#Excavations in Daisy Hill

[heavydutycivilptyltd]

Excavation in Daisy Hill

For reliable Excavation in Daisy Hill, Heavy Duty Civil Pty Ltd offers a wide range of excavation services, ensuring projects are completed with precision and efficiency. Their experienced team provides expert Excavation Services in Daisy Hill for residential, commercial, and industrial needs, using state-of-the-art equipment to handle any project, large or small. When it comes to Excavations in…

[multipleservicelisting]

Caligula’s Garden of Delights, Unearthed and Restored

The fourth of the 12 Caesars, Caligula — officially, Gaius Julius Caesar Germanicus — was a capricious, combustible first-century populist remembered, perhaps unfairly, as the empire’s most tyrannical ruler. As reported by Suetonius, the Michael Wolff of ancient Rome, he never forgot a slight, slept only a few hours a night and married several times, lastly to a woman named Milonia.

During the four years that Caligula occupied the Roman throne, his favorite hideaway was an imperial pleasure garden called Horti Lamiani, the Mar-a-Lago of its day. The vast residential compound spread out on the Esquiline Hill, one of the seven hills on which the city was originally built, in the area around the current Piazza Vittorio Emanuele II.

There, just on the edge of the city, villas, shrines and banquet halls were set in carefully constructed “natural” landscapes. An early version of a wildlife park, the Horti Lamiani featured orchards, fountains, terraces, a bath house adorned with precious colored marble from all over the Mediterranean, and exotic animals, some of which were used, as in the Colosseum, for private circus games.

When Caligula was assassinated in his palace on the Palatine Hill in 41 A.D., his body was carried to the Horti Lamiani, where he was cremated and hastily buried before being moved to the Mausoleum of Augustus on the Campus Martius, north of the Capitoline Hill. According to Suetonius, the elite garden was haunted by Caligula’s ghost.

Historians have long believed that the remains of the lavish houses and parkland would never be recovered. But this spring, Italy’s Ministry of Cultural Heritage, Cultural Activities and Tourism will open the Nymphaeum Museum of Piazza Vittorio, a subterranean gallery that will showcase a section of the imperial garden that was unearthed during an excavation from 2006 to 2015. The dig, carried out beneath the rubble of a condemned 19th-century apartment complex, yielded gems, coins, ceramics, jewelry, pottery, cameo glass, a theater mask, seeds of plants such as citron, apricot and acacia that had been imported from Asia, and bones of peacocks, deer, lions, bears and ostriches.

“The ruins tell extraordinary stories, starting with the animals,” said Mirella Serlorenzi, the culture ministry’s director of excavations. “It is not hard to imagine animals, some caged and some running wild, in this enchanted setting.” The science of antiquities department of the Sapienza University of Rome collaborated on the project.

The objects and structural remnants on display in the museum paint a vivid picture of wealth, power and opulence. Among the stunning examples of ancient Roman artistry are elaborate mosaics and frescoes, a marble staircase, capitals of colored marble and limestone, and an imperial guard’s bronze brooch inset with gold and mother-of-pearl. “All the most refined objects and art produced in the Imperial Age turned up,” Dr. Serlorenzi said.

The classicist Daisy Dunn said the finds were even more extravagant than scholars had anticipated. “The frescoes are incredibly ornate and of a very high decorative standard,” noted Dr. Dunn, whose book “In The Shadow of Vesuvius” is a dual biography of Pliny the Elder — a contemporary of Caligula’s — and his nephew Pliny the Younger. “Given the descriptions of Caligula’s licentious lifestyle and appetite for luxury, we might have expected the designs to be quite gauche.”

The Horti Lamiani were commissioned by Lucius Aelius Lamia, a wealthy senator and consul who bequeathed his property to the emperor, most likely during the reign of his friend Tiberius from A.D. 14 to 37. When Caligula succeeded him — it is rumored that Caligula and the Praetorian Guard prefect Macro hastened the death of Tiberius by smothering him with a pillow — he moved into the main house.

In an evocative eyewitness account, the philosopher Philo, who visited the estate in A.D. 40 on behalf of the Jews of Alexandria, and his fellow emissaries had to trail behind Caligula as he inspected the sumptuous residences “examining the men’s rooms and the women’s rooms … and giving orders to make them more costly.” The emperor, wrote Philo, “ordered the windows to be filled up with transparent stones resembling white crystal that do not hinder the light, but which keep out the wind and the heat of the sun.”

Evidence suggests that after Caligula’s violent death — he was hacked to bits by his bodyguards — the house and garden survived at least until the Severan dynasty, which ruled from A.D. 193 to 235. By the fourth century, the gardens had apparently fallen into desuetude, and statuary in the abandoned pavilions was broken into pieces to build the foundations of a series of spas. The statues were not discovered until 1874, three years after Rome was made the capital of the newly unified Kingdom of Italy. With the Esquiline Hill in the midst of a building boom, the Italian archaeologist Rodolfo Lanciani nosed around freshly excavated construction sites and uncovered an immense gallery with an alabaster floor and fluted columns of giallo antico, considered the finest of the yellow marbles.

He later stumbled upon a rich deposit of classical sculptures that, at some point in the horti’s history, had been deliberately hidden to protect them. The treasures included the Lancellotti Discobolus, now housed at the National Museum of Rome; the Esquiline Venus and a bust of Commodus depicted as Hercules, now at the Capitoline Museums. In short time, the sculptures were carted off, the foundation of an apartment building was laid, and the ancient ruins were reburied.

The latest excavation of the horti unfolded under the detritus of the residences, which had been evacuated in the 1970s in the wake of a building collapse. Much like the 2012 exhumation of Richard III in Leicester, England, the unburying involved a modern parking site.

Sixteen years ago, the three-and-a-half-acre property was purchased by Enpam, a private foundation that manages pensions for Italian doctors and dentists. Exploratory core drilling for a new headquarters and a six-level underground garage brought forth a wealth of first-century relics, from the type of window glass described by Philo to lead pipes stamped with the name of Claudius, Caligula’s uncle and successor.

As construction crews erected the five-story office building, archaeologists in a trench 18 feet below street level gingerly screened and scraped away soil. In a study lab across town, paleobotanists and archaeozoologists analyzed fragments, and researchers painstakingly repaired a 10-foot-high wall fresco painted with pigment made from ground cinnabar. The entire $3.5 million conservation and restoration project was underwritten by Enpam.

Ground was broken for the Nymphaeum Museum in 2017. “The new space, in the basement of Enpam, brings to light one of the mythical places of the empire’s capital, one of the garden residences loved by the emperors,” said Daniela Porro, the museum director.

What all of this does for Caligula’s seemingly irredeemable reputation is an open question. He emerges from Suetonius’s “The Twelve Caesars,” written 80 years after the emperor was bumped off, as utterly depraved: having incestuous relationships with his sisters, sleeping with anyone he liked the look of, using criminals as food for his wild beasts when beef became too pricey and insisting that a loyal subject who had vowed to give his own life if the emperor survived an illness should carry through on his promise and die.

Mary Beard, a professor of classics at Cambridge University, posited that while Caligula might have been assassinated because he was a monster, it is equally possible that he was made into a monster because he was assassinated. In “SPQR,” her rich history of ancient Rome, she argues that “it is hard to resist the conclusion that, whatever kernel of truth they might have, the stories told about him are an inextricable mixture of fact, exaggeration, willful misinterpretation and outright invention — largely constructed after his death, and largely for the benefit of the new emperor, Claudius.”

Whether Caligula got a raw deal from history is a subject of hot and unyielding debate. “There is clearly some bias in the sources,” Dr. Dunn allowed. “But even without that, it is difficult to envision him as a good emperor. I doubt these new discoveries will do much to rehabilitate his character. But they should open up new vistas onto his world, and reveal it to be every bit as paradisiacal as he desired it to be.”

from Multiple Service Listing https://ift.tt/3bDBxNi

[a-wlw-reads]

Hey tumblr so I need your help! My school always had one of those “Read Across America” maps with young adult novels or romances or whatever (evidently, I’m American) but I’ve never seen anything comparable for wlw. I’ve tried to rely on my memory and on other people’s recs but I’m only (exactly) halfway through. Any suggestions to fill in these missing states? I’ve tried to avoid stories that take place across multiple locations. Or offer more options for the ones I already have, the more the merrier.

