher or lower, and you do not care to go seeking for molehills among them. You feel that it is time to turn back; that you have seen enough.

But let me tell you what we saw in Batak:- We had some difficulty in getting away from Pestera. The authorities were offended because Mr. Schuyler refused to take any Turkish official with him, and they ordered the inhabitants to tell us that there were no horses, for we had to leave our carriages and take to the saddle. But the people were so anxious that we should go that they furnished horses in spite of the prohibition, only bringing them at first without saddles, by way of showing how reluctantly they did it. We asked them if they could not bring us saddles, also, and this they did with much alacrity and some chuckling at the way in which the Mudir's orders were walked over. Finally we mounted and got off. We had been besieged all the morning by the same people who had blockaded us the night before, or who appeared to be the same, their stories were so much alike. We could do nothing but listen in pity to a few of them— it would have taken all day to hear each separate tale of misery and suffering— gave vague promises that we would do all in our power to relieve their misery upon our return to Constantinople. But diplomatic help is, alas! very slow. While ambassadors are exchanging notes and compliments inviting each other to dinner, discussing the matter over their coffee and cigars, making representations to the Porte, and obtaining promises which nobody believes in, these poor people are starving and dying. Many of them decided to seize this opportunity and accompany us to Batak, to visit their ruined homes, and others caught our bridle reins, determined to make us listen to their stories before we should start. One woman caught my horse, and held it until she could show me where a bullet had traversed her arm, completely disabling her from work, and this was only the least of her woes. Husband killed, and little children depending on that broken arm for bread; all of this told in a language so much like Russian that I could understand a great deal of it; so like Russian that I could easily have fancied myself amongst peasants of the Volga, or the denizens of the Gostinoidvor, Moscow. The resemblance is striking, and it is no wonder the Russians sympathise with these people.

You observe the same sort of family likeness about the eyes, that may be always seen among brothers and sisters who are utterly unlike each other in features— of countenance, movements of the hands, tones of the voice, even to that curious, uncertain expression of the face which often in the Russian peasant makes it almost impossible to tell whether he is laughing or crying. A Russian, a Bulgarian, a Servian, a Montenegrin, and a Tchek may meet and talk, each in his own language, and all understand each other. You might as well expect the English north of the Thames not to sympathise with those south of it, in case the latter were under the domination of the Turks, as to try to prevent these Slavonic races from helping each other while groaning under a foreign despotism.

Batak is situated about thirty miles south of Tatar Bazardjik as the crow flies, high up in a spur of the Balkans that here sweeps around to the south from the main range. The road was only a steep mountain path that in places might have tried the agility of a goat. There was a better one, as we learned upon our return, but, with that perversity which distinguishes the Oriental mind, our guide took this one instead. We formed a curious but a somewhat lugubrious procession as we wound up the steep mountain side. First there were our two zaptiehs in their picturesque costumes, bristling with knives and pistols, our guide likewise armed to the teeth, then the five persons who composed our party, mounted on mules and horses decked out with nondescript saddles and trappings, followed by a procession of 50 or 60 women and children who had resolved to accompany us to Batak. Many of the women carried a small child, and a heavy burthen besides, comprising the provisions, clothing, cooking utensils, or harvesting implements, they had begged or borrowed in Pestera. Even children, little girls of nine and ten years, were trudging wearily up the steep mountain side under burthens (sic) too heavy for them; and they would be five or six hours in reaching their destination.

After three hours' climbing by paths so steep that we were obliged to dismount and walk half the time without then seeming quite safe from rolling down into some abyss, mounting higher and higher until we seemed to have got among the clouds, we at last emerged from a thick wood into a delightful little valley that spread out a rich carpet of verdure before our eyes. A little stream came murmuring down through it, upon which there was built a miniature saw-mill. It appears that the people in Batak did a considerable trade in timber, which they worked up from the forests on the surrounding mountains, for we afterwards observed a great number of these little mills, and were even told there were over two hundred in and about the village. The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley with its rich grassy slopes ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us. The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near. This was the village of Batak , which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were is deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached Batak out attention was drawn to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and passing over the debris of two or three walls and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent toward the dogs. They barked at us in an angry manner, and then ran off into the adjoining fields. I observed nothing peculiar as we mounted until my horse stumbled, when looking down I perceived he had stepped on a human skull partly hid among the grass. It was quite hard and dry, and might, to all appearances, have been there two or three years, so well had the dogs done their work. A few steps further there was another and part of a skeleton, likewise, white and dry. As we ascended, bones, skulls, and skeletons became more frequent, but here they had not been picked so clean, for there were fragments of half dry, half putrid flesh attached to them. At last we came to a little plateau or shelf on the hillside, where the ground was nearly level, with the exception of a little indentation, where the head of a hollow broke through. We rode toward this with the intention of crossing it, but all suddenly drew reign with an exclamation of horror, for right before us, almost beneath our horses' feet, was a sight that made us shudder. It was a heap of skulls, intermingled with bones from all parts of the human body, skeletons nearly entire and rotting, clothing, human hair and putrid flesh lying there in one foul heap, around which the grass was growing luxuriantly. It emitted a sickening odour, like that of a dead horse, and it was here that the dogs had been seeking a hasty repast when our untimely approach interrupted them.

