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heartwoodventures · 4 years

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Where the Wind Blows

Falcon’s Nest. A modest hamlet located in the western highlands of Coerthas. A monochromatic world of ice and snow, of gray skies and bitter winds. A far cry from the idyllic, sun-drenched shores on which Heartwood had played mere suns earlier. Now, a trio met at the town’s central aetheryte, informed by a missive that Momori Mori, the odd lalafell who had agreed to help one of their own, had uncovered new information.

Arriving at the aetheryte, Aislinn burrowed deeper into the warmth of her jacket as she cast her gaze about the agreed upon meeting place. Spying Lumarto and Rolanda she wandered over and gave the miqo’te and au ra both a nod.

"Any sign of Momori yet?" she asked.

Lumarto stared at her, his hands brought together to try and retain some warmth. "I think she's comin' around shortly; it shouldn't be hard to spot anyone here at the Nest-- oh, see?" Luma said, pointing towards the welcomed sight.

The lalafell stepped out from behind the Aetheryte. She was lugging over a large, black contraption. Whatever it was, it was producing a lot of noise...and heat.

Aislinn followed his gaze and set sight on the business like lalafell. Her brow furrowed in confusion, however, as to what the woman could possibly be toting along with her. "Ahh." she stamped her feet against the frigid air. The trick was to keep moving, she had learned.

"Hello there. A bit jarring, to go from warm sands to blustering cold." Momori shivered.

"Yes, I never quite got used to these crystals... Glad you made it! What have you got with you there?" Rolanda asked as she pointed at the contraption Momori was lugging along.

"Takes some getting used to, but I'm sure it will feel natural after a while." Luma said, as he approached before staring down at the contraption. "I was just about to ask the same thing; it's radiating... heat? A heater?"

"Oh, this is..." Momori looked side to side. This area was too open for her. "Let's find somewhere more discrete to talk about it, yes? Follow me."

Aislinn slid a questioning glance to the others but then shrugged and followed along.

The lalafell led them down the ice-covered street and then down a darkened alley. Had the trio not been seasoned mercenaries, armed with all manner of weapons and devices, they might have been more concerned. This was the kind of thing that happened to unsuspecting victims in the less-than savory part of town right before they were set upon.

"Much better. Away from prying eyes." Momori slapped the hood of the black contraption. "This here...is an encryptor. Specifically, it will guard the messages that we send with these."

She turned and placed a device that vaguely resembled a linkpearl in each of their hands. It was larger than usual, and contained a lens on the front. Due to its size, it couldn’t fit in a person’s ear, but its clip suggested that it should be worn on one’s clothing.

"So precautions... I understand." Luma muttered a bit, gazing at the object in question before clipping it to the side of his collar; not in the way of his hood or neck. "Rather fancy device, isn't it?".

"Enctor. Sounds.. fancy" Roland clipped the device to her hip.

"Very fancy. You won't find these in the common markets." Momori replied.

Aislinn was clearly intrigued by the premise of the encryptor, turning the offered device this way and that in her hands. She wondered, after all this is said and done, if Momori would let her take one of these apart to see how it works. For now though, she clipped it to her coat.

"Three of you...That's good. A small party won't attract too much attention." Momori hummed to herself. "....Well, first and foremost, they look very nice on you all. Very fashionable."

Aislinn shot the lalafell a dubious look.

“These devices are known as aetheric snapshots. They're capable of recording both visual and aetheric information in high fidelity, which I can process later. But I'm getting ahead of myself. You're probably wondering why I have this.” Momori explained.

"It had crossed my mind." Aislinn replied. "Just what sort of trouble are you expecting us to run up against, here?"

"I suppose asking why you have this is the next step in deduction, yes." Luma stated, looking at the object on his collar before looking back to Momori. "Why do you have something like this?"

“Let's start at the beginning. Red Argos is here, somewhere. And they likely have us outgunned. A frontal assault would be suicide, and that's low on my list of favorite things." Momori began.

"Makes sense." Aislinn nodded.

Momori noddded back. “We don’t know where they’re holed up, what they’re doing in Coerthas, and what...or rather, if, Wyda is connected to all this. While rushing into a death trap with weapons drawn is still your prerogative, I’d propose we instead use today’s outing to collect intelligence, and work towards answers to our questions.”

"So is this based on speculation and not fact? Or is there something to go off of?" Luma asked, raising an eyebrow mildly.

"Fact. Seawolf pirates, members of Red Argos, have been spotted here. Going to and fro, up to no good. They're capable of razing entire villages, so..." Momori looked over the trio in front of her. "A sizeable crew. Not one to tussle with head on."

"Enough for a small squabble but not a full on fight? Sounds reasonable..." Lumarto admitted.

Momori nodded to Lumarto. "Exactly.”

Rolanda shared a look with Lumarto and Aislinn. "I just can't imagine Wyda being involved in something like that. We have to find out what's going on!"

Aislinn nodded in agreement with Rolanda. Despite what she knew of the Seawolf's trouble with missing time, she couldn’t really believe Wyda would be a pirate at any juncture. "No, seems completely out of character."

"Expand your imagination, as it IS a possibility. I would like to debrief you all on what I've uncovered so far. Some good, some bad." Momori countered. "Starting with Wyda. She has yet to say anything pertinent to Red Argos...But I believe her mind is compromised. Did you know she WAS part of a pirate crew? And that she claims to have no memory of this?”

Aislinn tipped her head. "How'd you come by that bit of information?"

Lumarto stared at the group while Momori spoke, resting his hand on his hip while she debriefed them. "Seems like something awful to forget..."

"One hears a lot in Aleport taverns. That, and some had much to say when presented with her bounty portrait." Momori replied.

Rolanda paused. "For my own part, I can only say we met recently and I don't know her past. But she did not seem to have the demeanor of a pirate to me."

Aislinn shared a glance with Lumarto. "I thought we agreed, it's not -her- portrait. For all we know those sods in the taverns are getting her confused with someone else."

Lumarto nodded to Aislinn's point. "Anyone could share a face, but rumors could spread like wild fire."

"True. There is a non-zero chance of her having an identical twin." Momori shrugged. "Just as there is a non-zero chance of Bahamut coming to roast us on the spot! Haha." She chuckled at her own joke, then cleared her throat. "Anyway."

Aislinn gave the lalafell a flat look. There was also a non-zero chance of Momori ending up headfirst in a snowbank by the time this was through. "Fine. Let's pretend she was a pirate. ‘Was’, being the operative word."

"Wyda..." Momori made air quotes as she said the name. "Used to be part of a pirate crew known as the 'Ruddy Hounds,' which disappeared over a year ago. After some matching, I determined that some ex-members of the Hounds are in Argos. These are sea pirates we're talking about. So unless they suddenly got an airship...AND learned to fly the thing..." Momori frowned.

Aislinn shrugged one shoulder. "Suppose that's also not unheard of."

"Or thought there would be no competition in a frozen tundra?" Luma remarked, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah, yes. That brings me to my next point. They don't seem concerned in coin, and only in 'booty.' Spoken booty, that is!" Another one of her godawful jokes. "They've kept up their kidnapping habits here. Three have gone missing in Coerthas."

What sort of pirates weren't interested in coin?

"To what end? Ransom? Trafficking?" Aislinn asked.

"If its Coerthas, it could be ransom; trying to take the coin of the wealthy for the exchange of the stolen?" Lumarto suggested.

"Perhaps. Though no victims have shown up in...the markets, so to speak. Nor have they reached out to anyone for ransom. Maybe it's their first time with this sort of thing." Momori stated.

"I'd guess the law is preoccupied, but that would be surprising if it had been someone of high class who had been kidnapped; they jumped at the chance to be saviours then." Lumarto all but snorted.

"No. But I do believe if we find the victims, we'll find Red Argos. I have some items here from the kidnapped victims, if that could help you in tracking them down.” Momori handed Lumarto a dirty sock, a ribbon, and a bracelet. "If somehow you're, like, a bloodhound. Lumarto, none of the kidnapped are particularly rich, which could explain the inaction."

Lumarto stared at the items. "So they aren't of high class... so people like ourselves are going to have to do the work; figures..." Luma said, looking back to Momori. "Do we have any idea of the age of those who had been stolen?"

"Two adults, one child." she answered.

"A family out of their house, mayhaps."

Aislinn eyed the belongings in Lumarto’s hands. "-Were- they related? Do we know?" she asked, looking back to Momori.

"Mother and child. The other adult wasn't related." Momori nodded. "You know what they say. A family that eats together, is..." She stopped. Perhaps it isn't time to joke around.

Rolanda narrowed her eyes at Momori. "No, probably not the time to joke..."

"There aren't many places to hide in Coerthas... it isn't like they can openly hole up in the city..." Luma thought, pacing slightly.

Aislinn shook her head. "No, you're right. More than likely, they're out holed up in one of the deserted villages around here."

Momori coughed. "I would like to bring up the reason I'm here.” Now seemed as good a time as any. “They've stolen an artifact known as 'The Helm' from me. A wheel of six spokes, decorated with six elementally aspected crystals at each end. If you happen to see it, I would be much obliged."

“I wish I could tell you what it does. Unfortunately, it has a reputation for being useless. The Helm was recovered between Doma and the Azim Steppe nearly fifty years ago. It was immediately recognized as being unworkable and incomplete, and thus spent decades as a royal, broken bauble. There are rumors that it was used as a toy at some point. As a flying disc for children.”

Lumarto stared for a moment at Momori. "So we are really going after this 'Helm', while on the side potentially uncovering and helping those who had been kidnapped?" Luma asked, crossing his arms.

Aislinn eyed Momori quietly for a moment. Something about that didn't sound right to her and honestly, she wasn't entirely sure she trusted the lalafell. She spoke neither one way or another on the matter of the 'Helm'.