Alabama : Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe by Fannie Flag

Alaska : Grief Map by Sarah Hahn Campbell, The Dead Go to Seattle by Vivian Faith Prescott

Arizona : Bright Lights of Summer by Lynn Ames

Arkansas : Cottonmouths by Kelly J. Ford

California : Everything Leads to You by Nina LaCour, Honey Girl by Lisa Freeman, Frog Music by Emma Donoghue, The Necessary Hunger by Nina Revoyr, Gay L.A.: A History of Sexual Outlaws, Power Politics, and Lipstick Lesbians by Lillian Faderman and Stuart Timmons, Queens of Geek by Jen Wilde, The Brightsiders by Jen Wilde, Under the Lights by Dahlia Adler, Far From Home by Lorelie Brown, The Summer of Jordi Perez (And the Best Burger in Los Angeles) by Amy Spalding, You Know Me Well by Nina LaCour, Excavation by Wendy C. Ortiz, The IHOP Papers by Ali Liebegott, Soft on Soft by Em Ali, She Is Me by Cathleen Schine

Colorado : Marionette by T.B. Markinson, Sleight of Hand by Mark Henwick, Snow Falls by Gerri Hill, Sadie by Courtney Summers, Tell Me What You Like by Kate Allen

Connecticut : Pages for You by Sylvia Brownrigg, Patience & Sarah by Isabel Miller

Delaware : As I Lay Frying: A Rehoboth Beach Memoir by Fay Jacobs

Florida : Breathing Underwater by Lu Vickers, Roller Girl by Vanessa North, Down to the Bone by Mayra Lazara Dole

Georgia : Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit by Jaye Robin Brown, The Color Purple by Alice Walker, The Blue Place by Nicola Griffith, Taking Flight by Siera Maley, Honor Girl: A Graphic Memoir by Maggie Thrash, Leah on the Offbeat by Becky Albertalli, Ivy Aberdeen’s Letter to the World by Ashley Herring Blake, Odd One Out by Nic Stone, The Cherokee Rose by Tiya Miles

Hawaii : Razor Wire by Lauren Gallagher, Name Me Nobody by Lois-Ann Yamanaka

Idaho : Ship It by Britta Lundin, Her Hometown Girl by Lorelie Brown, Right Out of Nowhere by Laurie Salzler, Idaho Code by Joan Opyr

Illinois : Coffee Will Make You Black by April Sinclair, How Sweet It Is by Melissa Brayden, What Matters Most by Georgia Beers, The Long Way Home by Rachel Spangler, Close to Home by Rachel Spangler, Memory Mambo by Achy Obejas, Things to Do When You’re Goth in the Country by Chavisa Woods

Indiana : Tessa Masterson Will Go to Prom by Emily Franklin and Brendan Halpin, Hoosier Daddy by Ann McMan and Salem West

Iowa : A Thousand Acres by Jane Smiley, Moo by Jane Smiley, The Butches of Madison County by Ellen Orleans, Death by Discount by Mary Vermillion

Kansas : Far From Xanadu by Julie Anne Peters, My Almost Certainly Real Imaginary Jesus by Kelly Barth

Kentucky : Run by Kody Keplinger, Dress Codes for Small Towns by Courtney Stevens

Louisiana : Her Name in the Sky by Kelly Quindlen, Beauty and the Boss by Ali Vali, Rusty Logic by Robin Alexander, Spelling Mississippi by Marnie Woodrow, The Fact of a Body: A Murder and a Memoir by Alexandria Marzano-Lesnevich

Maine : Style by Chelsea Cameron, Double Exposure by Chelsea Cameron, A Good Idea by Christina Moracho

Maryland : Cytherea’s Breath by Sarah Aldridge

Massachusetts : Mermaid in Chelsea Creek by Michelle Tea, Map of Ireland by Stephanie Grant, Heart of Brass by Morven Moeller, A Line in the Dark by Malinda Lo, P.S. I Miss You by Jen Petro-Roy, Hocus Pocus & The All-New Sequel by A.W. Jantha, Marriage of a Thousand Lies by AJ Sindu, Love & Other Carnivorous Plants by Florence Gonsalves, Marriage of Unconvenience by Chelsea M. Cameron, Cool for You by Eileen Myles

Michigan : The Liberators of Willow Run by Marianne K. Martin, Drum Roll, Please by Lisa Jenn Bigelow, The Cold and the Rust: Poems by Emily Van Kley, Her by Cherry Muhanji, Vanished by E.E. Cooper, Radical by E.M. Kokie

Minnesota : Sister Mischief by Laura Goode, Being Emily by Rachel Gold, My Year Zero by Rachel Gold, Bend by Nancy Hedin, Hallowed Murder by Ellen Hart

Mississippi : Ramona Blue by Julie Murphy

Missouri : Deliver Us from Evie by M.E. Kerr, Heart of the Game by Rachel Spangler, Jam on the Vine by LaShonda Katrice Barnett

Montana : The Miseducation of Cameron Post by Emily M. Danforth, Innocent Hearts by Radclyffe, Storms by Gerri Hill

Nebraska : Not Otherwise Specified by Hannah Moskowitz, Over You by Amy Reed

Nevada : Not Your Sidekick by C.B. Lee, Desert of the Heart by Jane Rule, Bittersweet by Nevada Barr

New Hampshire : Good Moon Rising by Nancy Garden, Snowsisters by Tom Wilinsky and Jen Sternick

New Jersey : A Cup of Water Under My Bed by Daisy Hernández

New Mexico : Beauty of the Broken by Tawni Waters, So Far From God by Ana Castillo, The Last of the Menu Girls by Denise Chávez, Like Water by Rebecca Podos

New York : Labyrinth Lost by Zoraida Córdova, Annie On My Mind by Nancy Garden, Zami: A New Spelling of My Name by Audre Lorde, Rubyfruit Jungle by Rita Mae Brown, We Are Okay by Nina LaCour, Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg, Thaw by Elyse Springer, Eating Fire: My Life as a Lesbian Avenger by Kelly Cogswell, Rat Bohemia by Sarah Schulman, Tailor-Made by Yolanda Wallace, The Price of Salt by Patricia Highsmith, When Katie Met Cassidy by Camille Perri

North Carolina : The Ada Decades by Paula Martinac, Challah and Callaloo by La Toya Hankins

North Dakota : Prairie Silence: A Memoir by Melanie Hoffert

Ohio : Fat Angie by E.E. Charlton-Trujillo, Taking the Long Way by Lily R. Mason, The Last Place You Look by Kristen Lepionka, Eat Your Heart Out by Dayna Ingram, Juniper Lane by Kady Morrison

Oklahoma : Tumbleweed Fever by L.J. Maas, Edited Out by Lisa Haddock

Oregon : Juliet Takes a Breath by Gabby Rivera, Forgive Me If I’ve Told You This Before by Karelia Stetz-Waters, Dryland by Sara Jaffee

Pennsylvania : Fun Home by Alison Bechdel, In the Silence by Jaimie Leigh McGovern, The Summer We Got Free by Mia McKenzie

Rhode Island : The Red Tree by Caitlín R. Kiernan, Homecoming by Nell Stark, Sing You Home by Jodi Picoult

South Carolina : The House You Pass on the Way by Jacqueline Woodson, Two or Three Things I Know for Sure by Dorothy Allison, The Revolution of Little Girls by Blanche McCrary Boyd

South Dakota : Charity by Paulette Callen

Tennessee : Secret City by Julia Watts, If I Was Your Girl by Meredith Russo, South of Sunshine by Dana Elmendorf, Choices by Skyy, Like Me: Confessions of a Heartland Country Singer by Chely Wright

Texas : Forgetting the Alamo, Or, Blood Memory by Emma Pérez, Santa Olivia by Jacqueline Carey, The Unraveling of Mercy Louis by Keija Parssinen, Gulf Breeze by Gerri Hill, Gulf Dreams by Emma Pérez, Lay Down the Law by Carsen Taite, Far From the World We Know by Harper Bliss, Spinning by Tillie Walden, Mean Deaf Little Queer by Terry Galloway, The Dime by Kathleen Kent, Uncovered: How I Left Hasidic Life and Finally Came Home by Leah Lax

Utah : Saving Alex: When I Was Fifteen I Told My Mormon Parents I Was Gay, and That’s When My Nightmare Began by Alex Cooper

Vermont : Dismantled by Jennifer McMahon

Virginia : As I Descended by Robin Talley, Lies We Tell Ourselves by Robin Talley, Jericho by Ann McMan

Washington : The Edge of Nowhere by Elizabeth George, Dreadnought and Sovereign by April Daniels, About A Girl by Sarah McCarry, Karen Memory by Elizabeth Bear, The Cybernetic Tea Shop by Meredith Katz, Stuck Landing by Lauren Gallagher

Washington, D.C : Madam President by Blayne Cooper and T. Novan, Pulp by Robin Talley

West Virginia : The Winter Triangle by Nikki Woolfolk, Blue Apple Switchback by Carrie Highley, Sugar Run by Mesha Maren

Wisconsin :

Wyoming :

[foodpilgrim]

Crumbling blue

As temperatures rise, an iceberg wedge salad can be quite appealing come suppertime. Now, after a recent pilgrimage to South Carolina, I have learned of a most worthy blue cheese for the topping. Please bear with this unexpected story.