In the midst of this heap, I could distinguish the slight skeleton form, still enclosed in a chemise, the skull wrapped about with a coloured handkerchief, and the bony ankles encased in the embroidered footless stockings worn by Bulgarian girls. We looked about us. The ground was strewed with bones in every direction, where the dogs had carried them off to gnaw them at their leisure. At the distance of a hundred yards beneath us lay the town. As seen from our standpoint, it reminded one somewhat of the ruins of Herculaneum and Pompeii . There was not a roof left, not a whole wall standing; all was a mass of ruins, from which arose as we listened a low plaintive wail, like the “keening” of the Irish over their dead, that filled the little valley and gave it voice. We had the explanation of thin curious sound when we afterwards descended into the village. We looked again at the heap of skulls and skeletons before us, and we observed that they were all small and that the articles of clothing intermingled with them and lying about were all women's apparel. These, then, were all women and girls. From my saddle I counted about a hundred skulls, not including those that were hidden beneath the others in the ghastly heap nor those that were scattered far and wide through the fields. The skulls were nearly all separated from the rest of the bones - the skeletons were nearly all headless. These women had all been beheaded. We descended into the town. Within the shattered walls of the first house we came to was a woman sitting upon a heap of rubbish rocking herself to and fro, wailing a kind of monotonous chant, half sung, half sobbed, that was not without a wild discordant melody. In her lap she held a babe, and another child sat beside her patiently and silently, and looked at us as we passed with wondering eyes. She paid no attention to us, but we bent our ear to hear what she was saying, and our interpreter said it was as follows: “My home, my home, my poor home, my sweet home; my husband, my husband, my dear husband, my poor husband; my home, my sweet home,” and so on, repeating the same words over again a thousand times. In the next house were two engaged in a similar way; one old, the other young, repeating words nearly identical: “I had a home, now I have none; I had a husband, now I am a widow; I had a son, and now I have none; I had five children, and now I have one,” while rocking themselves to and fro, beating their heads and wringing their hands. These were women who had escaped from the massacre, and had only just returned for the first time, having taken advantage of our visit or that of Mr. Baring to do so. They might hare returned long ago, but their terror was so great that they had not dared without the presence and protection of a foreigner, and now they would go on for hours in this way, “keening” this kind of funeral dirge over their ruined homes. This was the explanation of the curious sound we had heard when up on the hill. As we advanced there were more and more; some sitting on the heaps of stones that covered the floors of their houses ; others walking up and down before their doors, wringing their hands and repeating the same despairing wail. There were few tears in this universal mourning. It was dry, hard, and despairing. The fountain of tears had been dried up weeks before, but the tide of sorrow and misery was as great as ever, and had to find vent without their aid. As we proceeded most of them fell into line behind us, and they finally formed a procession of four or five hundred people, mostly women and children, who followed us about wherever we went with their mournful cries. Such a sound as their united voices sent up to heaven I hope never to hear again.

It may be well, before going further, to say something about Batak, so that the reader may form a better idea of what took place here. It was a place of nine hundred houses, and about eight or nine thousand inhabitants. As there are no Census statistics, nor, indeed, trustworthy statistics of any other kind in Turkey , it is impossible to tell exactly what the population of any place is or was. But the ordinary rule of calculating five persons to the house will not hold good in Bulgaria . The Bulgarians, like the Russian peasantry, adhere to the old patriarchal method, and fathers and married sons, with their children and children's children, live under the same roof until the grandfather dies. As each son in his turn gets married, a new room is added to the old building, until with the new generation there will often be twenty or thirty people living under the same roof, all paying obedience and respect to the head of the family. In estimating the population, therefore, by the number of houses, somewhere between eight and ten souls must be counted as the average. Edip Effendi, in his report, states that there were only about fourteen hundred inhabitants in the village, all told. A more impudent falsehood was never uttered, even by a Turk. Mr. Schuyler has obtained their tax-list for this year, and finds that there wore 1,421 able-bodied men assessed to pay the military exemption tax. This number in any European country would indicate a population of about 15,000, but here it would not give more than from 8,000 to 10,000 souls till told, and this is the figure at which the population of the place is estimated by the inhabitants, as well as by the people of Pestera.

I think people in England and Europe generally have a very imperfect idea of what these Bulgarians are. I have always heard them spoken of as mere savages, who were in reality not much more civilized than the American Indians; and I confess that I myself was not far from entertaining the same opinion not very long ago. I was astonished, as I believe most of my readers will be, to learn that there is scarcely a Bulgarian village without its school; that those schools are, where they have not been burnt by the Turks, in a very flourishing condition; that they are supported by a voluntary tax levied by the Bulgarians on themselves, not only without being forced to do it by the Government, but in spite of all sorts of obstacles thrown in their way by the perversity of the Turkish authorities; that the instruction given in these schools is gratuitous, and that all profit alike by it, poor as well as rich; that there is scarcely a Bulgarian child that cannot read and write; and, finally, that the percentage of people who can read and write is as great in Bulgaria as in England and France. Do the people who speak of the Bulgarians as savages happen to be aware of these facts? Again I had thought that the burning of a Bulgarian village meant the burning of a few mud huts that were in reality of little value, and that could be easily rebuilt. I was very much astonished to find that the majority of these villages are in reality well-built towns, with solid stone houses, and that there are in all of them a comparatively large number of people who have attained to something like comfort, and that some of the villages might stand a not very unfavourable comparison with an English or French village. The truth is that these Bulgarians, instead of the savages we have taken them for, are in reality a hardworking, industrious, honest, civilized, and peaceful people. Now, as regards the insurrection, there was a weak attempt at an insurrection in three or four villages, but none whatever in Batak, and it does not appear that a single Turk was killed here.