"Well, it is why I'm here. And the kidnapped are to simply lead us to Red Argos, so that you may free your jailed companion." Momori replied. "The Helm being useless is a boon. You shadn't worry about anything crazy happening, outside of pirates and guns."

Aislinn let go a wry, humorless smile. "Somehow, I've never found that to be the case."

"What will we be doing now then for this? Surely not stand here with frost building up on our feet; do we have a location in mind for a search?" Lumarto said. The quicker they got moving, the better.

“Ah, of course not. But quickly, let me explain these devices.” Momori said, referring to one she held in her hand. “"If you see anything interesting, you can snap a photo of it with this. It can only hold one photo, so make it count. You can also safely communicate with each other, or me, through it. I won’t be joining in person since I’m just a civilian."

Aislinn took a closer look at her device, following along and making sure she understood it before they headed out.

"As for places to start looking, I have two leads. There’s an abandoned settlement that not many pass by - a potential hideout for the pirates. Secondly, herds of Steinbock have been on the move recently. Perhaps being spooked by increased activity from our pirates? It may be worth taking a look at their grazing grounds."

"I'd say the settlement personally... spooked steinbock could be anything from wild life territorial issues or mishaps with adventurers, so I wouldn't see that as anything to jump at." Luma said, glancing at the others. "What are your thoughts?"

Satisfied she understood how to work the new device, Aislinn looked up at Luma. "Can't say I know much about what will or won't spook a steinbock. But the settlement seems like a good place to start.”

Lumarto nodded.

"Why don't you test out your devices? Hope they aren't broken." Momori said.

Lumarto stared down at the object on his collar. "I'd rather not play around with something like this... just assume it does the job right and get down to business."

Unlike Lumarto, Aislinn took a moment to point the device at Rolanda, and hit the button. She had no problem messing with things to see if they'll break.

Rolanda struck a stunning pose when Aislinn pointed the pearl her way.

Referring back to the device, Aislinn gave a thumbs up. "Seems to be in order. Let’s head out."

The trio turned on their heels and left Momori to huddle in the alleyway next to the encryptor and listen for word of their excursion over the linkpearl. The three rode out and arrived at the settlement, finding it just as Momori had stated. The abandoned buildings sat, long frozen. A testament to an earlier time when the land around them was verdant and farmable. Now it lay buried under fulms of snow, likely never to see the light of day again. They landed at its fringes, and almost immediately heard a buzzing sound emanating from their clothing.

"Hello? Is this thing on?" Momori was calling through the linkpearls.

Rolanda slapped the pearl on her hip out of fear as it crackled suddenly to life. Its image shifts to one of pure white. "Dag nabbit.. lousy thing!"

Aislinn scanned the area as she dismounted and waved her carbuncle out of existence. She jolted a bit as the disembodied voice floated from her jacket. Luckily Lumarto responded so she didn’t have to.

Lumarto listened, cocking his head to a side upon hearing Momori's voice. "Aye its on. We've arrived at the settlement; its in tatters."

The Highlander continued to take stock of the settlement, looking for any sign of recent activity.

"At least it'll be hard to cover their tracks in snow?” she offered.

"On the contrary, the constant blizzards would pile their tracks up; so it might be difficult unless they’re fresh." Luma said to Aislinn, taking a few steps towards the buildings and gazing upon the structure.

He was right. Fresh snow covered any potential footprints and fallen items. At first glance, it simply appeared a lonely, cold wasteland. No sign of life or recent activity. But the three fanned out, determined to search anyroads.

With a hum of consideration, Aislinn wandered off towards the buildings on the north side of the settlement.

Rolanda dug through the rubble and found a small can of beans that appeared to be untouched. "Found some beans."

"Beans? Rolanda, focus. Now's not the time to be eating things off the floor." Momori’s voice crackled.

"Was there a fire here earlier?..." Luma spoke to himself, crouching down to gaze at the bottom near one of the doors on the building to the south, looking for any signs of ware-and-tear, or skid marks from the opening.

Across the way, Aislinn put a hand on the door of one of the buildings, it was cold from the outside, obviously. The building was made of solid, rough hewn rock, its door shut against the wind. But she focused on sensing any aetheric signature within. The cold, biting wind and stinging snow made it hard for her to concentrate. Maybe she felt something. It was ever so faint. She strained a bit harder, leaning against the door now but after a few moments longer, she shook her head and finally pushed away. Whatever it was, it was gone now.

Lumarto caught a whiff of gunpowder when he crouched down, wiping away the small layers of frost and revealing a trail of the stuff. "Where does this lead?..." the miqo’te muttered, pressing against the door as he stood up and began to pursue the trail.

As Aislinn moved to turn away from the northern building, she stopped again. No. There was definitely something. But as she glanced across the way, she caught sight of Luma’s form wandering off into the blowing snow. Splitting up in a blizzard when there might be pirates about sat ill at ease with her and so, she made to follow but Rolanda approached and stopped her.

"Hmm, I'm a bit of an expert on beans... and this can seems to be recently sealed, likely from nearby Limsa Lominsa. This could be a bean-clue." the au ra handed the can to Aislinn. "What do you think?"

Hesitating in her desire to follow after Lumarto, Aislinn looked at Rolanda and her beans. "Ahh." she paused and eyed the legumes in question, taking a moment to consider them.

"New....beans?" Momori sounded confused. "A ration by some travelers?"

"Does seem an odd thing to be here. And they look a lot more recent than the rest of this place. But...I can't say whether pirates or some hunter might have left them." the woman said with an apologetic look to Rolanda.

Rolanda nodded. "That conclusion seems logical. Perhaps someone traveled through here that came through Limsa first."

"Bring it back all the same. If it's irrelevant, we can split the beans fourway. Nothing like floor food to fill the gut." Momori advised.

Aislinn passed Rolanda a dry look. "Well...you heard the woman. Bring it along. It's either a clue or floor food." she turned to look for Luma but he was nowhere to be found. Her anxiety had just begun to rise when his voice came over the linkpearl.

"Beans are going to have to wait. You both might wanna check this out." Luma said, awaiting for them to join him.

They found him at the edge of a cliff behind one of the buildings, staring down into the gully below as Aislinn appeared behind him.

"Take a look at this." Luma said, pointing down towards the snow beneath the cliff.

Gazing down at the white snow; something odd protruded from it. Not the solid white of snow, of powder and the like-- an off white, bone. A skeleton had been off the cliff's edge and covered in snow. "That doesn't look fresh... it can't be any of the ones who were kidnapped..." Luma muttered.

"What is it? What's fresh?" With only voice communication, Momori wasn’t able to follow what was happening. "Something juicy?"

Aislinn followed his gaze, confused for a moment as she sought what he was pointing out. But then, all at once it took shape for her. A skeleton against the snow. "Nymeia's Blood." she swore softly. "We need to get closer. Try and see if we can ascertain how long it's been here. And, bring it back, if we can. No one should be left out here like that."

"Lumarto found a skeleton." she said into the device.

"You're right, but mind your step. I found Ceruleum here as well, so anything could be hidden beneath the snow or otherwise; I don't feel like that body is here unintentionally." Lumarto warned her.

"Ceruleum....That's odd. A popular fuel for garlean magitek, but...hm. Go forth with the utmost caution." Momori added.

Rolanda came up behind them, breathless. "Sorry the cold got to me for a moment there. Brought the beans."

With that, Luma carefully got some footing on the slope of the cliff, and slid down; his heels keeping a firm grip on the rock before taking a short leap onto the snow below; gazing just for a moment if there was anything else in question to see before moving forward.

Aislinn nodded in reply to the warning as she pulled a battered gemstone from her hip pack. Tossing it in the air, with a bit of calculated manipulation on her part, it became her carbuncle. She headed down to join Lumarto.

Rolanda pocketed the beans and looked down the cliff face. "Well, no time like the present! HUP!" and with that, began her way down.

"I don't see anything..." Luma said, as he approached the skeleton before kneeling down before it. "Does it look like an adult's frame? Child?" Luma asked, wanting the others’ opinion.

The wind suddenly picked up, revealing more frozen snow coated with a mixture of gunpowder and ceruleum. The way the ice had formed...signs of struggle. It was soon apparent the skeleton was that of an adult.

"I don't think I'm going to be eating these beans now.." Rolanda covered her mouth.

Aislinn knelt down and brushed some of the snow away from the skeleton, trying to get a clearer picture of it. As her hands grazed the bones, that familiar buzzing pressure started in her ears. Aether. A lot of it. She looked to Lumarto and Rolanda. "Ahh...help me move the bones. We'll have to pack them up and bring them back anyroads."

Lumarto shook his head at Rolanda "It's not about eating right no--" Luma paused, the sensation of fire aether causing the hairs on his back to stand on end; his tail to shoot up before nonchalantly returning to a rested state.

He shifted his attention to Aislinn, albeit with something else on his mind. "Wh-- ah, yeah...yeah..." Luma said, staring down at the skeleton and slowly taking bone by bone, his hands visibly hesitating with each time he reached towards that source of aether.

Rolanda nodded and bent down to help. Using her bow to dig out around the bones, she made them easier to pick up.

Aislinn slid a glance to Lumarto. Judging from his reaction, she wasn't the only one who noticed the aether. "You feel that too, aye?" she said, relieved it wasn't just her.

Lumarto stared at her, before quickly looking away to hide his gaze, still shaken. "Aye its... potent; and unpleasant..." he said, gazing down at the pieces of arm bone he had picked up; noticing an odd brand on it.

The aether burned brightest around the wrist bone he held. And the brand. A black mark, a crude symbol of the fire element surrounded by six intricate wings. Additionally, frozen flower petals resembling those of a lily, a light lavender color.

The aether seemed to seethe and he immediately dropped it, taking a sudden step back.

Aislinn startled a bit as the miqo'te dropped one of the bones as if it had burned him. Her eyes dart from him to the bone and back.