The North Carolina mountains have long been a destination for Charlestonians and other South Carolinians seeking a reprieve from summer heat. The village of Highlands, where I spent the weekend, was among the most popular destinations. In the 1800s, however, getting to cooler climes from the coast required arduous journeys. Before the days of automobiles, the rail line north through the Upstate ended in Walhalla, South Carolina. From there, vacationers had to load up their luggage and hire horse drawn coaches. The jostling excursion up the mountain could take several days, depending on the depth of the Chattooga River at one of several crossings. The rugged switchbacks on rocky roads made for a dusty and dizzying ride.

Finally, in 1852, ambitious planners mapped out a path for the “Blue Ridge Railroad” that would connect Charleston to Knoxville, and ultimately, Cincinnati. Construction commenced from south to north the next year. The route would require 13 tunnels, the largest through Stumphouse Mountain, seven miles north of Walhalla. 

Some 1,500 Irish people--miners and their family members--were brought to the mountain to tackle the deep blue granite with “hand drills, hammers, chisels, and black powder,” as a historical marker on the site explains. Aiming to create a tunnel more than a mile long and just wide and tall enough to permit a train to pass through, the miners first cut 16′ x 20′ air shafts to a vertical depth of as much as 200 feet into the mountain. Then they began excavating four horizontal tunnel sections, ultimately creating a 1,617 foot span underground. Legend has it that the immigrants also spawned a booming tavern business in their topside village called Tunnel Hill, where the workers would let off steam after their grueling shifts. The extremely hazardous duty paid less than two dollars per hour.

Blasting and drilling went on day and night. A million dollars into the project, South Carolina seceded from the Union, the Civil War began, the state’s economy collapsed, and the tunnel was never finished, though several efforts were made over the following decades to renew the project.

The ironically-named Mountain Rest, South Carolina, is now home to the “tunnel to nowhere” where a state park offers picnic and camping sites, a hiking trail to Issaqueena Falls (one of some 300 dazzling waterfalls in Oconee County), and a railroad museum. 

Coming down Highway 28 from Highlands, Donna and I found the park, thanks to a friend who had mentioned its oddity. We found ourselves plummeting down a narrow corkscrew of a road from the park entrance through a lush canopy of hardwoods and flanked by blooming mountain laurel and ditch daisies. It was hard to imagine what the Irish folk must have thought of this rugged, almost-claustrophobic terrain when they arrived. 

At road’s end, there is simply a parking lot and several narrative markers. Amid bird calls and an occasional swirling breeze, we walked up a steep, paved embankment about fifty yards. Ahead was the Stumphouse Tunnel, but well before we reached the opening in the rock, we were smacked in the face by a blast of cold air, as if someone had left the refrigerator door open. The chill hit like a wall of blue granite. The tunnel was dripping from above and leaching water down the sides. A sign had already warned visitors not to disturb the bats. I called out into the dimming light, and the echo was deep. I didn’t need to go any farther. The pulsing cold was delightful in the afternoon sun. We stood in awe of the long-ago labor.

But here’s the twist: In 1940, a Clemson College professor visited the abandoned tunnel and noted that the deep orifice maintained a steady humidity of 85 percent and a temperature of 56 degrees. This condition was a result of  those vertical shafts the miners had created to enter the mountain’s rock from above. This climate, the professor suspected, would be perfect for curing cheese using the ancient method developed in the limestone caves above the village of Roquefort-sur-Soulzon, near Toulouse, in the south of France. Roquefort is one of the oldest known cheeses ever made and was favored by Charlemagne. The name is proprietary to France.

To make their own blue cheese, Clemson would not use French sheep’s milk, however, but chose Brown Swiss and Holstein cow’s milk.  They developed mold strains perfect for the tunnel’s temperatures. Though milk shortages during World War II delayed the project, Clemson eventually bought the tunnel in 1951. They infused their local milk with mold cultures and transported it 30 miles to cure in the tunnel for six months at a time. From 1953 to 1956, the cheese was successfully manufactured, except during the summer months when conditions in the tunnel sometimes got a bit too warm. Eventually, Clemson’s food scientists replicated the tunnel’s conditions in their own air-conditioned ripening rooms in Newman Hall on campus.

Once again, the sad tunnel was abandoned until a coalition of conservation groups fought off a residential development plan and created instead a 40-acre conservancy that is now listed on the National Register of Historic Places and is managed as a park by the town of Walhalla.

Clemson is proud of its prize-winning blue cheese that’s distributed throughout the region. As they explain, “Each 288-gallon vat makes a batch of about 240 lbs, which is then salted, waxed and aged for 6 months. When it is ready, each hoop is scraped and packaged by hand. Each lot is kept separate, and strenuous record keeping assures quality at every step.” This venture is apparently not a money-making enterprise, but it is a rather distinctive marketing vehicle for the school. And it is delicious.

After reading about the tunnel’s short stint as a cheese cave, as modestly documented on the back side of one state historic marker, we immediately went to the nearest Ingle’s Grocery in Clayton, Georgia, and bought Clemson Blue Cheese in both crumbles and a wedge. Neither as harsh and stinky as a Gorgonzola nor as sharp and salty as Roquefort, Clemson Blue may well have been the first artisan cheese to come out of the South way back in the 1950s, and, like most everything from the region, it comes with a strange story attached. I prefer to think of it as Blue Granite cheese, in memory of the Irish miners.

[global-news-station]

JAKARTA: More than 1,200 people are now known to have died in the quake-tsunami that smashed into Sulawesi, Indonesia said on Tuesday, as police pledged to clamp down on looting by survivors taking advantage of the chaos.

There were reports of officers firing warning shots and tear gas to ward off people ransacking shops in Palu, a coastal city ravaged by a 7.5-magnitude quake and the tsunami it spawned.

Almost 200,000 people are in need of urgent help, the United Nations says, among them thousands of children.

Survivors are battling thirst and hunger, with food and clean water in short supply, and local hospitals are overwhelmed by the number of injured.

Police said Tuesday that they had previously tolerated desperate survivors taking food and water from closed shops, but had now arrested 35 people for stealing computers and cash.

“On the first and second day clearly no shops were open. People were hungry. There were people in dire need. That’s not a problem,” said deputy national police chief Ari Dono Sukmanto.

“But after day two, the food supply started to come in, it only needed to be distributed. We are now re-enforcing the law.”

“There are ATMs. They are open,” he added. “If people steal, we catch and investigate.”

Despite official assurances, desperation was evident on the streets of Palu, where survivors clambered through wreckage hunting for anything salvageable.

Others crowded around daisy-chained power strips at the few buildings that still have electricity, or queued for water, cash or petrol being brought in via armed police convoy.

“The government, the president have come here, but what we really need is food and water,” Burhanuddin Aid Masse, 48, said.

Rescue efforts have been hampered by a lack of heavy machinery, severed transport links, the scale of the damage, and the Indonesian government’s reluctance to accept foreign help.

As if to remind the world of the tectonic fragility of Indonesia, a series of quakes hit the island of Sumba on Tuesday, albeit hundreds of kilometres from Palu.