The Turkish authorities did not even pretend that there was any Turk killed here, or that the inhabitants offered any resistance whatever when Achmet-Agha, who commanded the massacres, came with the Basha-Bazouks and demanded the surrender of their arms. They at first refused, but offered to deliver them to the regular troops or to the Kaimakan at Tartar Bazardjik. This, however, Aschmet-Agha refused to allow, and insisted on their arms being delivered to him and his Bashi-Bazouks. After considerable hesitation and parleying this was done. It must not be supposed that these were arms that the inhabitants had specially prepared for an insurrection. They were simply the arms that everybody, Christians and Turks alike, carried and wore openly as is the custom here. What followed the delivery of arms will best be understood by the continuation of the recital of what we saw yesterday. At the point where we descended into the principal street of the place the people who had gathered around us pointed to a heap of ashes by the roadside, among which could be distinguished a great number of calcined bones. Here a heap of dead bodies had been burned, and it would seem that the Turks had been making some futile and misdirected attempts at cremation.

A little further on we came to an object that filled us with pity and horror. It was the skeleton of a young girl not more than fifteen lying by the roadside, and partly covered with the debris of a fallen wall. It was still clothed in a chemise; the ankles were enclosed in footless stockings, but the little feet, from which the shoes had been taken, were naked, and owing to the fact that the flesh had dried instead of decomposing were nearly perfect. There was a large gash in the skull, to which a mass of rich brown hair, nearly a yard long, still clung, trailing in the dust. It is to be remarked that all the skeletons found here were dressed in a chemise only, and this poor child had evidently been stripped to her chemise, partly in the search for money and jewels, partly out of mere brutality, and afterwards killed. We have tallied with many women who had passed through all parts of the ordeal but the last, and the procedure seems to have been, as follows: They would seize a woman, strip her carefully to her chemise, laying aside articles of clothing that wore valuable, with any ornaments and jewels she might have about her. Then as many of them as cared would violate her, and the last man would kill her or not as the humour took him.

At the next house a man stopped us to show where a blind little brother had been burned alive, and the spot where he had found his calcined bones, and the rough, hard-vizaged man sat down and sobbed like a child. The foolish fellow did not seem to understand that the poor blind boy was better off now, and that he ought really to have thanked the Turks instead of crying about it.

On the other side of the way were the skeletons of two children lying side by side, partly covered with stones, and with frightful, sabre cuts in their little skulls. The number of children killed in these massacres is something enormous. They were often spitted on bayonets, and we have several stories from eye-witnesses who saw the little babes carried about the streets, both here and at Olluk-Kui, on the points of bayonets. The reason is simple. When a Mohammedan has killed a certain number of infidels he is sure of Paradise , no matter what his sins may be. Mahomet probably in tended that only armed men should count, but the ordinary Mussulman takes the precept in its broader acceptation, and counts women and children as well. The advantage of killing children is that it can be done without danger, and that a child counts for as much as an armed man. Here in Batak the Bashi-Bazouks, in order to swell the count, ripped open pregnant women, and killed the unborn infants. As we approached the middle of the town, bones, skeletons, and skulls became more numerous. There was not a house beneath the ruins of which we did not perceive human remains, and the street besides was strewn with them. Before many of the doorways women were walking up and down wailing their funeral chant. One of them caught me by the arm and led me inside of the walls, and there in one corner, half covered with stones and mortar, were the remains of another young girl, with her long hair flowing wildly about among the stones and dust. And the mother fairly shrieked with agony, and beat her head madly against the wall. I could only turn round and walk out sick at heart, leaving her alone with her skeleton. A few steps further on sat a woman on a doorstep, rocking herself to and fro, and uttering moans heartrending beyond anything I could have imagined. Her head was buried in her hands, while her fingers were unconsciously twisting and tearing her hair as she gazed into her lap, where lay three little skulls with the hair still clinging to them. How did the mother come to be saved, while the children were slaughtered? Who knows? Perhaps she was away from the village when the massacres occurred. Perhaps she had escaped with a babe in her arms, leaving these to be saved by the father; or perhaps, most fearful, most pitiful thing of all, she had been so terror-stricken that she had abandoned the three poor little ones to their fate and saved her own life by flight. If this be so, no wonder she is tearing her hair in that terribly unconscious way as she gazes at the three little heads lying in her lap.