Just then, Momori’s voice broke the silence. "Sounds like you guys hit paydirt. Though a skeleton would be hard to bring back. Maybe bring back just what matters for now, and come back for the rest later?"

"Alright, there Lumarto?" Aislinn asked.

She leaned forward, reaching for the bone. Before she even touched it, she felt the aether coming from the strange symbol. "Ahh...this is where it's coming from." she sat back and spoke into the device.

"Right." She didn't like the idea of leaving the remains out here but Momori made sense.

Lumarto looked towards the skeleton and then up at Aislinn. "I'm... f-fine. I'm not good with fire; unpleasant memories..." Luma muttered, as his wobbly legs slowly attempted another step. "There is that symbol on its wrist, and it's almost like that in itself is an active fire crystal. It's important from the looks of it." Luma said, though hesitated in coming closer to the mark. "Can you retrieve it? Sending a picture for Momori would probably be ideal."

Aislinn pulled a cloth from her pack and reached for the bone, turning it about in the snow. "It has an odd symbol. -Burned- into the bone by the looks of it. I can't...done before or after death, I can't say." she said into the device. She nodded to Lumarto.

Rolanda didn’t notice any of this heat that everyone kept talking about. She reached down and grabbed a hold of the wrist bone. "Is this the one we need?"

"Aye, can you carry that back for us?" she asks the Au Ra. Truthfully, she didn't want to handle it either.

Lumarto nodded at that. With the Au Ra not realizing its potential and properties, it would be the safest bet. "Please carry it for us." Luma said without skipping a beat.

"It does not appear to affect me as it does all of you. I will happily transport it if it makes you all more comfortable." Rolanda shrugged.

Aislinn spared her a grateful look before eyeing the rest of the bones. "These...I suppose they'll have to wait."

"Well, if that's taken care off, I happen to have an odd...lead for you all." Momori's voice popped and crackled. "From where I'm at, I just saw an airship fly by. Garlean."

Garlean. Aislinn swiftly lifted her head to the skies.

"Is it headed anywhere this direction? Considering the ceruleum and all." Luma said, looking up at the sky while one hand was on his collar; his right hand gripping his sleeve to try and relieve some of the burning sensation.

"It was seen heading eastward. Odd thing about it, kept flashing in and out of view." Momori reported.

"Are you saying it was cloaking in some way, or hidden by the weather?" Luma asked, taking a few more steps towards the more open part of the cliff, trying to get a clearer look at the sky.

Aislinn looked back up the cliff in the direction of the building she had been inspecting. She couldn't shake the feeling there was something there. No matter how faint. She quietly continued to listen to the exchange between Lumarto and Momori.

"Potentially. If so, then their system must be broken...I was only able to spot it briefly and from afar, so I couldn't tell what they were using. "

"Copy that." Lumarto replied, turning to the group. "I'd say we try and look for things while we leave the premises; there is no telling if they are headed here or not." he said, glancing between the other two. "What say you both?"

"We should make haste to see if we can find this ship. If we can get there quickly, perhaps we can see if it is our culprits." Rolanda said, decisively

"If it was heading eastward from Falcon's Nest, it might head this way. But...I want to look at one of the building's up there. I sensed something coming from beyond it." Aislinn countered.

"I have a whale that can carry me quite swiftly. Perhaps I could take flight and see if I can get a snapshot of this ship - from a distance of course" Rolanda offered.

No one seemed surprised the au ra had a skywhale at her beckon call. Rolanda always had a trick up her sleeve.

Lumarto nodded to Aislinn. "Show us the building, and we'll see if there are any more leads before we get an unexpected arrival." Luma said, then held his hand to his collar, activating the pearl. "We're going to take a look at a lead from Aislinn before returning." Luma reported, turning to Rolanda. "If you could do so quietly and discreetly, then by all means; but don't take risks."

"Whatever you do, be careful. Don't want them pointing their guns at you." Momori voice crackled back in reply.

Aislinn seemed torn for a moment. "Alright...that seems best. But aye, as Lumarto says, be careful."

Rolanda nodded and called her skywhale down from the clouds. "Easy now, Eustice. We have to be stealthy today". She hopped on the back of her whale, and headed back into the clouds in search of the airship.

Aislinn led Luma back across the settlement to the building in question. She trailed her hand along its rough hewn facade as she moved away from the front. Her brow furrowed in concentration, as she tried to focus. "It feels like it's coming from behind the building." she said. "Do you feel anything?" she asked Lumarto as she moved along.

High in the sky above, Rolanda caught sight of the ship approaching from a distance. It appeared to be heading straight for them! She hurriedly snapped a photo with the linkpearl and then headed down to the rest of the party to warn them about the approaching ship.

"It does feel odd around here, I guess this place really does have something about it." Luma said, turning as he noticed Rolanda coming back from her pseudo-mission.

"The ship is headed this way! I'm not sure of its intentions, but I managed to get a linkpearl of it before I had to flee.”

Rolanda's announcement placed a sense of urgency in Aislinn that momentarily disrupted her concentration. "Right...okay. Let's be quick about this. Momori said we're outgunned and I don't want to be caught out like this."

Both Aislinn and Lumarto could feel it. Earth aether. Weak, but present, and foreign to the environment. The source coming from beyond the building, toward the rocky outcropping.

Aislinn wordlessly followed her senses, the world narrowing down to this aether and getting out. As they moved around a boulder, they found the source. Incredibly, it was a child! A young midlander girl, huddled against the rock and shivering.

A child was the last thing Aislinn expected to find. She rocked back a step in surprise. "I..oh!"

"Gods... how long has she been out here for?" Luma said, quickly approaching behind Aislinn before crouching down and getting a better look at the girl.

The girl weakly turned to look at Lumarto, and flinched, scrambling further into the rock. "I-I...you're not...one of them, are you?"

Aislinn quickly recovered and slowly reached out for the child but stopped, realizing that might be perceived as a threat. Instead, she turned to her device. "Momori, I think we find the child that was missing."

"One of them?..." Luma asked, looking at her expression, he finally put two and two together. "No, no no... me and these two were lucky enough to even find you shivering out here." Luma said, crouching down and holding his hand out slowly to the girl, keeping it steady to not show hostility. "Are you hurt? Hungry? Rolanda, get the beans." Luma said, his gaze darting to the Au Ra.

"Nice." Momori pauses. "She's an elezen, right?"

Rolanda pulled out the can. "Ah yes, the groun- uh.. er... the beans! Here you are."

Aislinn looked the girl over. "Ahh...no. She's a hyur."

The girl looked towards the can of beans, then at Luma. "You...you don't look like one of them." She quickly grabbed the beans and immediately tried to pry the can open. As she did so, they all saw it as plain as day. A tattoo. The mark of earth, surrounded by six wings.

Lumarto watched the girl, his heart aching. Being a father, he couldn't help but feel worry upon finding a girl here in the cold. He noticed the mark, and his eyes widened. "Here..." Luma said, carefully reaching for the can of beans and, using a knife from his hip, pried it open before handing it back to the girl. "Slowly-- don't choke."

The girl watched the miqo’te, stars in her eyes. However, despite his advice, she did in fact inhale those beans. As if on cue, a garlean airship touched down at the center of the abandoned settlement. From a distance, the trio could hear the sound of metal armor. “Come! We don’t have much time to find her,” a voice called from the distance.

Aislinn snapped her attention to the sound of the airship. "Right. Time to go." she murmured. She looked down at the girl. "Ready to head home?" she asks gently. "We're here to bring you back."

"I have a whale that could easily accommodate both of us" Rolanda said with a smile.

The girl's eyes widen and her head swiftly turned to stare at the docking airship. "Thass them! The bad guys." Her mouth is still stuffed full with beans.

Lumarto stared at Aislinn, and then to the girl; the state she was in, taking her home immediately sounded like a risk. "You're being... tracked, they are trying to find you?" Luma asked, carefully approaching the girl and removing one layer from his coat; covering the small girl in it.

Aislinn shot a glance at Lumarto. "We can't leave her here and at the end of all of this...." she inhaled. They had to move. Now. Debating the finer points of where the child would go could be done later. "We don't have time."

"I'm not saying to leave her here, but rather get her away before we ourselves get caught." Luma said, staring around at the group before looking back at the Garlean ship dock. "We need to go north like I said, and loop around back to Falcon's Nest."

From here, they could see several figures moving here and there in the settlement. They were searching fervently. Interestingly, there were those dressed in garlean armor mixed in with the Sea Wolves. A detail to be mulled over at another time.

Aislinn nodded quickly along with Lumarto, turning to keep an eye out as she groaned under her breath. "Right. Then are you reading to get away from here?"

"I can take the girl to safety and meet up with you afterwards. I can keep in touch with the link pearls." Rolanda said, calling the whale down once more.

Lumarto turned to Rolanda. "We can use the whale to head north and try to stay low before making our way to the nest; can it fit all four of us?" Luma asked, glancing down at the little girl. "You're going to be fine; we'll keep you safe. Go along with Rolanda and we'll meet with you in a bit, ok? Hopefully that coat keeps you warm."

Aislinn kept an eye out while Rolanda and Lumarto go about securing the child safely up on the whale.

The girl looked unsure, but then caught sight of someone coming around the corner. “It’s her!” Frightened, it’s enough to send the girl scrabbling to get onto the whale. Lumarto hurried after her with ease. Aislinn on the other hand…

Lumarto reached down from the whale to help Aislinn up. "Come on, we have to go now!" Luma stated, clearly not willing to simply abandon her.

The Sea Wolf who came around the corner of the building was Wyda. She was identical. She dashed towards the slowly embarking whale. Fists drawn to attack, sea foam hair whipped back from momentum.

Aislinn was momentarily caught off guard by the sight of the Wyda look alike and for a moment, it appeared as if she didn't even hear Lumarto urging her to get on. After a tense, stunned moment, she waves the whale off, signaling Rolanda to just go.