The official death toll from the tragedy in central Sulawesi stood at 1,234, according to the government.

The Indonesian military is leading the rescue effort, but following a reluctant acceptance of help by President Joko Widodo, international NGOs also have teams on the ground in Palu.

Among the dead are dozens of students whose lifeless bodies were pulled from their landslide-swamped church in Sulawesi.

“A total of 34 bodies were found by the team,” Indonesia Red Cross spokeswoman Aulia Arriani said after the grim discovery, adding that 86 students had initially been reported missing from a Bible camp at the Jonooge Church Training Centre.

Arriani said rescuers faced an arduous trek to reach the mudslide and retrieve the victims.

“The most challenging problem is travelling in the mud as much as 1.5 hours by foot while carrying the bodies to an ambulance,” she said.

Indonesia is the world’s most populous Muslim-majority nation but there are small pockets of religious minorities, including Christians, across the archipelago of 260 million people.

Urgent need

The United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs warned Monday that there were 191,000 people in urgent need of help after the quake-tsunami, among them 46,000 children and 14,000 elderly — many in areas that aren’t the focus of government recovery efforts.

The dead — many yet uncounted, their bodies still trapped in the rubble of collapsed buildings — are also a source of concern for authorities.

In Indonesia’s hot, equatorial climate, bodies quickly begin to rot and provide a breeding ground for deadly diseases.

At Poboya — in the hills above the devastated seaside city of Palu — volunteers have begun to fill a vast grave with the dead, with instructions to prepare for 1,300 victims to be laid to rest.

Trucks stacked with corpses wrapped in orange, yellow and black bags are bringing their load to the site, where the bodies are dragged into the grave as excavators pour soil on top.

‘I lost her’

There were glimmers of hope among the countless tragedies.

Two people have been plucked from the 80-room Hotel Roa-Roa, Indonesia’s search and rescue agency said, and there could still be more alive.

And for Azwan, who — like many Indonesians — goes by a single name, there was joy when he was reunited with his wife, Dewi, after 48 hours of fearing the worst as he searched hospitals and morgues.

The 38-year-old civil servant struggled to keep his emotions in check as he told how the couple had been reunited two days after Dewi had been swept away by the tsunami.

“I was so happy, so emotional — thank god I could see her again,” said Azwan.

But for some, the search yields only sorrow as they trudge around open-air morgues, where the dead lay in the baking sun — waiting to be claimed, waiting to be named.

The International Committee of the Red Cross said it was working to reunite families who had become separated during the disaster and was providing “forensic services” to those carrying out the grim task of identifying victims.

The post Indonesia clamps down on looting as quake-tsunami toll tops 1,200 appeared first on ARYNEWS.

from International – ARYNEWS https://ift.tt/2y7DU5H

[thediaboazulbookstore-blog]

Sing Unburied Sing by Jesmyn Ward An intimate portrait of a family and an epic tale of hope and struggle, the book examines the ugly truths at the heart of the American story and the power - and limitations - of family bonds. ‘This wrenching new novel by Jesmyn Ward digs deep into the not-buried heart of the American nightmare. A must’ Margaret Atwood. Rich with Ward’s distinctive, lyrical language, Sing, Unburied, Sing brings the archetypal road novel into rural twenty-first century America.

Turtles All the Way by Down John Green (YA) Sixteen-year-old Aza never intended to pursue the mystery of fugitive billionaire Russell. But there's a hundred-thousand-dollar reward at stake and her friend, Daisy, is eager to investigate. Together, they navigate the short distance and broad divides that separate them from Russell Pickett's son, Davis. Aza is trying. She is trying to be a good daughter, a good friend, a good student, and maybe even a good detective, while also living within the ever-tightening spiral of her own thoughts. In his long-awaited return with a book hailed by the Guardian as ‘a new modern classic’, John Green, the acclaimed, award-winning author of The Fault in Our Stars, shares Aza’s story with shattering, unflinching clarity in this brilliant novel of love, resilience, and the power of lifelong friendship.

Madness is Better Than Defeat by Ned Beauman In 1938, two rival expeditions set off for a lost Mayan temple in the jungles of Honduras, one intending to shoot a screwball comedy on location there, the other intending to disassemble it and ship it back to New York. A seemingly endless stalemate ensues, and twenty years later, when a rogue CIA agent learns that both expeditions are still out in the wilderness, he embarks on a mission to exploit the temple as a geopolitical pawn. But the mission hurtles towards disaster when he discovers that the temple is the locus of grander conspiracies than anyone could have guessed. Showcasing the anarchic humour, boundless imagination and unparalleled prose of one of the finest writers of his generation, Man Booker-nominated, Granta Best of Young British novelist. This is a masterful novel that teases, entertains and dazzles in equal measure. 

The Travelling Cat Chronicles by Hiro Arikawa The tender feelgood story of a man's journey around Japan with a streetcat, translated by Philip Gabriel, a translator of Murakami. It’s not the journey that counts, but who’s at your side. Set against the backdrop of Japan’s changing seasons and narrated with a rare gentleness and humour, Nana’s story explores the wonder and thrill of life’s unexpected detours. It is about the value of friendship and solitude, and knowing when to give and when to take. A life-affirming anthem to kindness and self-sacrifice, The Travelling Cat Chronicles shows how the smallest things can provide the greatest joy.

Gnomon by Nick Harkaway Near-future Britain is not just a nation under surveillance but one built on it: a radical experiment in personal transparency and ambient direct democracy. Every action is seen, every word is recorded. Diana Hunter, a refusenik, a has-been cult novelist who lives in a house with its own Faraday cage (no electronic signals can enter or leave) runs a lending library and conducts business by barter. She is off the grid in a society where the grid is everything. Denounced, arrested and interrogated by a machine that reads your life history from your brain, she dies in custody. Mielikki Neith is the investigator charged with discovering how this tragedy occurred. She is Hunter’s opposite, a woman in her prime, a stalwart advocate of the System. When Neith opens the record of the interrogation, she finds not Hunter’s mind but four others...The question is whether there is a truth hidden in the noise of all those lives? Or is all that unfolding experience and drama simply a cover for some kind of attack upon the fabric of the most democratic nation state ever constructed? Was Diana Hunter innocent all along - worse, could she have been correct to attempt to withstand a perfect democratic system?

Go, Went, Gone by Jenny Erpenbeck One of the great contemporary European writers takes on Europe’s biggest issue. Richard has spent his life as a university professor, immersed in the world of books and ideas, but now he is retired, his books remain in their packing boxes and he steps into the streets of his city, Berlin. Here, on Alexanderplatz, he discovers a new community—a tent city, established by African asylum seekers. Hesitantly, getting to know the new arrivals, Richard finds his life changing, as he begins to question his own sense of belonging in a city that once divided its citizens into them and us. At once a passionate contribution to the debate on race, privilege and nationality and a beautifully written examination of an ageing man’s quest to find meaning in his life, Go, Went, Gone showcases one of the great contemporary European writers at the height of her powers.

"Roughing it" by Mark Twain Part fact, part fiction, Mark Twain’s Roughing It takes readers on a high-spirited journey from Missouri to Nevada, California to Hawaii. Travel via stagecoach through woods, plains, hills, and gorges, as Twain spins yarn after yarn on the people he meets, and the towns they explore. Originally published in 1872, this semi-autobiographical semi-prequel to Innocents Abroad satirizes American and Western society in a way that only Mark Twain knows how.

The Nix by Nathan Hill This brilliant debut takes the reader from the rural Midwest of the 1960s, to New York City during Occupy Wall Street; from Chicago in 1968, to wartime Norway: home of the mysterious Nix. As Samuel  excavate his mother's - and his country's - history, he will unexpectedly find that he has to rethink everything he ever knew about his mother - a woman with an epic story of her own, a story she has kept hidden from the world. 'The best new writer of fiction in America. The best.' John Irving.

Norse Mythology by Neil Gaiman The great Norse myths are woven into the fabric of our storytelling - from Tolkien, Alan Garner and Rosemary Sutcliff to Game of Thrones and Marvel Comics. They are also an inspiration for Neil Gaiman's own award-bedecked, bestselling fiction. Now he reaches back through time to the original source stories in a thrilling and vivid rendition of the great Norse tales. Gaiman's gods are thoroughly alive on the page - irascible, visceral, playful, passionate - and the tales carry us from the beginning of everything to Ragnarok and the twilight of the gods. Galvanised by Gaiman's prose, Thor, Loki, Odin and Freya are irresistible forces for modern readers and the crackling, brilliant writing demands to be read aloud around an open fire on a freezing, starlit night.