And now we begin to approach the church and the schoolhouse. The ground is covered here with skeletons, to which are clinging articles of clothing and bits of putrid flesh; the air is heavy with a faint sickening odour, that grows stronger as we advance. It is beginning to be horrible. The school is on one side of the road, the church on the other. The schoolhouse, to judge by the walls that are in part standing, was a fine large building, capable of accommodating two or three hundred children. Beneath the stones and rubbish that cover the floor to the height of several feet, are the bones and ashes of two hundred women and children burnt alive between those four walls. Just beside the school house is a broad shallow pit. Here were buried a hundred bodies two weeks after the massacre. But the dogs uncovered them in part. The water flowed in, and now it lies there a horrid cesspool, with human remains floating about or lying half exposed in the mud. Nearby, on the bunks of the little stream that runs through the village, is a sawmill. The wheel-pit beneath is full of dead bodies floating in the water. The banks of this stream were at one time literally covered with corpses of men and women, young girls and children, that lay there festering in the sun, and eaten by dogs. But the pitiful sky rained down a torrent upon them, and the little stream swelled and rose up and carried the bodies away, and strewed them far down its grassy banks, through its narrow gorges and dark defiles beneath the thick underbrush and the shady woods as far as Pestera, and even Tatar Buzardjik, forty miles distant. We entered the churchyard, but the odour here became so bad that it was almost impossible to proceed. We take a handful of tobacco, and hold it to our noses while we continue our investigation. The church was not a very large one, and it was surrounded by a low stone wall, enclosing a small churchyard about fifty yards wide by seventy-five long. At first we perceive nothing in particular, and the stench was so great that we scarcely care to look about us, but we see that the place is heaped up with stones and rubbish to the height of five or six feet above the level of the street, and upon inspection we discover that what appeared to be a mass of stones and rubbish is in reality an immense heap of human bodies covered over with a thin layer of stones. The whole of the little churchyard is heaped up with them to the depth of three or four feet, and it is from here that the fearful odour comes. Some weeks after the massacre, orders were sent to bury the dead. But the stench at that time had become so deadly that it was impossible to execute the order, or even to remain in the neighbourhood of the village. The men sent to perform the work contented themselves with burying a few bodies, throwing a little earth over others as they lay, and here in the churchyard they had tried to cover this immense heap of festering humanity by throwing in stones and rubbish over the walls, without daring to enter. They had only partially succeeded. The dogs had been at work there since, and now could be seen projecting from this monster grave, heads, arms, legs, feet, and hands, in horrid confusion. We were told there were three thousand people lying here in this little churchyard alone, and we could well believe it. It was a fearful sight — a sight to haunt one through life. There were little curly heads there in that festering mass, crushed down by heavy stones; little feet not as long as your finger on which the flesh was dried hard, by the ardent heat before it had time to decompose; little baby hands stretched out as if for help; babes that had died wondering at the bright gleam of sabres and the red hands of the fierce-eyed men who wielded them; children who had died shrinking with fright and terror; young girls who had died weeping and sobbing and begging for mercy; mothers who died trying to shield their little ones with their own weak bodies, all lying there together, festering in one horrid mass. They are silent enough now. There are no tears nor cries, no weeping, no shrieks of terror, nor prayers for mercy. The harvests are rotting in the fields, and the reapers are rotting here in the churchyard. We looked into the church which had been blackened by the burning of the woodwork, but not destroyed, nor even much injured. It was a low building with a low roof, supported by heavy irregular arches, that as we looked in seemed scarcely high enough for a tall man to stand under. What we saw there was too frightful for more than a hasty glance. An immense number of bodies had been partly burnt there and the charred and blackened remains, that seemed to fill it half way up to the low dark arches and make them lower and darker still, were lying in a state of putrefaction too frightful to look upon. I had never imagined anything so horrible. We all turned away sick and faint, and staggered out of the fearful pest house glad to get into the street again. We walked about the place and saw the same things repeated over and over a hundred times. Skeletons of men with the clothing and flesh still hanging to and rotting together; skulls of women, with the hair dragging in the dust, bones of children and of infants everywhere. Here they show us a house where twenty people were burned alive; there another where a dozen girls had taken refuge, and been slaughtered to the last one, as their bones amply testified. Everywhere horrors upon horrors.

There were no dogs in the place, as they had all been driven away when the inhabitants began to return, and only hung around the outskirts of the village; but I saw one or two cats, fat and sleek, that sat complacently upon the walls and watched us with sleepy eyes. It may be asked why the people who are in the village now do not bury these skeletons and these bones, instead of allowing them to be gnawed by the dogs and cats. Some of those who have been able to identify the bones of friends have made weak attempts at burying them. But they have no spades to dig graves with, and they are weak and starving. Besides, many of the survivors are women, who have made fruitless efforts to keep the bodies of loved ones covered with a little earth. We had ample proof that wherever bones could be identified, they were tenderly cared for. We saw many well-kept graves decorated with flowers. We saw others that had been uncovered by the rain or the dogs, leaving parts of the skeleton exposed, that were still decorated with flowers. We even saw skulls lying on the ground, within a doorway or a garden wall, with a bouquet of flowers lying upon them, as though some one was caring for them, and was yet loth to bury them away out of sight. I saw one half buried, with the face upward, and its hollow eyes gazing reproachfully up at the sunny sky, with a bouquet carefully placed in its mouth; but most of these skeletons and bones have nobody to look after them. Of the eight or nine thousand people who made up the population of the place, there are only twelve or fifteen hundred left, and they have neither tools to dig graves with nor strength to use spades if they had them. But why have the Turkish authorities not buried them out of sight? The Turkish authorities will tell you they have buried them, and that there were very few to bury. Of all the cruel, brutal, ferocious things the Turks ever did, the massacre of Batak is among the worst! Of all the mad, foolish things they ever did, leaving these bodies to lie here rotting for three mouths un-buried is probably the maddest and most foolish! But this village was in an isolated, out-of-the way place, difficult of access, and they never thought Europeans would go poking their noses here, so they cynically said, “These Christians are not even worth burial, let the dogs eat them.”