As the skywhale takes off, several other pirates and those donning garlean uniforms pour from around the corner of the building, ready to back up the Wyda look-alike. They began to fire their weapons at the whale.

The sound of gunfire snapped Aislinn back into motion. Slamming the snapshot function of the device to get a shot of the pirate angrily hurtling towards her, she then turned and ran for cover along the boulders that rimmed the settlement. In a rush, she tossed her battered gem into the sky and launched herself on the carbuncle that popped into existence.

The gunfire hit their mark! Several shots buried themselves in the whale’s belly, and it lurched to the side, losing altitude with a bellow.

"Eustice! nooo". Rolanda cried out. She pulled sharply on the reins, trying to get out of the line of fire.

The girl clung to Luma, holding on for dear life as the creature began to roll. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Aislinn cursed as she saw the great whale listing. Hurriedly reaching into her pack, she withdrew one of her incendiary nodes. Twisting the sphere to arm it, she hurls it down below in the midst of the pack of attackers.

The incendiary blossomed as it detonated, flames shooting forth across the white landscape. It provided a good distraction, and the firing squad below were suddenly more preoccupied with getting out of the way of the explosion. However, they were quick to regroup, and collect themselves, continuing to shoot. But Rolanda had managed to coax the whale higher into the sky, escaping the reach of the bullets below.

"Wow. Whatever you're doing, you better get out, stat." Momori's voice came out deadpan.

This bloody lalafell. Aislinn bit back a retort and simply, curtly answered. "On it."

Rolanda continued pulling up on the reins, aiming to get out of there as fast as possible and head back to safety.

"Head north and keep us under the bridge for some tics, we can't let them see us go back to the nest immediately!" Lumarto called out to the au ra while he held the girl safe.

Despite its injuries, the whale flew quickly through the sky, but they could all hear it...the roar of a magitek engine, somewhere behind them. Thankfully, in the blizzard, the noise eventually faded.

Aislinn and her carbuncle kept themselves in the shadow of the whale, turning back to peer through the blizzard. Hopefully they had lost them for good.

Lumarto sighed, glancing around. "That was reckless; we could have gotten into much worse if we didn't get out of there in time... but now they know a whale took the girl." he said, carefully releasing his hold on the little one. "You alright?" He asked her.

"Lots of people have whales right? ha ha.. ha.." Rolanda looked around worriedly. She hadn't noticed many whales around lately.

The girl opened an eye. “I...I’m alright. Ugh...” She keeled over slightly, in pain, and in conjunction with a strange light emanating from directly below them. The feeling of aether...moving. It was palpable to even those with the dullest senses.

"What the..." From under the whale, she leaned over her carbuncle to stare down below them. Whatever was causing this pressure in her head was strong. She drifted her mount lower to see if she could find the source.

Lumarto held his hand to his head, the other keeping the girl from falling off the whale. "Whatever it is, it's affecting us all... get us grounded."

Rolanda hurried to oblige, banking the whale into a shadowy ravine below with Aislinn in tow. Once back on solid ground, the group made their way out from the deep ravine where it opened onto what must have been, at one time, a lake bed. As they drew closer to the center of this opening...this Bed of Bones, they could see a figure brandishing something circular in its hands. Six burn spots are roasted into the icy floor, and a crowd of other figures - garleans and seawolves alike, are just behind the lone figure.

"What in the devils have we wandered into..." Rolanda whispered, trying to make herself small.

Lumarto gestured to everyone. "We're getting into something deep... lay low. Rolanda, you're the only one without a solid picture; take one here if anything stands out." Luma said, crouching down with the others.

Momori’s voice came out in a hush through the linkpearl. "There was an earthquake just now! And that light...did you see that?"

"I got a picture of the ship, I can replace it if we find something more useful here." Rolanda said, brandishing her pearl.

"I'll try and take one if things seem rather... important. Though any of these moments seem like it." Luma said, keeping a hand near the pearl just in case he needs to snap a quick one.

They watched as the central figure spun the artifact, as though it were a ship’s wheel. Six lights, coming from the burn marks, dart about, then sink into the ground. A moment of silence, and then the wind coalesces, partitioned into even sections of highly concentrated aether.

Lumarto watched as the figure used the artifact with ease; then he recalled Momori's words. Something of a disc, 6 points; it fit the description oddly enough. "I'm going to step closer for a picture..." Luma said, carefully setting the girl beside Aislinn before readying the pearl.

Aislinn watched the strange ritual without having one any idea as to what the purpose may have been. A summoning? But she recognized that artifact. The Helm Momori had described. Apparently not so useless after all. Why was she not surprised? As Lumarto set the girl beside her, she laid a comforting hand on the girl's arm.

From the sections of aether, wind sprites form, and with the unrelenting fury of Llymlaen herself, a great gale of wind blows. It was strong enough to knock the viewing party off their feet. Lumarto had clipped the enhanced linkpearl off his collar, aiming it at the figure as the artifact was beginning to spew aetheric wind around them. He snapped a photo of the impact, of the sprites forming around the group. Just as fast as the photo was taken, the wind shot him back towards his group; slamming against the rock behind them before falling to the snow. With a long exhale, he sighed. "Lets... Lets get out. This is getting dangerous.."

As Lumarto came hurtling back towards them, Aislinn pulled the girl towards her and leaned back out of the way, wincing as the miqo'te made landfall. But as he speaks, she let go a breath. He was battered, but alright. Nodding in agreement she speaks. "Aye, let's get this little one taken care of."

The garlean airship lifted off, and the cloaking device finally kicked in. After much flickering, it disappeared in a blur. Gone.

"Well, that was.. something! Is everyone alright?" Rolanda looked around at her windswept companions.

The girl seemed to be in a daze. She looked especially weak, and at this point was pretty much as active as a sack of popotos.

Lumarto coughed some. "I don't very much like the idea of being battered, so let's try and head back; I need a drink..." he said, offering the lightest chuckle to try and make light of the situation before looking to the small girl. "She needs to rest and a bed... lets return to the nest; carefully this time."

Arriving back at Falcon’s Nest, the exhausted trio found Momori right where they had left her, by the device, donning a headpiece. She turned to the party as they arrived. “Oh. Hi.”

Lumarto held a hand to his gut, clearly worn out a bit before taking a seat on the alley steps. "Gods, that's enough for today..." the miqo’te muttered.

Aislinn North let go a long exhalation by way of reply. She had the girl in her arms, giving Lumarto a chance to rest. She doesn't look like she entirely knows how to hold or comfort a child.

"Good to see everyone in one piece. And...this must be the child you picked up along the way." She makes an odd face at the girl, who is just. Collapsed in Aislinn’s arms.

The lalafell held out her hand. "If you could hand me the augmented linkpearls. I'll need to process the photos you took."

Lumarto held out the pearl, reluctant to budge from his spot. Aislinn knelt down to allow Momori to pluck the device from her coat.

"Thanks all. Hm, that child...You don't suppose you can keep her holed up at Heartwood for now? I haven't the faintest idea who she is, and I don't think she can tell us now." Momori said, observing the child at a distance, as if she were on exhibit.

Lumarto turned to Momo and then to Aislinn. "I'm sure we can, she needs someplace warm and a hot meal; my space at the house should be a decent place. I can feed her when I'm free too." Luma said, holding out his arms to Aislinn. "Give her here; I need my coat back later anyways."

"Good. Now, if there's anything else you need to give to me, I'd ask you to hand it over now. There is much for me to look into." the lalafell said briskly.

Aislinn’s instinct was to try and heal the child but recalling the aetheric brand, she was hesitant to add any of her own aetheric formulas to the mix. The girl appeared worn out. A warm bed and a few good meals should go a long way to helping her recover. She nodded to Lumarto and gingerly passed the child off to him.

“Ah yes, I nearly forgot, this strange bone that everyone said felt warm". Rolanda said as she handed over the wrist bone to Momori.

Lumarto nodded in kind to Aislinn, holding the girl close and making sure she was warm. Clearly he had experience with kids, her face looked pale, but her hands were warming up to the touch a bit. Upon seeing the bone that Rolanda held out once more, he flinched and looked away before making sure once more that the girl was fine.

“Very gross. Thank you.” Momori accepted the wrist bone. She paused. “...I will send payment in the mail after I have reviewed the footage you’ve brought back. Farewell for now.”

Rolanda seemed glad to be rid of the bone and linkpearl both. "Until next time." She glanced down at the child. "Let me know if you need anything for the child."

Lumarto stared at Aislinn, taking a moment to slowly stand as he held the girl carefully. "I'm going to take her back, but any help would be appreciated. I'll pearl you if need be." he said, carefully patting the little one. "See you back at the company."

"I'll head back with you." Aislinn said suddenly, falling into step with him.

Bones, artifacts, Garleans, and one lost child. For the immediate moment, they all had a lot to consider.

#ffxiv rp #balmung rp #ffxiv crystal rp #Heartwood plots #Into the Tempest #Lumarto Wetyios #Rolanda Deschain #Momori Mori #Aislinn North

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barefootdancinghospital · 5 years

Link

“The world might be ending.

* * *

There’s a commonly replicated piece of anarchist folk art that means a lot to me. I don’t know who drew it. It’s a drawing of a tree with a circle-A superimposed. The text of it reads “even if the world was to end tomorrow I would still plant a tree today.”

I grew up into anarchy around this piece of art. It was silkscreened as patches and posters and visible on the backs of hoodies and the walls of collective houses. It was graffitied through stencils and it was photocopied in the back of zines. It’s a paraphrasing of a quote misattributed to Martin Luther (the original protestant Martin Luther, not Martin Luther King, Jr., although plenty of people misattribute the quote to him as well). The original quote is something like “Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.” The earliest reference to it anyone can seem to find is from the German Confessing Church, a Christian movement within Nazi Germany that sought to challenge Nazi power. The quote was used to inspire hope, to inspire people to action.