[bookinghotelbg]

Nero’s palace I watched white butterflies

Among the many ruins of Nero’s palace I watched white butterflies flitting amongst feathery, silver grasses and pink and white daisies. Lizards basked on the altar of Zeus. On the foot of the Heramm, probably the most historical temple that could be seen in Greece at the moment, a jackal whined in its dwelling. Sheep-bells had been sounding plaintively down the valley past the arch resulting in the walled method by which the good stadium, the place the video games befell, was entered. After I bought up presently to walk among the many ruins, I set my foot on the tiny ruts of an uneven pavement, specifically constructed in order that the toes of contending athletes mustn’t slip upon it.

THE TEMPLE OF HERA AT OLYMPIA

The ruins lie in a sheltered and distant valley distant from the ocean, and surrounded by mild hills, woods, and pleasant pastoral nation. At a long way is the final railway station of the Peloponnesian railway line, which connects with the principle line at Pyrgos. Between the station and the low hill on which stand the resort and the museum is strung out a small, straggling hamlet of peasants’ homes. It is vitally troublesome to comprehend that this distant sanctuary, hidden away within the inexperienced glades and amid the pastures of Elis, the place the waters of Cladeus and Al- pheus glide amongst reeds and rushes, was ever crowded with individuals from all components of Greece; that emperors dwelled there; that there the passions of the mob had been roused to intense expression; that there males gained the need of their hearts or had been uncovered to the sneers and opprobrium of their fel-lows. For Olympia to-day seems like a perfect residence for the good god Pan.

I’ve referred to as the ruins stunning, and I feel them so, partly due to their scenario, with which they appear to me to mix harmoniously, and partly be-cause of nature’s collaboration with them, which is missing from the ruins at Eleusis and even at Delphi. At Olympia many bushes develop among the many stays of the temples. A river runs by them. Excavations, although normally fascinating, are sometimes each dusty and ugly. At Olympia they’re pastoral. Dryads would possibly love them. Tan would possibly sit fortunately on virtually any little bit of the partitions and play his pipe. They type a singular sylvan paradise, stuffed with fantastic associations, by which one is tempted to relaxation for hours, whereas from many ruins one needs solely to get away as soon as they’ve been examined. And but Olympia is so fragmentary that many individuals are bitterly upset with what they discover there, because the guests’ e-book within the little resort bears witness.

[travelagentr]

Nero’s palace I watched white butterflies

Among the many ruins of Nero’s palace I watched white butterflies flitting amongst feathery, silver grasses and pink and white daisies. Lizards basked on the altar of Zeus. On the foot of the Heramm, probably the most historical temple that could be seen in Greece at the moment, a jackal whined in its dwelling. Sheep-bells had been sounding plaintively down the valley past the arch resulting in the walled method by which the good stadium, the place the video games befell, was entered. After I bought up presently to walk among the many ruins, I set my foot on the tiny ruts of an uneven pavement, specifically constructed in order that the toes of contending athletes mustn’t slip upon it.

THE TEMPLE OF HERA AT OLYMPIA

The ruins lie in a sheltered and distant valley distant from the ocean, and surrounded by mild hills, woods, and pleasant pastoral nation. At a long way is the final railway station of the Peloponnesian railway line, which connects with the principle line at Pyrgos. Between the station and the low hill on which stand the resort and the museum is strung out a small, straggling hamlet of peasants’ homes. It is vitally troublesome to comprehend that this distant sanctuary, hidden away within the inexperienced glades and amid the pastures of Elis, the place the waters of Cladeus and Al- pheus glide amongst reeds and rushes, was ever crowded with individuals from all components of Greece; that emperors dwelled there; that there the passions of the mob had been roused to intense expression; that there males gained the need of their hearts or had been uncovered to the sneers and opprobrium of their fel-lows. For Olympia to-day seems like a perfect residence for the good god Pan.

I’ve referred to as the ruins stunning, and I feel them so, partly due to their scenario, with which they appear to me to mix harmoniously, and partly be-cause of nature’s collaboration with them, which is missing from the ruins at Eleusis and even at Delphi. At Olympia many bushes develop among the many stays of the temples. A river runs by them. Excavations, although normally fascinating, are sometimes each dusty and ugly. At Olympia they’re pastoral. Dryads would possibly love them. Tan would possibly sit fortunately on virtually any little bit of the partitions and play his pipe. They type a singular sylvan paradise, stuffed with fantastic associations, by which one is tempted to relaxation for hours, whereas from many ruins one needs solely to get away as soon as they’ve been examined. And but Olympia is so fragmentary that many individuals are bitterly upset with what they discover there, because the guests’ e-book within the little resort bears witness.

[historyholidays]

Nero’s palace I watched white butterflies

Among the many ruins of Nero’s palace I watched white butterflies flitting amongst feathery, silver grasses and purple and white daisies. Lizards basked on the altar of Zeus. On the foot of the Heramm, essentially the most historic temple which may be seen in Greece at the moment, a jackal whined in its dwelling. Sheep-bells had been sounding plaintively down the valley past the arch resulting in the walled means by which the good stadium, the place the video games happened, was entered. Once I received up presently to walk among the many ruins, I set my foot on the tiny ruts of an uneven pavement, specifically constructed in order that the ft of contending athletes shouldn’t slip upon it.

THE TEMPLE OF HERA AT OLYMPIA

The ruins lie in a sheltered and distant valley distant from the ocean, and surrounded by mild hills, woods, and pleasant pastoral nation. At a long way is the final railway station of the Peloponnesian railway line, which connects with the principle line at Pyrgos. Between the station and the low hill on which stand the lodge and the museum is strung out a small, straggling hamlet of peasants’ homes. It is extremely tough to understand that this distant sanctuary, hidden away within the inexperienced glades and amid the pastures of Elis, the place the waters of Cladeus and Al- pheus glide amongst reeds and rushes, was ever crowded with individuals from all elements of Greece; that emperors dwelled there; that there the passions of the mob had been roused to intense expression; that there males gained the will of their hearts or had been uncovered to the sneers and opprobrium of their fel-lows. For Olympia to-day appears like a super residence for the good god Pan.

I’ve known as the ruins lovely, and I believe them so, partly due to their state of affairs, with which they appear to me to mix harmoniously, and partly be-cause of nature’s collaboration with them, which is missing from the ruins at Eleusis and even at Delphi. At Olympia many bushes develop among the many stays of the temples. A river runs by them. Excavations, although normally attention-grabbing, are sometimes each dusty and ugly. At Olympia they’re pastoral. Dryads may love them. Tan may sit fortunately on nearly any little bit of the partitions and play his pipe. They kind a novel sylvan paradise, stuffed with great associations, by which one is tempted to relaxation for hours, whereas from many ruins one needs solely to get away as soon as they’ve been examined. And but Olympia is so fragmentary that many individuals are bitterly disenchanted with what they discover there, because the guests’ e-book within the little lodge bears witness.

[heavydutycivilptyltd]

Earth Moving Services Daisy Hill

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[banskotravel]

Nero’s palace I watched white butterflies

Among the many ruins of Nero’s palace I watched white butterflies flitting amongst feathery, silver grasses and purple and white daisies. Lizards basked on the altar of Zeus. On the foot of the Heramm, essentially the most historic temple which may be seen in Greece at the moment, a jackal whined in its dwelling. Sheep-bells had been sounding plaintively down the valley past the arch resulting in the walled means by which the good stadium, the place the video games happened, was entered. Once I received up presently to walk among the many ruins, I set my foot on the tiny ruts of an uneven pavement, specifically constructed in order that the ft of contending athletes shouldn’t slip upon it.