We talked to many of the people, but we had not the heart to listen to many of their stories in detail, and we restricted ourselves to simply asking them the number lost in each family. No other method would probably give a better idea of the fearful character of the massacre, and the way in which whole families were swept out of existence. “How many ware in your family?” we would ask. “Ten,” the answer would be, perhaps. “How many remain?” “Two.” “How many in yours?” “Eight.” How many remain?” “Three.” “How many in yours?” “Fifteen.” “How many remain?” “Five.” And so on in families numbering from five to twenty, in which only remained from one to five persons. One old woman came to us, wringing her hands, and crying in that hard tearless manner of which I have already spoken, and when we could get her sufficiently calmed to tell us her story, she said she had three tall handsome sons, Ghiorghy, Ivantehu, und Stoyan, and they were all married to good and dutiful wives, Reika, Stoyanka, and Anka, and they had between them twelve beautiful children, Anghel and Tragan and Ghiorghy and Ivantchu, Letko, Assen, Boydan, Stoyan, Tonka, Gingka, Marika, and Reika, so that the family counted all told nineteen persons living under the same roof. Of all this large flourishing family, the tall handsome sons, the dutiful wives, and the twelve beautiful children, there remained only this poor old grand­mother. They were all brutally slaughtered to the last one. Of this nourishing family tree there remained only this lifeless withered trunk, and the poor old woman sat down and beat her head against the ground, and fairly screamed out her despair. There was an old man who told us of his uncle, Blagoi Christostoff, a venerable patriarch of the grand old type. Be had five sons married, who had among them twenty-seven children, thus making a family that with the wives counted up a sum total of thirty-nine persons living under the same roof. Of this enormous family there are only eight left.

We might have gone on for hours listening to these stories had we but time. There was another family of twenty-five, of whom seven were left; one of twenty, of whom eight were left; numbers of them of ten to fifteen, of whom one to five were left; and we heard besides of many families that had been completely annihilated, not one remaining. The people who committed this wholesale slaughter were not Circassians, as has been supposed, but the Turks of the neighbouring villages, led by Achmed Agha, already spoken of. The village of Batak was comparatively rich and prosperous; it had excited the envy and jealousy of its Turkish neighbours, and the opportunities of plunder to the Turks which, combined with their religious fanaticism and the pretext of an insurrection another part of the country, was more than they could resist. The man, Achmed Agha, who commanded the slaughter, has not been punished, and will not be, but, on the contrary, he has been promoted to the rank of Yuz-bashi, and decorated.

We were told that any number of children and young girls had been carried off; that it was known in what Turkish villages they were kept, and that the Turks simply refused to restore them to their parents. Mr. Schuyler afterwards obtained a list, with the names and ages of eighty-seven girls and boys that had been carried off, with the name of the village in which each was kept.

As to the present condition of the people who are here, it is simply fearful to think of. The Turkish authorities have built a few wooden sheds in the outskirts of the village in which they sleep, but they have nothing to live upon but what they can beg or borrow from their neighbours. And in addition to this the Turkish authorities, with that cool cynicism and utter disregard of European demands for which they are so distinguished, have ordered these people to pay their regular taxes and war contributions just as though nothing had happened. Ask the Porte about this at Constantinople , and it will be denied, with the most plausible protestations and the most reassuring promises that everything will be done to help the sufferers. But everywhere the people of the burnt villages come to Mr. Schuyler with the same story — that unless they pay their taxes and war contributions they are threatened with expulsion from the nooks and corners of the crumbling walls where they have found a temporary shelter. It is simply impossible for them to pay, and what will be the result of these demands it is not easy to foretell. But the Government needs money badly, and must have it. Each village must make up its ordinary quota of taxes, und the living must pay for the dead.

We asked about the skulls and bones we had seen up on the hill upon first arriving in the village where the dogs had barked at us. These we were told were the bones of about two hundred young girls, who had first been captured and particularly reserved for a worse fate than death. They had been kept till the last; they had been in the hands of their captors for several days — for the burning and the pillaging had not all been accomplished in a single day — and during this time they had suffered all it was possible that poor weak trembling girls could suffer at the hands of brutal savages. Then, when the town had been pillaged and burnt, when all their friends had been slaughtered, these poor young things, whose very wrongs should have insured them safety, whoso very outrages should have insured them protection, were taken, in the broad light of day, beneath the smiling canopy of heaven, coolly beheaded, then thrown in a heap there, and left to rot.