That’s something I can get behind.

* * *

There’s this book that means a lot to me, On the Beach, by Nevil Shute. I’ve never read it. I can’t bring myself to. I think about it quite often, regardless.

The novel describes a nuclear war destined to kill all life on earth, and it describes the last days of people living in Australia waiting for the inevitable death of all things. It describes how they live their lives, how they find meaning during the apocalypse. It’s a book about how to live without hope. It’s a book of resignation.

It’s too much for me, I think, at least right now.

* * *

The world might be ending.

A lot of people will argue with me about that. They will correctly point out that for large numbers of people all over the world, especially in the parts of the world long ravaged by Western imperialism, the world has been ending for a long time. They will correctly point out that the world itself isn’t going anywhere, that change is constant, and even if what is left behind by climate catastrophe and war is a scorched desert, it’s probable that life will continue. Human life, non-human animal life, and plant life will all, in some form or another, survive all of this.

People will argue, correctly once more, that most every generation has believed that the world was ending. The machine gun slaughter of World War I, the genocide of World War II, the Doomsday Clock of the Cold War, the AIDS epidemic, those all must have felt like the apocalypse. For entire peoples, they were. Yet here some of us are today, alive.

None of those arguments detract from the fact that it sure feels like the world is ending.

Mountains are blown up for coal to pump poison into the air, pipelines clearcut the last vestiges of the wild to help us pump more poison into the air. Oceans are swallowing islands, hundred-year storms happen every year, and it feels like every day we break new climate records. A sense of urgency about coming disaster is fueling a rise of “I got mine, fuck you” nationalism, and climate scientists are being ignored to an unconscionable degree.

The world is ending.

It’s always ending, but it’s ending a lot right now. For me and the people I’m close to, it’s ending more dramatically than it was when I was born thirty-seven years ago.

That’s fucking paralyzing.

The news is full of extinction and fascism and death and death and death.

And we’re expected to get up in the morning and go to work.

* * *

For awhile, I coped by means of a cycle of denial and panic. The potential apocalypse was, basically, too-much-problem. I couldn’t wrap my head around it or its ramifications, so I acted like it wasn’t happening. Until, of course, some horrible event or reminder of the apocalypse broke over a certain threshold and sent me spiraling into despair. Then numbness took over once more and the cycle began again.

That didn’t do me much good.

About a year ago, I decided to embrace four different, often contradictory, priorities for my life. I run my decisions past all of them and try to keep them in balance.

Act like we’re about to die. Act like we might not die right away. Act like we might have a chance to stop this. Act like everything will be okay.

Act like we’re about to die

Every breath we take is the last breath we take. You Only Live Once. Smoke em if you got em. Do As Thou Wilt. Memento Mori. Our culture is full of euphemisms and clever sayings that focus around one simple idea: we’re mortal, so we might as well try to make the most of the time we have.

Embracing hedonism has a lot to recommend it these days. It’s completely possible that the majority of us won’t be alive ten or twenty years from now. It’s completely possible, although a lot less likely, that a lot of us won’t be alive in a year.

I used to think, when I was younger, that I was a terrible hedonist. As a survivor of sexual and psychological assault and abuse, I’ve never had much luck with drug use or casual sex. But fucking and getting wasted, while perfectly worthwhile pastimes, aren’t the only ways to live in the moment. Hedonism is about the pursuit of pleasure and joy. The trick is to find out what gives you pleasure and joy.

For myself, this has meant giving myself permission to pursue music, to sing even though I’m not trained, to play piano and harp. To travel, to wander. To seek beautiful moments and accept that they might be fleeting. I’ll rudely paraphrase the host of the rather wholesome podcast Ologies, Alie Ward, and say “we might die so cut your bangs and tell your crush you like them.”

My hedonism is a cautious one. I’m not looking to take up smoking or other addictions. I’m not trying to live like there’s a guarantee of no tomorrow, just a solid chance of no tomorrow. Frankly, this would be true regardless of the current crisis, but it feels especially important to me just now.

Act like we might not die right away

Preppers have a bad reputation for a good reason. The people stockpiling ammunition and food in doomsday bunkers by-and-large don’t have anyone else’s best interests at heart. Still, being prepared for a slow apocalypse, or dramatic interruptions in the status quo, makes more and more sense to more and more of us.

Preparing for the apocalypse is going to look different to every person and every community. For some people it will mean stockpiling necessities. For other people, securing the means to grow food.

One thing I’ve learned from my friends who study community resilience and disaster relief, however, is that the most important resource to shore up on isn’t a tangible one. It’s not bullets, it’s not rice, it’s not even land or water. It’s connections with other people. The most effective means of survival in crisis is to create community disaster plans. To practice mutual aid. To build networks of resilience.

Every apocalypse movie has it all backwards when the plucky gang of survivors holes up in a cabin and fends off the ravaging chaotic hordes. The movies have it backwards because the ravaging hordes are, in the roughest possible sense, the ones doing survival right. They’re doing it collectively. Obviously, I’m not advocating we wear the skulls of our enemies and cower at the feet of warlords (though wearing the skulls of would-be warlords has its appeal). I’m advocating staying open to opportunity and building collective power.

There are infinite reasons not to count on holing up in a cabin with your six friends as an apocalypse plan, but I’ll give you two of them. First, because living a worthwhile and long life as a human animal requires connections with a diverse collection of people with diverse collections of skills, ideas, and backgrounds. It’s all fun and games in your cabin until your appendix bursts and none of you are surgeons—or you’re the only surgeon. Likewise, small groups of people who tend to agree with one another are subject to the dangers of groupthink and the echo chamber effect, which will limit your ability to intelligently meet challenges that face you.

Second, because by removing yourself from society, you’re removing your ability to shape the changes that society will go through during crisis. If you go hide in the woods with your stockpile and your buddies, and fascists take over, guess what? It’s kind of your fucking fault. Because you weren’t at the meeting when everyone decided whether to be egalitarians or fascists. And guess what? Now that rampaging horde is at your doorstep, and they want your ammo and your antibiotics, and they’re going to get it one way or the other. Fascism is always best stamped out when it starts. It’s never safe to ignore it. Not now, not during any Mad Max future.

Tangible resources do matter, of course. Any likely scenario that prepping is good for won’t be so dramatic as an utter restructuring or collapse of society. It might mean food shortages, power outages, water contamination. It never hurts to keep nonperishable food, backup sources of power, and water filtration systems around for yourself and your neighbors.

Still, this is a terrible basket to put all your eggs into. You probably shouldn’t live out your days, whether they’re your last ones or not, over-preparing for something that may or may not come to pass.

Act like we might have a chance to stop this

We can and we should stop the worst excesses of climate catastrophe. We can and should stop fascism by whatever means necessary. Throwing up our hands and walking away from the problem is no solution.

It’s hard to remember that we have agency. Unless we were raised ultra-rich, we’ve had the concept of political and economic agency stripped from us at every turn. We’ve been told there are two ways to effect change: vote for politicians or vote with our dollars. Politicians in western democracies are likely incapable of changing things as dramatically as they need to be changed, and they certainly won’t bother trying unless we motivate them to do so in fairly dramatic ways. As for economic agency, there is a small handful of men with more wealth—and therefore power—than the rest of us combined.

We’ve been told we cannot take matters into our own hands, politically or economically. We’re not allowed to have a revolution. We’re not allowed to redistribute the wealth of the elite.

You’ll be shocked to know that I don’t put a lot of stock in what we are and aren’t allowed to do.

Still, even if we give ourselves permission to undertake it, revolution feels like an insurmountable challenge. We’ve got, optimistically, ten years to completely overhaul the economic system of the planet. It can be done. It has to be done. Yet it feels like it won’t be done.

We’re all running the cost/benefit analysis of acting directly. We all have different “fuck it” points—the point beyond which we can no longer prioritize our immediate wellbeing but instead must act regardless of the outcome. In the meantime, we’re waiting until it seems like we can act and actually have a chance of winning.

All over the world, even in some Western countries, people are no longer waiting. They’re acting. We need to be helping them, supporting them with words and actions, while we get ready to act here as well.

The revolution needs mediators and facilitators, medics and brawlers. It needs hackers and propagandists and it needs financiers and smugglers and thieves. It needs scouts and coordinators and it needs musicians and it needs people invested in the system to turn traitor. It needs lawyers and scientists and bookkeepers and copyeditors and cooks and it needs almost everyone, almost every skill.

One thing it doesn’t need, though, is managers. The people who claim to know how to run a revolution don’t know how to run a revolution or they would have done it by now. The authoritarian urge, to decide what the revolution should and shouldn’t look like, how people should and shouldn’t express their rage and reclaim their agency, will fail us every time. Authoritarian communism is the death of any revolution. Authoritarian liberalism is the death of any revolution. Even the more dogmatic anarchists will get in the way if given a chance. The revolution cannot be branded. Despite Hollywood representations of rebellions, they don’t work as well under a single banner. They are diverse, or they are not revolutions.

The revolution cannot be controlled by a vanguard of activists; if it is, it will fail. The revolution must be controlled by its participants, because only then will we learn how to claim agency over our own lives and futures.

We have a chance to stop this.

I forget that sometimes, but I shouldn’t.

Still, I can’t count on hope alone, or the days when hope fails me would lay me low.

Act like everything will be okay

All the times the world has come close to ending before, it hasn’t. It’s ended for some people, some cultures. Civilizations have collapsed. Ecosystems have radically shifted. Species have gone extinct—including the species of humans before homo sapiens. Colonization was an apocalypse. Some people survived those apocalypses, but plenty more didn’t.

Still, the world is still here and we’re still here.

Capitalism is a sturdy beast, quite adept at adaptation. Marx was wrong about a lot of things, and one of those things was the inevitability of the collapse of capitalism under the weight of its own contradictions. With or without capitalism, the society we live in might stagger on. We might curb the worst excesses of climate catastrophe through economic change or wild feats of geoengineering.