THE TEMPLE OF HERA AT OLYMPIA

The ruins lie in a sheltered and distant valley distant from the ocean, and surrounded by mild hills, woods, and pleasant pastoral nation. At a long way is the final railway station of the Peloponnesian railway line, which connects with the principle line at Pyrgos. Between the station and the low hill on which stand the lodge and the museum is strung out a small, straggling hamlet of peasants’ homes. It is extremely tough to understand that this distant sanctuary, hidden away within the inexperienced glades and amid the pastures of Elis, the place the waters of Cladeus and Al- pheus glide amongst reeds and rushes, was ever crowded with individuals from all elements of Greece; that emperors dwelled there; that there the passions of the mob had been roused to intense expression; that there males gained the will of their hearts or had been uncovered to the sneers and opprobrium of their fel-lows. For Olympia to-day appears like a super residence for the good god Pan.

I’ve known as the ruins lovely, and I believe them so, partly due to their state of affairs, with which they appear to me to mix harmoniously, and partly be-cause of nature’s collaboration with them, which is missing from the ruins at Eleusis and even at Delphi. At Olympia many bushes develop among the many stays of the temples. A river runs by them. Excavations, although normally attention-grabbing, are sometimes each dusty and ugly. At Olympia they’re pastoral. Dryads may love them. Tan may sit fortunately on nearly any little bit of the partitions and play his pipe. They kind a novel sylvan paradise, stuffed with great associations, by which one is tempted to relaxation for hours, whereas from many ruins one needs solely to get away as soon as they’ve been examined. And but Olympia is so fragmentary that many individuals are bitterly disenchanted with what they discover there, because the guests’ e-book within the little lodge bears witness.

[communisttravel]

Nero’s palace I watched white butterflies

Among the many ruins of Nero’s palace I watched white butterflies flitting amongst feathery, silver grasses and pink and white daisies. Lizards basked on the altar of Zeus. On the foot of the Heramm, essentially the most historical temple which may be seen in Greece at the moment, a jackal whined in its dwelling. Sheep-bells had been sounding plaintively down the valley past the arch resulting in the walled means by which the nice stadium, the place the video games passed off, was entered. After I received up presently to walk among the many ruins, I set my foot on the tiny ruts of an uneven pavement, specifically constructed in order that the ft of contending athletes mustn’t slip upon it.

THE TEMPLE OF HERA AT OLYMPIA

The ruins lie in a sheltered and distant valley distant from the ocean, and surrounded by light hills, woods, and pleasant pastoral nation. At far is the final railway station of the Peloponnesian railway line, which connects with the primary line at Pyrgos. Between the station and the low hill on which stand the lodge and the museum is strung out a small, straggling hamlet of peasants’ homes. It is vitally tough to comprehend that this distant sanctuary, hidden away within the inexperienced glades and amid the pastures of Elis, the place the waters of Cladeus and Al- pheus glide amongst reeds and rushes, was ever crowded with individuals from all components of Greece; that emperors dwelled there; that there the passions of the mob had been roused to intense expression; that there males gained the will of their hearts or had been uncovered to the sneers and opprobrium of their fel-lows. For Olympia to-day appears like an excellent house for the nice god Pan.

I’ve referred to as the ruins lovely, and I believe them so, partly due to their scenario, with which they appear to me to mix harmoniously, and partly be-cause of nature’s collaboration with them, which is missing from the ruins at Eleusis and even at Delphi. At Olympia many bushes develop among the many stays of the temples. A river runs by them. Excavations, although normally attention-grabbing, are sometimes each dusty and ugly. At Olympia they’re pastoral. Dryads may love them. Tan may sit fortunately on virtually any little bit of the partitions and play his pipe. They type a novel sylvan paradise, stuffed with great associations, by which one is tempted to relaxation for hours, whereas from many ruins one needs solely to get away as soon as they’ve been examined. And but Olympia is so fragmentary that many individuals are bitterly disillusioned with what they discover there, because the guests’ e-book within the little lodge bears witness.

[travelsinn]

Nero’s palace I watched white butterflies

Among the many ruins of Nero’s palace I watched white butterflies flitting amongst feathery, silver grasses and pink and white daisies. Lizards basked on the altar of Zeus. On the foot of the Heramm, essentially the most historical temple which may be seen in Greece at the moment, a jackal whined in its dwelling. Sheep-bells had been sounding plaintively down the valley past the arch resulting in the walled means by which the nice stadium, the place the video games passed off, was entered. After I received up presently to walk among the many ruins, I set my foot on the tiny ruts of an uneven pavement, specifically constructed in order that the ft of contending athletes mustn’t slip upon it.

THE TEMPLE OF HERA AT OLYMPIA

The ruins lie in a sheltered and distant valley distant from the ocean, and surrounded by light hills, woods, and pleasant pastoral nation. At far is the final railway station of the Peloponnesian railway line, which connects with the primary line at Pyrgos. Between the station and the low hill on which stand the lodge and the museum is strung out a small, straggling hamlet of peasants’ homes. It is vitally tough to comprehend that this distant sanctuary, hidden away within the inexperienced glades and amid the pastures of Elis, the place the waters of Cladeus and Al- pheus glide amongst reeds and rushes, was ever crowded with individuals from all components of Greece; that emperors dwelled there; that there the passions of the mob had been roused to intense expression; that there males gained the will of their hearts or had been uncovered to the sneers and opprobrium of their fel-lows. For Olympia to-day appears like an excellent house for the nice god Pan.

I’ve referred to as the ruins lovely, and I believe them so, partly due to their scenario, with which they appear to me to mix harmoniously, and partly be-cause of nature’s collaboration with them, which is missing from the ruins at Eleusis and even at Delphi. At Olympia many bushes develop among the many stays of the temples. A river runs by them. Excavations, although normally attention-grabbing, are sometimes each dusty and ugly. At Olympia they’re pastoral. Dryads may love them. Tan may sit fortunately on virtually any little bit of the partitions and play his pipe. They type a novel sylvan paradise, stuffed with great associations, by which one is tempted to relaxation for hours, whereas from many ruins one needs solely to get away as soon as they’ve been examined. And but Olympia is so fragmentary that many individuals are bitterly disillusioned with what they discover there, because the guests’ e-book within the little lodge bears witness.

[travelbalkan]

Nero’s palace I watched white butterflies

Among the many ruins of Nero’s palace I watched white butterflies flitting amongst feathery, silver grasses and crimson and white daisies. Lizards basked on the altar of Zeus. On the foot of the Heramm, probably the most historic temple that could be seen in Greece right now, a jackal whined in its dwelling. Sheep-bells have been sounding plaintively down the valley past the arch resulting in the walled method by which the good stadium, the place the video games passed off, was entered. Once I bought up presently to walk among the many ruins, I set my foot on the tiny ruts of an uneven pavement, specifically constructed in order that the ft of contending athletes shouldn’t slip upon it.

THE TEMPLE OF HERA AT OLYMPIA

The ruins lie in a sheltered and distant valley distant from the ocean, and surrounded by mild hills, woods, and pleasant pastoral nation. At far is the final railway station of the Peloponnesian railway line, which connects with the primary line at Pyrgos. Between the station and the low hill on which stand the lodge and the museum is strung out a small, straggling hamlet of peasants’ homes. It is extremely tough to understand that this distant sanctuary, hidden away within the inexperienced glades and amid the pastures of Elis, the place the waters of Cladeus and Al- pheus glide amongst reeds and rushes, was ever crowded with folks from all elements of Greece; that emperors dwelled there; that there the passions of the mob have been roused to intense expression; that there males gained the will of their hearts or have been uncovered to the sneers and opprobrium of their fel-lows. For Olympia to-day seems like an excellent house for the good god Pan.

I’ve referred to as the ruins lovely, and I feel them so, partly due to their state of affairs, with which they appear to me to mix harmoniously, and partly be-cause of nature’s collaboration with them, which is missing from the ruins at Eleusis and even at Delphi. At Olympia many timber develop among the many stays of the temples. A river runs by them. Excavations, although often attention-grabbing, are sometimes each dusty and ugly. At Olympia they’re pastoral. Dryads may love them. Tan may sit fortunately on nearly any little bit of the partitions and play his pipe. They kind a singular sylvan paradise, filled with great associations, by which one is tempted to relaxation for hours, whereas from many ruins one needs solely to get away as soon as they’ve been examined. And but Olympia is so fragmentary that many individuals are bitterly disenchanted with what they discover there, because the guests’ guide within the little lodge bears witness.

[autolovecraft]

Indeed, it was a chaos of daemon cacophony.