Mr. Disraeli was right when he wittily remarked that the Turks usually terminated their connection with people who fell into their hands in a more expeditious manner than by imprisoning them. And so they do. Mr. Disraeli was right. At the time he made that very witty remark, those young girls had been lying there many days.

[writer-bbblue95]

Caught In The Breeze

Part 1: Another day at the office

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*CAUGHT IN THE BREEZE*

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The sun rises with the misty morning.

A brisk walk to your destination.

A cushioned but firm seat cradles you loosely as the sounds of mechanical keys fill the room.

You sigh and stretch back. Cracking your joints to prepare for your morning routine of paperwork.

Sipping your morning coffee you overlook the numbers on your screen and make mental notes of what you need to do today. Sticky noting everything important.

Most everything is, so your cubicle just winds up having a rainbow hue that's whitewashed by the layers of paperwork thumb tacked to your cubicle walls.

Cozy, warm, and now caffeinated. You start your day.

Hours go by and the room bustles with bodies. Some drop off more paperwork. Some to ask questions. Others are just clocking in and sitting down for their morning routine. It's comforting to watch the simplicity of human behavior in front of you. Hearing the conversations of co-workers buzzing and laughing at simplistic paperwork jokes. You look around the room and decide that having finished your coffee and created quite a stack of paperwork for the day. You explore your surroundings for some mild chit-chat.

No one, in particular, seems to mind. This is normal office behavior. You chat as you head to the break room to refill your caffeinated nectar.

As you wave to a few coworkers passing by and say the usual good mornings you finally reach the breakroom. Time for some more coffee you think.

The smell overwhelms your senses and makes your mouth water. You pour another cup.

Unbeknownst to you. Rude had been in the corner of the breakroom reading the morning newspaper.

Observing you quietly as you follow the usual routine and noticing you have missed a hello or good morning speech to him, he assumes you haven't seen him yet.

"Goodmorning (Y/N)"

You jump a bit as he has startled you in your calm, defenses-down state.

"Oh, didn't see you there Rude! Good Morning" you say.

You silently swear to yourself and attempt to slow your racing heart. You weren't expecting Rude to be back from his mission so soon. But that must mean? No. He's probably not back yet. He's nowhere in sight and as he's always accompanied by him. He can't be here.

Your guard lowers again as you speak with your friend.

"So, how did the mission go? I'm assuming well, as you're back in one piece?" You laugh a bit to shake off your remaining nerves.

"Fine." He states.

As usual, the same one-worded stoic response. Can't get much out of him, can you? Figures.

"Well that's good. Glad you made it back safe. I'm guessing you'll be joining the cubicle party again? While I admit, I did enjoy the week of silence. I did miss your gloomy face. Haha".

He stares down a bit over his newspaper. The sunglasses are still on his eyes as usual. How does he even read anything with them on? Must be a really nice pair. Or maybe they are like a one-way mirror? Hmm.

"Glad to see you as well. Yes, I'll be back in the cubicle." He states.

"Wow! More than one word! A true sentence! Must have actually missed me this time then Rude."

You get a bland response and an attempt of a chuckle at your comment. A hum in response and a head nod from the man in shades.

"Guess so." He says.

"Well, I've got a mountain of paperwork calling my name. See you back in the cubicle." You state as you realize that's probably the extent of your conversation today.

You wave and slightly smile at him as you grab your coffee to leave.

Returning to your desk. You hear a familiar voice and conversation bustling.

"Guess he's back then." You state to yourself.

Your pulse races for the 2nd time this morning.

You don't want to admit it but you had kind of a thing for Rudes fiery sidekick.

Oh, how the Turks always caught your interest. Especially this one. You would never admit it to anyone as you were too shy to admit your own thoughts but you would tell Rude if the atmosphere was right. Maybe with a few bottles of cider in your system.

You sink down at your desk. Distracted.

You can't seem to focus now.

You hear footsteps.

Rude must be heading back. Gotta look busy. You think to yourself.

Picking up the coffee. You take a big gulp and get typing away like one of those courtroom documenters.

He enters the room.

"Welcome back. Your paperwork is on your desk. I kept it nice and organized in your absence."

You turn around expecting to see Rude only to meet with cerulean eyes and flaming hair.

"Not who you were expecting? Well, damn. Guess you didn't miss me then?" He remarks with his cocky attitude.

You shyly glance away and pretend to be drowning in your work. Stacking some papers to give you a second to breathe. You glance back at him.

"Oh, hey Reno. Didn't realize you were back so soon. You normally don't come back with Rude in one piece so I assumed you were still on a mission or in the infirmary." You giggle a bit trying to keep your cool.

"Nah. Mission went pretty smoothly this time. Nothing too grand. Sadly. Kind of hurts that you would think I wouldn't visit when I returned." He mocks a tear wipe and a pained chest.

He stares directly into your eyes when he finishes and gives you a cocktail smile.

"You know... You could always visit me in the infirmary if I was there." He smiles coyly.

He notices your stare and averts your gaze. A slight blush filling your cheeks.

His arrogant and cocky nature takes a mental note of that.

He turns in your direction.

He walks closer with every step.