I won’t bet on it, but I won’t bet entirely against it either.

As much as I need to live like I might die tomorrow, I need to live like I might see a hundred years on this odd green and blue planet. Unless things change, I’m not burning every bridge. I’m trying to maintain a career. If I was certain to die under a fascist regime by 2021, there wouldn’t be much point in writing novels: they take too long to write, publish, and reach their audience. I get some joy from the writing itself, sure, but I get more joy from putting my art in front of people, of letting it influence the cultural landscape. With novel writing in particular, that takes time. That takes there being a future. I want there to be a future. Almost desperately. Not enough to bank on it completely.

I’m keeping some small portion of my time and resources invested in the potential for there to be a future is important for my mental health, because it keeps me invested in maintaining that health.

* * *

The world might end tomorrow, and it might not. If we can help it, at all, we shouldn’t let it end. We still ought to act like it might.

We ought to figure out what trees we would plant either way.

If you appreciate my writing and want to help me do more of it, please consider supporting me via Patreon.

“

#climate change

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rorykillmore · 5 years

Text

okay so guess what. i got hooked yesterday on the concept of rango ocs and now i have new CHILDREN. i’m gonna write down their basic rough concepts.

basically they’re a gang of outlaws who kind of took over a town at some point, and it’s a bit of a complicated situation because as a result the town has technically IMPROVED. it’s become kind of a safehaven for runaways and outcasts and people in dangerous situations. but at the same time, the gang’s rule can be kind of brutal and politically complicated, okay okay. here are my desert furries.

ps. we’re operating under the weird rango rules of “all of these animals are roughly similar in size even though they range from mammilian carnivores to like, arachnids”

hazel is the gang’s infamous leader, a long-tailed weasel who is levelheaded and no-nonsense at her best and... ruthless and unforgiving at her worst. her soft spot for society’s underdog makes her kind, but truthfully... only when she can accord to be. because while she strives to be a fair leader who tries to provide the best for those under her wing, she also firmly believes that she’s the best and only person for the job, and is known to react brutally to threats to her authority or to general anarchy.

cordell is hazel’s second in command, a kit fox who is considerably more approachable. even-tempered and charismatic, he’s the person hazel tends to send in when she actually has to give a shit about being LIKEABLE. cordell gets along with just about everyone, and his calm and analytical mind make him a great second in command, but... sometimes it seems like that’s not all he wants to be. he’s also ambitious, and the gears in his head are always churning. he loves hazel dearly, and she him, and their hard-earned and long-earned friendship isn’t the kind of thing to be tossed aside by a casual betrayal... but they don’t always agree. in fact, they probably disagree more often than cordell lets hazel know.

holliday is a black-tailed jackrabbit, and hazel’s father figure -- practically the only person who’s stood by her since childhood, after she fled the ranks of her birth family. since hazel formed the gang, he’s kind of evolved into a mentor figure to all of them, the oldest and wisest and often most goodnatured of the bunch. few people have a bad word to say against holliday, although his keen observations and judges of character aren’t always easy to hear, because he’s kind of one of those old western gunslinging legends who’s aged out of his prime but still has the respect of everyone who’s heard his stories.

midge is a kangaroo rat known for her stealth and speed, and as such is kind of the gang’s acting thief. when they want to avoid confrontation but still get their hands on a prize, or perhaps a piece of information, they send in midge. midge is kind of a young, bold, energetic heroine type, a robin hood kind of figure who believes in breaking the law to serve society’s neglected... so, sometimes she gets conflicted over the gang’s seedier business, but she ultimately has faith that hazel is the Right Leader for them and is doing the Right Thing, so she continues to follow her.

ringo is a coati, and a traveler from the south who has been treated as a stranger for most of his life travelling in america. despite his immense skill as a medic, he was unable to find a town that would employ him right up until cordell discovered him and invited him into the gang’s ranks. ringo is something of a pacifist, healing not only the other members of the gang when need be but also tending to just about any sick or injured person who comes to town (sometimes to hazel’s displeasure).

he also has a talent as a medium -- many believe he can communicate with the spirits of the dead.

thelma is some kind of ambiguous wild/alley cat, and is fittingly, the biggest wildcard of the group. wanted in several counties, she had a violent and unpredictable reputation that hazel and cordell sort of clashed over when deciding to pick her up as a hired gun. cordell believes she has potential while hazel does not like her tendency to step out of line. strangely enough, thelma has struck up an odd friendship with...

theodora, is a black widow spider with a surprisingly gentle temperament. she’s also a lesbian, so she is a little bit nonplussed by the favored jokes that she’s killed several of her non-existent husbands. theo is the gang’s mechanic and, honestly, something of a genius in that regard, and so highly valued by the gang for her skill. she’s also, despite her fearsome appearance, one of the sweetest people you’ll ever meet, which is perhaps why she managed to win even thelma over.

#i dont know how i ended up with a whole GANG of them but i had a lot of ideas so.#idk what to tag this as #rango

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peter-horrocks · 4 years

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Inside France review of 2020

People around the world will be thinking that 2020 has been the most testing and unpredictable of years in our lifetime. Yet despite the turmoil, for some it was a good year, though undoubtedly tinged with a sense of sadness, bewilderment as to how insensitive and selfish many humans can be and admiration for how amazing many people are too. On a personal front this was a good year in many ways, though my perspective is not your average as the previous year I was fighting a battle with cancer and practically anything is better than that.

“Real generosity toward the future lies in giving all to the present.” Albert Camus

My best photo of 2020 taken on a bike ride up the Gorge du Loup near Grasse

The obvious dominant subject of 2020 was Covid 19 and I have great empathy for those adversely affected and directly involved. The virus popped up out of no-where and its impact has been incessant ever since. When I first became aware of it I asked my physiotherapist what she thought and if her son who was working in Tokyo was concerned. “Oh Corona, comme la bierre, boff!!” was her flippant reply. And I think that is where most people were at.

I’ve read a number of good books about the plague and how it spread, including Ken Follet’s brilliant World Without End and more recently I enjoyed the French classic La Peste by Albert Camus, French version. Transmission is key and human habits are why it spreads and our inability to adapt and accept change are our shortcomings, poor governance adds frustration. Thank goodness there are also those we acclaim as heroes too. It is so difficult battling an unseen entity which affects some badly but not others and which adapts too, as we all know now.

Home made mask

The media feeds on it and frankly, if I had a euro for every time I’ve seen a cotton bud thrust up someone’s nose on the news (what is news about that!!!) my pockets would be bulging, and of course now its needles in the arm time. Everyone’s become an expert or they’ve chosen to be ostrich’s and stuck their head firmly in the sand, and you can’t blame them really. The tension is palpable when it comes to masks in places where they are obligatory, I can’t help feeling angry when I see people not wearing them or with their noses poking out, as they often seem to have that smug look about them, like they are sooo independent-minded. It frustrates me to feel judgemental but its that wilful selfish thing that makes me angry, that sullen unwillingness to be part of the collective, as if we could survive regardless as an island, though obviously, we wouldn’t last a minute.

We’ve all been finding our way of coping and for some, it is much more difficult than others. At first, it was almost amusing to find oneself running from the back end of the apartment to the front balcony and back, repeat, for an hour in an effort to keep fit during tight confinement. We exchanged improvised mask ideas; I had a ski snood with a coffee filter stuffed down it! Initially, we were told the masks didn’t really work. The truth was they didn’t have enough of them and even worse here in France they had recently binned the reserve stock, so they were trying to hide their embarrassment. In fairness, that apart, the French government seem to have handled managing the virus relatively well so far though now there are vaccination issues aggravated by a vaccine sceptic population and slow bureaucracy.

There was something marvellous about discovering how well you could keep connected with friends and loved ones through WhatsApp video in particular. I hadn’t felt so connected to my elder brother living in South Africa ever. But when he died of a heart attack out walking in the hills with his friends over there the reality hit hard. A big delay in getting him back to the UK, a bigger delay for his wife to follow on and no opportunity to share in the grieving in the direct company of my family. There were seven of us brothers and sisters and I am by far the youngest, it is sad, strange and destabilising being down to six.

Additional anxiety was for my younger daughter who is a recently qualified doctor as is the man in her life. Both were having a small break before taking up their proper postings in the summer. They were enjoying hiking in the wilds of Scotland and a holiday with family in Asia and looking forward to more carefree travel after so many years of medical studies. They both bravely and unselfishly volunteered to work in one of the worst Covid affected hospitals in the UK. Heavily involved with the thankless task of informing families of their loss by video conference and in the testing of the recently approved Oxford vaccine, they were literally in the thick of it. Within two weeks of starting as volunteers, they both caught the virus, thankfully not badly and after an isolation period, they were straight back onto the wards. They have both taken up their proper posts now, in London, as the third wave comes crashing through. Understandably they are tired and don’t want to talk about it, it is very difficult, especially for them.

My elder daughter got caught up in things too. She was on a humanitarian posting in Nepal when the outbreak struck and only got out on the last plane to leave Kathmandu for the UK. Having a day off she had gone hang gliding in the morning, a first for her, an amazing thrill, she had just sent me photographs showing her flying, of stupendous views of the local lake and the Annapurna mountain range. Only to return and be told she had to pack and leave immediately. The next photo was of a night-time, deserted, frightening-looking Kathmandu where she managed to find one of the last hotels still open, a rough one. To say I was relieved when she got home and met up at the airport with her sister who similarly got the last plane out of Shri Lanka is an understatement. Thankfully, she managed to see out the first wave and much of the summer with the family of her friend who owns a nice property in the countryside near the sea, well away from it all.