The high clouds far below him the lesser ones than in valleys, since there was a castle beyond all mortal thought, and also to warn the people roam reverently at will. There were many of them went down to the cavern of flame to the fungous plain, till at length by means of sight toward higher ledges of the malodorous place.

The party could land him at last what indeed they existed, were not the weakening of the State House on the rift where it was not chained, but Carter felt that their shape suggested the huts of granite and bleak stone villages at a farmhouse well for a journey. It was dark when the ghouls still bore the spears and javelins he collected, and Carter knew clearly that they were beaten in advance, and clustered and bulbous domes for which messengers had been.

Presently two yellowish-red eyes and long-vanished morning in Ulthar.

Then, when your nurse first wheeled you out in the hill-people that Carter sought a forest pool and cleansed himself of the darker powers, eager to drag before his masters a mortal dreamer could have glorified no suitable or wholesome gods, and in a bundle as if conscious of having outdistanced the ghoulish leaders; telling what might befall him, smirking sinfully and hinting that it bears an iron ring three feet wide. He felt from the temple or seen the evil flame.

There now ensued a mighty longing for the absence of ghoulish meeping shewed that the speed of the Elder Ones, and Carter saw many low, broad, round cottages in fields of grotesque whitish fungi. Look! Save for the legends of Ngranek, and the ghasts to their native deeps. When the light was ample and the awful voids outside the ordered universe, where are the slaves of the ornate galleons of fragrant cedar and calamander riding gently at anchor, and Carter saw that he might sail back to these things Carter glibbered his message rapidly and explicitly to the river. Of the length of Inquanok, whose vertical side he would. He had known that in all Barth's dreamland was at once sent up as his judgment struggled with his hands.

He also advised Carter to the bank of Oukianos, who had shanghaied Carter on their dark ship anchored beside a jutting quay of spongy rock a nightmare cloud above the meadows across the daisied fields toward a peaked gable which he tied his yak to a more comfortable position. And the Shantak-birds, and wished he had aided the ghouls and the almost-humans had ruled so anciently before the leaders of the corridors leading outside. But when they gave Carter a guest in his blankets before going to work in their respective directions, while at the throat of an antique Pharaoh, gay with prismatic robes and crowned with a certain hellish familiarity; and win from them, unless suddenly interrupted or deflected, bring him after a while he thanked them kindly; and as Carter had come to that solitary moon-things in the latter case being sucked quickly under by certain submarine lurkers whose presence was indicated only by dim rumor, and to realize that the victim would burst was highly uncertain just who or what had occurred. On the second night he spent in a style unknown to one with full nine-tenths of their hideous laps rose evil Shantaks of elephantine bulk, but found that they go to leap and gambol on the end all of delicate black with clouds and mists and the gulfs of heaven to Kadath's familiar towers and monoliths arose, but went to sleep in his own footing as best he could so easily lead back at will. Carter come, and was said to lie, so that the rock were heard.

The headlands were prolongations of the faceless flutterers, Carter could see so many legends that he was shooting dizzily downward in the party which had sneaked after Carter to disguise as a sub-lieutenant in that sovereign assembly of Zoogs.

Trembling in waves that golden wisps of nebula made weirdly visible, there issue from the three rescued ghouls suggesting a raid on the docks.

When the ship ahead to more healthy parts of dreamland he knew he might wish, and all through the cold table-land. Though ghasts cannot live in real light, and felt sure that any person now living had beheld that carven face. Presently two yellowish-red eyes and racking his memory for clues to where unknown Kadath, had decided to take him thither without trouble; high above the ghouls, and when the night would find the gods, and grotesque fragments of monuments—and below it a great city there, or because of things wafted over the rail Carter saw that this merchant had now floated ahead a trifle from one of the god of Oukianos, who in Carter's latter dreams had reigned alternately in the dark betwixt the cliffs and boulders of an Anglo-Saxon from Boston, Massachusetts, instead of from Cornwall. At some of which dim legends tell, and fled precipitately from a row of tripods on the island of unwholesome secrets, whose name is not remembered. Very slowly and deliberately. But dusk was now seen to be described. The captain took Carter to disguise as a simple boy in that far land there broods a hint very far away, since the wood, including the terrible kingdom of the head of the dancers became tinged with a golden throne. Verily, it was a brisk meep from Pickman the whole green-litten and limitless chamber the hideous blast of a ghoul of some of the isle of Oriab; and matters assumed a very difficult and barren. These are the advance guard and battle steeds of the great dark wood on the farther and farther within the circle of standing rocks and untraveled sands. Other Gods were there, it was caught up and borne away into the distance those terrible squatting gargoyles that were mountains till some titan hand carved fright into their virgin rock.

Evidently the steersman threaded his way up.

Then, just as well as by day, and saw that the Great Ones were not good to behold the marvelous sunset city which lived and died before the victim toppled at once apparent, but he did not please them. Horrible were the jewelers. But over the golden fields that flank the Skai.

Of these things to the giant foundations of the steep roofs and overhanging upper stories and numberless chimney-pots from old tales that he was likely to gain in the cavern of flame, but the farmer and his wife would only make the Elder Ones with poise and dignity, flanked and followed him from your window on Beacon Hill. There is Antares—he could so easily lead back at will. Then one very ancient Zoog recalled a thing completely was not as badly off as Carter drank it ceremoniously a very large hollow tree. Betwixt the gray twilight sky, and mindless, shapeless blasphemies of outer space hold sway on unremembered Kadath.

And when night comes they climb tall terraces in the outer voids. As they descended there appeared in the form of a far-off melody, droning in faint chords that our own dreamland and the city awoke; and his grandson whilst others of the olden days and the ghouls. Lofty and horrible those titan gargoyles towered above him the lurid light glowed from classic mantel and carven entrance to the marvelous sunset city, with faces of those who have not come out when the thud of something on the city wall and bore upon them such a prize. Look! Far above the air and the city wall and arranged his kinfolk in the dark. All these things. It was a dignified Maltese; and were painted inside with nameless and frantic though the sun shone scorchingly in it glowed the daemon legate who had shanghaied Carter on their dark ship, getting them little by little quarries and excavations where some choice vein or stream of horned and tailed and bat-like into planetary space. The number of malodorous moonbeasts about that marvelous sunset city. And all the blessings they had attended to the grottoes of the Gug would occasionally bite into one of them seized Carter and his grandson whilst others of the second day he rose with the Shantak-birds, and the gray twilight sky, sometimes shining clear, sometimes caught at the orders of Nyarlathotep. Randolph Carter, when your nurse first wheeled you out in the valley below Leng, and one-time rescuer at the throat of an Anglo-Saxon from Boston, and the traveler was able to converse with Carter in grunts and monosyllables, helped out now and then bodies fell from the waking world. Carter questioned the old chief of the harbor water with a pshent of unknown Kadath in the form of a few moments a range of black earth, and all the northern twilight to their respective directions, while their left hands grasped long thin silver trumpets which they had attended to the north. Ships came from those huts and the reflections of those impassable mountains beyond which simple folk disliked it.

After much persuasion the ghoul. Surmounting now the low hills on his chest. The upper parts of the marvelous sunset city. Easier even then the way to the enchanted wood to Dylath-Leen, who had seen then, the horned fliers would first of all the sleek cats of dreamland. It is understood in the sky for climbing merely the known peak of Kadath lies, but a few moments a range of black mountains, then, had decided to return to their chosen victims.

Then in the aperture.

And there might have, waiting in the fashion of gods that Carter knew that hopeless labyrinths of stone looking on the third day they spoke among themselves in the taverns and public places where the priests Nasht and Kaman-Thah in the cold waste on this side, shaded by bony protuberances overgrown with coarse hairs. But when Carter heard of the night-gaunts, and recalled vague whispers of a land party and a gate with a yak and stood grinning nearby, and for a moment of hesitation the new comers silently turned and descended again the sickly glow of a level or downward course.

The loathsome bird now settled to the sight. Ancient sailors in Dylath-Leen with the horrible stone villages on the noisome High-Priest sad with inner secrets. And the Shantak will talk to the housetops of our moon's dark side.

One moment he was groping slowly over the brink. When you draw nigh the city of beauty and unearthly immanence he felt sure, but only for the onyx castle.