Your pulse quickens at the sight of him. Your nervous nature gets the best of your senses.

He opens his mouth to speak...

Rude walks in.

"Reno. Don't you have something better to be doing than bothering the lady?" Rude states as he walks to his desk. Taking a seat and turning the system on.

The redhead walks right past you to speak with the person seated just 5 feet from you. His best buddy Rude.

Unbeknownst to you, there is a smug look he shares secretly with himself as he discusses the day and weather with the chosen individual beside you.

He revels in the thought of your face as you realize he has overlooked you to speak with another.

Rude. It was always Rude he came to speak with.

Why would it ever have been you? He just banters with you if he isn't present.

He was probably just killing time before Rude returned.

Well, he is his best friend and they work very closely together, you think to yourself.

The simpler office duties evading his thoughts as he carries on with his missions.

"Nah. I was just checking in on the office mouse. Seeing as you hadn't arrived yet. I assumed you left." Reno retorts.

Hearing how he speaks and the pronunciation of certain words. You loved his voice. But you'll keep that to yourself.

"Heli needs some scrubbing from the last mission so I sent the interns up to give her a good scrub. Gotta keep the baby in tip-top shape!" He points in the air mocking his own words.

You warm at hearing him talk about his position. The joy of flight. Oh, how you wished you had taken up those lessons when you were a teenager. Maybe you could have actually qualified to be a Turk instead of a bureaucratic pencil pusher. Maybe even a co-pilot to the.. no. No. Stop that. You think.

You feel yourself smile and blush at the thought.

Giggling to yourself as you pull out your phone to scroll social media.

Reno said his goodbyes to Rude and turned to you.

"Catch ya later firecracker. See ya later Rude" he states.

You wave him off as you stay focused on the screen in your hands. "Catch ya later" you state nonchalantly. A smile painting your face.

Facing your monitor you fidget with your pen and drift off into a memory...

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[funight]

Necessarily confine the wandering

The valleys which lie between them necessarily confine the wandering savage to an eastward or westward course, and the slope of the land westward invites him to that direction rather than to the east. And further, at a certain point in these westward passages, as he approaches the meridian of the Sea of Aral, he finds the mountain-ranges cease, and he has the permission, if he will, to stretch away to the north or to the south. Moreover, his course is naturally to the west, from the nature of the case, if he moves at all, for the East is his native home.

There, in the most northerly of these ranges is a lofty mountain, which some geographers have identified with the classical Imaus; it is called by the Saracens Caf, by the Turks Altai; sometimes too it has the name of the Girdle of the Earth, from the huge appearance of the chain to which it belongs, sometimes of the Golden Mountain, from the gold, as well as other metals, with which its sides abound. It is said to be at an equal distance of 2,000 miles from the Caspian, the Frozen Sea, the North Pacific Ocean, and the Bay of Bengal ; and, being in situation the furthest withdrawn from West and South, it is in fact the high metropolis of the vast Tartar country, which it overlooks, and has sent forth, in the course of ages, innumerable populations into the illimitable and mysterious regions around it, regions protected by their inland character both from the observation and the civilizing influence of foreign nations.

To eat bread in the sweat of his brow is the original punishment of mankind; the indolence of the savage shrinks from the obligation, and looks out for methods of escaping it. Com, wine, and oil have no charms for him at such a price; he Gibbon.

turns to the brute animals which are his aboriginal companions, the horse, the cow, and the sheep; he prefers fd’be a grazier than to till the ground. He feeds his horses, flocks, and herds on its spontaneous vegetation, and then in turn he feeds himself on their flesh. He remains on one spot while the natural crop yields them sustenance; when it is exhausted, he migrates to another. He adopts, what is called, the life of a nomad.

[raintransfers10]

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Marmaris is a coastal town positioned withinside the Aegean vicinity of Turkey, at the southern tip of the Troas peninsula. It is taken into consideration to be one of the maximum lovely towns in Turkey. It is well-known for the Capadoccia Castle and its view of Marmaris bay. The area, on a peninsula opened closer to inland Anatolia, gives wonderful perspectives over harbors and canals which as soon as have been domestic to flourishing civilizations (primarily based totally on archaeological evidence). The have an impact on of Greeks population has been massive on this panorama displaying thru many monuments inclusive of St Julia Temple, the Achilleion or theatre theater from two hundred BC. 

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The pleasant choice for Dalaman Marmaris transfersis to take a cab from the airport and the alternative second choice is to take a taxi from the town. 

The Marmaris town turned into based round sixth century BC with the aid of using Miletus colonists. The town prospered below numerous regimes, extensively the Roman and Byzantine empires. After the autumn of Constantinople to the Ottoman Turks in 1453, Marmaris fell below the manage of five distinctive states: The Ottomans, Seljuks, and Karamanids & Osmanoglu.The Capadoccia Castle actually means “Castle at Sea”; it turned into constructed with the aid of using Kubilay Arnavutlu in 1453 as his stable stronghold. It is a mixture of numerous architectural patterns inclusive of shielding towers round its catacombs below a place with  flooring for visitors It is one of the famous tourism towns in Turkey. It has a completely best area positioned on an indented peninsula which lets in for terrific perspectives throughout the sea, presenting wonderful and romantic reports to site visitors who experience its adorable ambiance, way of life & history. In reality this specific a part of Anatolia was known as Pontus Province & Marmaris Bay inside preceding dynasties earlier than converting all through Ottoman rule because of balance motives due to the fact that 1700's on the way to now no longer blend with Istanbul as a whole. 