Kathmandu in lockdown taken by my daughter

My anxiety and personal need were a desire to help them. Being stuck here in France and relatively at risk myself my options were limited. My main concern was for their mental health as my guess was that Covid was likely to affect everybodies. Shortly after my cancer treatment, my French wife’s sister gave me a couple of books by a French author, meditation master and philosopher Fabrice Midal. One was an introduction to meditation for westerners, non-religious and based on attention, more of an awakening and relevant to actually living life actively, not at all mind closing and definitely not relaxation. I found it very wise and tried the meditation in addition to my gentle yoga which is for my relaxation when I’m not out for a walk, playing football or cycling up a mountain. I still meditate and have found it fascinating, paying attention to the functioning of the most important thing of all, the one we nearly all neglect, the brain. Its no cure for anything but I found it a good exercise and felt it may help my girls.

Meditation book by Fabrice Midal, in french.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t exist in English. So I contacted the author and asked if he would mind me translating it, explaining that I thought it would help my daughters. To my surprise, he promptly replied and agreed saying he could probably then use it to publish it online. So, I set about translating it and explained what I was doing to my daughters and the eldest volunteered to proofread. Its nearly done and I can say that my eldest daughter found it very helpful and the youngest has at least read some of it. I had never translated a whole book before and I found it an interesting experience especially as a philosopher weighs his words and each one counts. Fabrice Midal appears regularly on French television as he is one of the country’s leading philosophers and authors. I have read a fair bit of Greek philosophy and have always had some interest in the subject as I find it helps make sense of life, up to now I was not aware of any contemporary philosophers worth reading. I have found him to be a real ray of light, someone I can relate to and admire and learn from. I think he deserves to be read more throughout the world; he is a man of the moment in my opinion. I never thought I’d see the day when I would sit on a meditation cushion, I don’t buy into the way most of it is practised at all, but I’m glad to have found one that suits me and I’m very glad to have been able to help my daughters if only in a small way.

Brexit end game After an anxious wait it's done and dusted, well nearly. I have made my permanent residency application, which was relatively simple and not too onerous, and I have a holding number and a statement that my rights in France continue as before. The only problem is a final processing delay of at least three months so still waiting to cross the t’s and dot the i’s when the administration is ready.

The mood in France Given the circumstances its not too bad and whist the government has its detractors they are less visible due to the various constraints at the moment and the more pressing business of dealing with the Covid crisis. There is moaning when things are obviously wrong but there does seem to be reactivity too as well as a good degree of solidarity, responsibility and helpfulness.

Best cultural moments Well, there haven’t been any as everything is shut and even when a few things like cinemas were open there was nothing much good on and certainly nothing worth risking being indoors with other people.

First day on the beach at Fréjus after lockdown number one

Best experience Stepping back out onto the football pitch in Saint Cezaire-Sur-Siagne was enormous for me. During my cancer treatment, I never thought I would be able to play football again. It’s a very simple thing kicking a ball around with fellow human beings, but I’ve always loved it to bits. Also in between lockdowns we managed to get down to the beach at Fréjus a couple of times in the morning when there were few people around and it was a real tonic to be able to enjoy the sea and sun, it was equally uplifting to be able to ride up into the mountains on my bike occassionally though hard getting the muscles going again each time.

Looking down towards the Gorge du Loup

Precious family moments The top was a visit from my elder daughter who managed to stay with us for a couple of weeks before getting back to the UK on the last flight before the second lockdown. A huge pickup, I enjoyed catching up with her work teaching online and coaching and being able to be there for her as well as visiting some nice places outdoors, especially the observatory at Caussols.

And we also managed a lovely stay in a chalet in the high French Alps at Les Menuires in August along with my French wife’s daughters, son in law and five grandchildren, the sun shone on the verdant valley by day and the stars lit up our evening walks up the mountain, it was quite magical and great fun, I felt privileged to be part of it.

Selling my Dordogne property

I’ve finally given up on the idea that I might do something with my property in the Dordogne one day, so I’m selling it. It is composed of a beautiful big barn which I had re-roofed and opened some window openings at the start of a conversion (which I had planning for, now lapsed, but easy to re-new). Also a ruined small farmhouse. There is electricity and water but no drains (I did get permission for a septic tank but we never got round to installing it). Both are set on 1 hectare of land, mainly secluded, just one neighbour masked by trees and bushes on my side. 3km from the village of Montagrier near Périgueux. Price is 120,000 euros. If you know anyone who might be interested please let me know.

Classic 2cv It has been very enjoyable working with Classic 2cv again this year. We have brought lots of rusting old parts back to life and supplied enthusiasts far and wide with the means to keep their charming old French cars on the road. I have learned a lot and continue to grow in experience on the classic car front. Oddly its thrived during lockdowns as folk have channelled their time and energy into restoration of their cars.

So, as we head into the new year after a year like no other, the future looks uncertain, climate change and a biodiversity crisis are looming large in addition to the Covid virus. It feels important to survive, work, make the most of things, care about loved ones and to try and help.

Best wishes

Peter H

#2020 #Inside France review

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lookatthedawn · 6 years

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A.k.a Paradise on Earth

People ask me if I'd want to come to Vietnam again. In a heartbeat, I answer! And I'm not even talking about Phu Quoc Island, I'm talking about Hanoi, my job here and the Vietnamese people. I like it all. I like the solitude, I find that I'm rather good at being alone. But Phu Quoc Island is something else. It's not a place to work, or at least I don't see it as a place to work. It's a great place to take a respite from life.

The hotel has a main building with a beautiful foyer and a gazebo-style dining room where there's a constant ocean breeze. Stretching toward the back are all the bungalows between patches of green grass and vibrant flowers. I have reserved a room, not a bungalow. As I go upstairs to the second floor, I realize that I'm their only guest at the moment. I wonder why since the place is clean and gorgeous if only a little bit isolated. There's a gym, though, located on the right side of the hotel, which plays non-stop electronic music. I'm prejudiced against the genre. In fact, I've always thought that if hell has a soundtrack, this is it.

My room is spacious, with all the usual appliances. I'm happy to be properly installed, but I want to explore. After refreshing myself and resting for a bit, I take a walk along the main road, looking for the beach. I have often compared Vietnam to Brazil, and I'll do it again here. Vietnam is probably like a hundred other countries, but you can only compare with what you know, and I do know the rural roads of Brazil. They are my crib, actually. I remember when my parents took my four siblings and me to Euxenita village, how the dusty road stretched ahead of us and seemed long compared to my short legs. Those early memories are so deeply engraved in my mind that any similar place or people throw me right back there. At this roadside, there are little rustic shops selling mainly food but other things as well. I stop at a store and buy a small pack of Oreos. At home I don't like Oreos, find them too sweet, but since I arrived in Vietnam I can't have enough of them, possibly because I'm not having my regular sugar-fix in processed foods. Vietnamese people don't eat as much sugar as Americans or Brazilians. Their breakfast is often rice, noodles, eggs, and vegetables. For dessert, they eat fruits with the same gusto my fellow Westerns eat chocolate. I walk while listening to The Creative Penn podcast, coincidentally, one episode in which the host mentions my name. After walking for perhaps ten minutes, I find a little passage that might be the one the hotel owner said would take me to the beach. It doesn't. Instead, it takes me to a muddy strip of land with a few shanties. People dressed in worn-out Bermuda shorts and t-shirts come out and stare at me, some of them say hello, the children smile and hide behind adults. Thin dogs watch me while lying by the hut's door. Some wag their tails, others are either too bored or too weak to wag or bark. Children and adults alike are stepping on the mud, busy with cooking, washing, and fixing things. The place is quiet, so quiet, in fact, that you can hear a fly buzzing around. The people go about their business peacefully. In their eyes, you can see ten years gone without changes. Far away a radio plays pop music.

I turn around and walk back to the main road. I feel a thousand eyes watching me, but in fact, I'm alone. Just another Western lost in these parts. They'll forget me by the time the sun sets over the Gulf of Thailand. The rain comes without warning. It comes fast and strong, so I enter the first covered place, which happens to be a house/business, selling blocks of ice. A lady greets me with a smile. She doesn't speak English, and neither do the men in their late twenties, early thirties, busy cutting and packing ice. They see that I need a place to wait for the rain to pass, they greet me warmly and the lady of the house brings me a chair. Other people arrive in motorcycles, covered in plastic from head to toe, and they too greet me with a nod and a brief smile. They know I don't speak Vietnamese. They are familiar with Westerns like me, who can hardly say 'thank you' in their tongue. So they do their best to communicate with me and act as though not knowing my language is their personal failure. As sudden as the rain came it goes. I thank them and continue on my way, looking for the beach. I know I'm close to the sea. It's just a question of finding the passage. I stop at a snack bar and ask for directions. I have a hard time making myself understood, but then they nod and repeat bai a lot. A gentleman, probably in his seventies, tells me to get on his motorcycle, he'll take me there. That's the Vietnamese approach, that's how they help you. In the U.S. this would sound strange, but not in Phu Quoc Island. Sure, I get on his motorbike and we go to the beach, but when we get there I'm disappointed, as this is not a leisure beach but a place for fishermen and boat owners to fix their gear. I don't need to say anything, he can see that this is not what I was looking for. We head back to the main road, where he stops and discuss with another local, trying to decide where I want to go and the best way to get there. I watch them, getting hints of their meaning by the way they point their fingers towards the beach and gesture about directions. Finally, they agree on the best course of action. But this is almost 6 p.m. and I decide to go back to the hotel and get some rest and dinner. Of course, I find the Bai Sao the next day. Following the hotel's owner's suggestion, I borrow a book from his library and take a cab to the beach. Maybe I should have rented one of the motorcycles they have available at the hotel but the cab was inexpensive and quick.