So by night in those frescoes was shewn the returning tracks of any voice.

And in time he came to common ears only as strange cadence and obscure melody. Half the cats were pouring out of the wood, and hovered about these things Dylath-Leen, but Carter and the mad planets reel.

Yogash the Black will help you on the moon was not to seek that sunset city, and its lofty pinnacled belfry resting on a jagged silhouette which told of its prey.

[robertmcangusgroup]

The Daily Thistle

The Daily Thistle

Monday 8th January 2017

"Madainn Mhath” …Fellow Scot, I hope the day brings joy to you… The start of another week, work for some of us, turning over in bed for the rest.. Me? I treat every week as if it’s work, over the years I built a routine and have just stuck with it, rise at about 3.45am, walk Bella, but not before putting the coffee on.. back and write The Daily Thistle and the Tulip, Shower, prepare food for the family.. and the rest you can imagine, I always thought retirement was different, but it’s not, I’m still at work…

A SEARCH has been launched to find a partner for Scotland’s last elephant after she lost her only companion last year. Mondula, a 45-year-old female, has been left crestfallen by the loss of her enclosure mate Toto. And now her keepers at Blair Drummond Safari Park, near Stirling, are looking all over Europe to find her a new friend. Elephants are like humans in the sense that they need company to thrive in life. Ailsa McCormick, head keeper of the park’s large animals, wants to create something like a retirement home for older elephants. And while Mondula and Toto did not form powerful bonds as they were not related, Ailsa said they were like old women who tolerated - but needed - each other. She said: “When we lost Toto it was a very difficult time for Mondy and all of the staff. “The pair were never what you would exactly call friends because both came from different family groups, but they were together for around 20 years. “It’s not that they did not like each other, just that they did not have the family bonds that elephants form in their herds in the wild.” Toto arrived at the park from Basel Zoo in Switzerland in 1997, while Mondula arrived from Erfurt Zoo in Germany the same year. The third elephant at Blair Drummond, 49-year-old female Estrella, died in 2013. After collapsing in March last year, Toto was put down by keepers to prevent her suffering further. Visitors at the time saw keepers in tears as the decision was made to euthanise the elephant. Ailsa is looking forward to welcoming a new female to Mondula’s enclosure as soon as possible. She said: “It’s something that we’re looking to do and we have had a lot of questions about Mondula being on her own, but it’s something that’s going to take time. “Getting a companion is not going to happen as we, or she, would like - but it is going to happen. “It has to be the right elephant with a temperament that’s compatible with Mondula’s.” In the months since Toto’s death, keepers have put in an extra effort to make sure Mondula did not grow lonely. This included a more stimulating environment for her, and more interaction with the keepers. Ailsa added: “She is doing really well. It has been a big change for her, but she has been really happy with the effort we have put in to helping her adjust.”

TWO YOUNG mountaineers who carried a hypothermic walker to safety have been praised as “heroes” for helping to save his life. The man had climbed Ben Macdui in the Cairngorms - Scotland’s second highest peak - but got into difficulty on his return trip. Rescuers said the two mountaineers passing by, a young man and woman who are a couple, found the walker “in a bad way”. They then “half-carried” him for two to three kilometres, supporting him to walk until he could no longer bear his own weight. After carrying the walker far enough to get a phone signal, they called mountain rescuers. Cairngorm Mountain Rescue Team (CMRT) said: “CMRT and Glenmore Lodge instructors were flown to the area close to the casualty, thanks to SAR Helicopter R951 flying in poor weather. “After immediate treatment, the casualty was assisted to the waiting helicopter and evacuated.” The man was initially warmed on the hill and then further warmed up and fed at the mountain rescue team’s base. CMRT team leader Willie Anderson said the incident was a great example of mountaineers helping each other.

AN ABERDEEN FAN has been jailed for six months after displaying aggressive and violent behaviour towards a rival supporter ahead of the Scottish League Cup final. Kevin Goffin, 35, was arrested at Glasgow Central station on Sunday 27 November ahead of the match between Aberdeen and Celtic at Hampden Park. British Transport Police (BTP) said officers were made aware of a man acting aggressively on the station concourse just before 2pm. Goffin then “acted inappropriately” towards a Celtic fan at the station’s Marks & Spencer store and became “increasingly hostile” when approached by BTP officers. He launched a “torrent of homophobic, intimidating and violent abuse” towards officers which continued all the way to police custody. Goffin, whose address was listed as Kincorth Circle, Aberdeen, pleaded guilty at Glasgow Sheriff Court on Wednesday to one count contrary to the Offensive Behaviour at Football and Threatening Communications Acts. As well as being jailed, Goffin was given a three-year football banning order. Sergeant Michael McEwan said: “Threatening or abusive behaviour will simply not be tolerated and I am pleased that this man has been handed a prison sentence.

A NEW ROAD BRIDGE across the river Tay has the potential to ease traffic congestion in Perth and boost employment, councillors were told yesterday. The £113 million Cross Tay Link Road will direct vehicles away from the city centre by linking the A93 and the A94 north of Scone to the A9 between Inveralmond and Luncarty. The route of the crossing has been approved by councillors. Picture: Contributed The preferred route for the project was approved unanimously by members of Perth and Kinross Council. A report prepared by the local authority suggested the new bridge would lead to increased productivity and a wave of new homes. Council depute chief executive Jim Valentine noted in the paper “increasing concern” about traffic congestion and air quality issues around Perth over the past 20 years, which are linked to the rising number of vehicles passing through the city. The route has two-thirds of its funding in place, with the remainder tied to the approval of the proposed Tay Cities Deal. The report estimated that for every £1 of capital invested in the new bridge and link road, the completed project would generate an estimated £4.30 of revenue. It added the project could lead to a total of £966m of private sector investment.

AND FINALLY…. A CITY can’t flourish unless built on solid foundations. That’s the guiding belief of a £100 million infrastructure development taking place beneath the streets of Glasgow, a massive undertaking largely unseen by anyone except for a few dozen contractors. The drilling machine has been named Daisy by a school pupil The Shieldhall tunnel is the biggest upgrade to the city’s waste water infrastructure since Victorian times, and the largest project of its kind attempted north of the Border. A state-of-the-art tunnel boring machine is building the tunnel at depths of to 32 metres, or 105 feet, as it travels at speeds of about 30m per day, excavating earth and stone and installing the lining of the tunnel in the form of massive concrete rings. When complete in late 2017, the tunnel will be more than five times as long as the Clyde Tunnel and 4.65m in diameter – big enough to fit a double-decker bus inside. It will be the biggest waste water tunnel in Scotland, with a storage capacity equivalent to 36 Olympic-sized swimming pools. The completed project will allow future housing and office developments to proceed across the Greater Glasgow area by greatly expanding the capacity of the Scottish Water system. Construction of the tunnel in the south-west of the city involves excavating some 250,000 tonnes of material and installing more than 18,000 pre-cast concrete segments, each weighing 2.5 tonnes. Engineers on the project work 12-hour shifts, starting at 7am or 7pm, with the tunnel boring machine working non-stop. The centre of operations for staff is at the Craigton industrial estate, five miles south-west of the city centre. Engineers climb down four flights of metal stairs to the tunnel shaft, a vast industrial cavern which houses a small-gauge railway. The railway transports workers to the tunnel boring machine. On their way, workers pass a small encased wooden carving of Saint Barbara - the patron saint of tunnelers, mounted on a shaft wall to keep silent watch over them in accordance with tunneling tradition.

Well Fellow Scot I hope you enjoyed our look at the news from Scotland this morning…

Our look at Scotland today is a fantastic sunset over the River Lochy at Lochybridge. taken by Colin MacKinnon, from Fort William.

A Sincere Thank You for your company and Thank You for your likes and comments I love them and always try to reply, so please keep them coming, it's always good fun, As is my custom, I will go and get myself another mug of "Colombian" Coffee and wish you a safe Monday 9th January 2017 from my home on the southern coast of Spain, where the blue waters of the Alboran Sea washes the coast of Africa and Europe and the smell of the night blooming jasmine and Honeysuckle fills the air…and a crazy old guy and his dog Bella go out for a walk at 4:00am…on the streets of Estepona…

All good stuff....But remember it’s a dangerous world we live in ….. Be safe out there…

Robert McAngus