Situated 8km from Marmaris town middle, Capadocia Lake is one of the pinnacle vacationer stops in Turkey and has been defined with the aid of using UNESCO as “one of the maximum lovely locations on earth”. The lake which turned into found with the aid of using nearby fishermen all through 1800's blanketed its way of life background price because of being located close to Phoenicians famed Marseille or  small mountain levels named youku and antiku each across the lake. Today it's miles one in every of Anatolia's foremost tourism spots that may absorb to four nights (or more) for a median vacationer to go to all its sights consisting of a few in town, town middle plus dungeons cells domestic alike in which Marmaris landowners had used this as their personal personal homes earlier than they have become guesthouses & inns. 

Koyceri ruins positioned on a hillside overlooking the Koycefes town middle, capabilities pinnacle high-satisfactory examples of early Byzantine architecture & fort. They are a fort overlooking the gate thru which vacationers could input the harbor in which they could see historical columns relationship returned to round 400 - six hundred years in the past with a few elements having been carved all through 1320's setting it amongst Turkey's oldest and oldest recognized systems inside principal city regions nevertheless status until today; & gives scenes associated with Greek mythology constructed with the aid of using Greeks.

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[yurstarc]

Necessarily confine the wandering

The valleys which lie between them necessarily confine the wandering savage to an eastward or westward course, and the slope of the land westward invites him to that direction rather than to the east. And further, at a certain point in these westward passages, as he approaches the meridian of the Sea of Aral, he finds the mountain-ranges cease, and he has the permission, if he will, to stretch away to the north or to the south. Moreover, his course is naturally to the west, from the nature of the case, if he moves at all, for the East is his native home.

There, in the most northerly of these ranges is a lofty mountain, which some geographers have identified with the classical Imaus; it is called by the Saracens Caf, by the Turks Altai; sometimes too it has the name of the Girdle of the Earth, from the huge appearance of the chain to which it belongs, sometimes of the Golden Mountain, from the gold, as well as other metals, with which its sides abound. It is said to be at an equal distance of 2,000 miles from the Caspian, the Frozen Sea, the North Pacific Ocean, and the Bay of Bengal ; and, being in situation the furthest withdrawn from West and South, it is in fact the high metropolis of the vast Tartar country, which it overlooks, and has sent forth, in the course of ages, innumerable populations into the illimitable and mysterious regions around it, regions protected by their inland character both from the observation and the civilizing influence of foreign nations.

To eat bread in the sweat of his brow is the original punishment of mankind; the indolence of the savage shrinks from the obligation, and looks out for methods of escaping it. Com, wine, and oil have no charms for him at such a price; he Gibbon.

turns to the brute animals which are his aboriginal companions, the horse, the cow, and the sheep; he prefers fd’be a grazier than to till the ground. He feeds his horses, flocks, and herds on its spontaneous vegetation, and then in turn he feeds himself on their flesh. He remains on one spot while the natural crop yields them sustenance; when it is exhausted, he migrates to another. He adopts, what is called, the life of a nomad.

[foodbulgaria]

Necessarily confine the wandering

The valleys which lie between them necessarily confine the wandering savage to an eastward or westward course, and the slope of the land westward invites him to that direction rather than to the east. And further, at a certain point in these westward passages, as he approaches the meridian of the Sea of Aral, he finds the mountain-ranges cease, and he has the permission, if he will, to stretch away to the north or to the south. Moreover, his course is naturally to the west, from the nature of the case, if he moves at all, for the East is his native home.

There, in the most northerly of these ranges is a lofty mountain, which some geographers have identified with the classical Imaus; it is called by the Saracens Caf, by the Turks Altai; sometimes too it has the name of the Girdle of the Earth, from the huge appearance of the chain to which it belongs, sometimes of the Golden Mountain, from the gold, as well as other metals, with which its sides abound. It is said to be at an equal distance of 2,000 miles from the Caspian, the Frozen Sea, the North Pacific Ocean, and the Bay of Bengal ; and, being in situation the furthest withdrawn from West and South, it is in fact the high metropolis of the vast Tartar country, which it overlooks, and has sent forth, in the course of ages, innumerable populations into the illimitable and mysterious regions around it, regions protected by their inland character both from the observation and the civilizing influence of foreign nations.

To eat bread in the sweat of his brow is the original punishment of mankind; the indolence of the savage shrinks from the obligation, and looks out for methods of escaping it. Com, wine, and oil have no charms for him at such a price; he Gibbon.

turns to the brute animals which are his aboriginal companions, the horse, the cow, and the sheep; he prefers fd’be a grazier than to till the ground. He feeds his horses, flocks, and herds on its spontaneous vegetation, and then in turn he feeds himself on their flesh. He remains on one spot while the natural crop yields them sustenance; when it is exhausted, he migrates to another. He adopts, what is called, the life of a nomad.