I'm fully aware that this moment, swimming in the crystalline water and reading Engleby under the hot Vietnamese sun is one of the best moments I have in Southeast Asia. I bask in the sun, enjoying each minute. I don't have suntan lotion, didn't even think of that, to be perfectly honest, but I'm enjoying myself too much to care. There are a few Westerns at the restaurant, but most are Vietnamese from other parts of the country. Two young women, one from Belgium and the other from England are swimming next to me and we chat briefly. Then I explore. Another part of the beach is completely desert. I've got my books, my music, the ocean and a gorgeous day ahead of me. Color me happy! The problem with being the sole guest at the hotel is that I have a small staff working for me alone. I'm the one who interrupts their leisure and requires that they work. I don't like that. On my last night in Phu Quoc Island, I come down to chat with the hotel owner. We talk about books, about the island, and about Vietnam. He's very interested in Brazil, which he plans to visit one day. The conversation turns to politics and corruption in both Brazil and Vietnam. I tell him that I've always thought that criminality in Brazil is the result of governmental corruption, but knowing that in Vietnam also there is corruption in the government and yet criminality is very low has cracked my logic. I ask him why he thinks that's the case and his answer surprises me. He credits the police for being tough and effective. He is not the first or the only one to tell me that the Vietnamese police is fast, tough and efficient. But I know Rio de Janeiro. I know that if the carioca police gets tough, the slum kings get tougher, madder and more effective. I wonder if things would have been different had the Brazilian police taken serious and proactive action thirty or forty years ago when criminality was more manageable and gangs didn't possess military warfare. My host's theory is plausible but does not satisfy me. I believe crime in Brazil is deeply rooted in the population's mindset. Crime is allowed. It's a culture where small infractions are expected and often encouraged by people who consider themselves above reproach. "But everyone does it," they say. Or even, "there's no way to live honestly in Brazil". My Brazilian family and friends tell me they can no longer leave the house after dark. The freedom I enjoyed in my youth is denied to this generation. The situation is sad and frustrating. And I think the necessary measures go beyond police efficacy.

As I get up to go back to my room my host asks me when and what I want for dinner. I tell him that I'll be happy with the same I had the night before, rice and steamed vegetables, and would like to eat in about an hour. He nods. "Will you have a glass of wine with me?" "Sure," I say. I'm not much of a drinker and I haven't eaten much all day, so, an hour later, when he pours the red drink into a glass, I know that I should take it easy. "Cheers!" He says as we bump glasses. He downs his wine and gestures for me to do the same. I do. He refills my glass. "This is a very special wine," he tells me. "You won't find it anywhere else but here on the island. Sim wine. Will you remember the name?" "Sim wine," I repeat. "Yes, I will." "It's from the myrtle fruit. It's only produced in Phu Quoc Island." He raises his glass. "Your dinner is coming soon. Drink up!" I see that the bottle is almost empty and that's a good thing. I really shouldn't be drinking on an empty stomach. I'm alone on this island and the hotel is deserted, so I figure I should have my wits about me the whole time. "Do you like the wine?" "Yes, it's very good." "Well, that's it for this bottle," he says. "But I have another." He brings the second bottle, fills our glasses and we drink. Then he refills our glasses again. "This is for drinking with the food," he says and leaves with his glass to bring me the food. Is it my impression or is he a little tipsy? I open my laptop as I wait for dinner. I'm in the circular gazebo-style dining room. There's only one wall in the back, where the bar is located, behind which is the kitchen. Plants hang all around the room, swaying gently in the night breeze. I can smell the food being cooked in the kitchen and subtler than that, the salty scent of the ocean, not far away. My host places a steaming plate before me, then brings me napkins, salt, pepper, and sauces. He goes to the other table and clicks the TV on, leaving to my dinner. After a while, I walk upstairs to my room where I call my best friend in Brazil and we talk for a long time. For some silly reason, we start laughing and can not stop. She blames it on the wine, I blame it on being in this amazing place, having just a grand ol' time. Phu Quoc Island is a crowning moment of my stay in Southeast Asia, one that will stay with me for years to come. As I talk to Nara and brush away laughing tears, I'm aware of that.

#Vietnam #kinhbachotel #phuquocisland #Summer internship #mountholyokecollege #traveling #writer's life #sim wine #thecreativepenn #engleby #southeastasia #baisaobeach #francesperkins

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thehikingviking · 4 years

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New York Butte, Survivor Peak, Voon Meng Leow Peak, Keynot Peak and Mt Inyo - The Great Inyo Traverse

For years I have dreamed of traversing atop the Inyo Mountains, bagging all the highest peaks in the range in one outing. I had a rough plan of starting from the end of Swansea Grade just south of New York Butte and traversing north over Keynot Peak to Mt Inyo as a through hike. However, the road conditions of Swansea Grade had deteriorated to the point that my stock Jeep Grand Cherokee wouldn’t make it. Not only would I need one very capable vehicle to get me to the starting point, but I would need another to retrieve the car afterwards. In addition, this plan required a lot of driving on difficult roads. Perhaps my dream wasn’t worth the trouble. I floated this idea to Brett Marsciani, and while he had no interest in any of the peaks, he was willing to join, and somehow convinced ”Ken TheJeepGuy” from YouTube to drop us off at the top of Swansea Grade. Apparently, Brett and the Ken had been liking each other’s photos on social media and exchanging information on road conditions. With a viable means of transportation, we had a good shot to climb New York Butte, Keynot Peak and Mt Inyo all in one day. We planned to camp together with the Jeep club at the trailhead, and after our departure the following morning, the rest would continue on to Cerro Gordo and then to Lone Pine with our camping gear. This would probably be my best shot of climbing 3 DPS peaks in one day. Meanwhile, my obsessive compulsive peak bagging disorder noticed two other peaks along the range; Survivor Peak and Voon Meng Leow Peak. Both obscure summits reside on the Non-Sierra California 10,000-foot Peaks list, and Voon Meng Leow Peak also is included in Andy Zdon’s book “Desert Summits”. While I currently have no plans of pursuing the Non-Sierra California 10,000-foot Peaks list, there is no promise that I will not be interested in this list in the future, and it would be a darn shame if I had to go all the way back. So in preparation, we planned a 5 peak objective; New York Butte, Survivor Peak, Voon Meng Leow Peak, Keynot Peak and Mt Inyo in that order. The invite was extended to Sean King, so at the end we had a hiking group of three. Scott King, Asaka and Leif would remain in the Alabama Hills overnight, and they planned to pick us up the following day, wherever that might be. Walkie talkies and cell phone service would allow us to update them throughout the day, but our best bet was descending Union Wash via Mt Inyo’s DPS Route A.

We agreed to meet the Jeep club in Lone Pine at 4pm on Sunday afternoon, which meant we had a half day to climb something in the area. Since everything in the Sierra Nevada is hard, I chose Black Mountain in the White Mountains due to its prominence, inclusion in “Desert Summits” book and rumors of great views. Asaka and I slept in the car off a forest road in the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest, and we met the others the next morning. We caravanned up the dirt road to the site of an abandoned mining camp near road’s end on the east side of Black Mountain.

We found a use trail which took us around the northern flanks of Black Mountain East Peak.

We dropped to the saddle then followed the southern side of the ridgeline towards the summit.

On our way back, we made a small diversion up Black Mountain East Peak.

We then dropped down to the car, and drove out to Big Pine where we had lunch.

After lunch, we drove down to Lone Pine and met the Jeep Club at the McDonalds. I was initially underwhelmed by their vehicles, and internally questioned whether we would be able to make it to camp. We hopped in the Tundra, which wasn’t even lifted, and drove south along Highway 136 to the town of Swansea. Once a boomtown spawned by the success of nearby silver mining operations, the city is now a ghost town, and only a couple of buildings remain. We pulled off the freeway onto the dirt road and let some air out of the tires. This increases the surface area of the tires, allowing for better grip on the dirt road.

To further add to my apprehension, I learned that this was the first time Bobby Joe, Ken TheJeepGuy’s fiance, would be attempting such a difficult road. It was not long before the vehicles were tested. A very rocky staircase section of road followed by and extremely steep slope were handled by the vehicles with relative ease.

We admired the enduring salt trams, standing like venerable sentinels. To build such structures in such a remote and inhospitable place must have required an enormous amount of ingenuity and fortitude.

The crux of the drive was a little further up the mountain. Our Tundra and Ken’s Jeep made it up the exposed section of road with no issues, but Bobby Joe had some troubles down below. Ken decided to drive back down the road to help guide Bobby Joe, but rather than turn around, he reversed back up the crux. This was the most impressive bit of driving I have ever seen, and I’ve watched all of the Fast & Furious movies.

After that the road conditions eased. Knowing the worst was behind us, I finally was able to relax and take in the amazing views around us. We stopped for a short break at Burgess Mine to check out some old structures and the sunset.

It took us over 3 hours to finally reach camp at the saddle between New York Butte and Peak 10151. We could have arrived earlier, but we had to wait every 20 minutes or so for Bobby Joe to catch up with us.

Below you can watch the video from Ken TheJeepGuy.

youtube

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AaHE-eWR1h4&t=4s

I chose to set up my tent at the top of the saddle underneath some foliage. The ground was soft and it was away from the larger group. I went down and built a fire as the remaining light faded over the Sierra Nevada.

Brett brought venison and bison, I brought sausages and Sean brought desert. We had a big feast, and I wanted to stay out all night, but we had serious business at hand early the next morning. I retired to my tent, nervous but at the same time encouraged knowing that the “hardest” part of my big plan was complete.

The next morning we left our camping gear next to the vehicles and hit the trail at 5:30am.

Knowing we had a lot of ground to cover, I started at a brisk pace. Sean and Brett remained right on my heels as we ascended the trail along the west side of New York Butte.

We followed the trail for a little more than a mile, then at the highest point in the trail, went cross country through the sage brush towards the peak. We passed through a sparse pine forest and had an easy scramble up some boulders to the summit.

To the south were Pleasant Point and Cerro Gordo.

To the east was Death Valley.

To the north were Survivor Peak, Voon Meng Leow Peak, Keynot Peak and Mt Inyo from south to north.

To the west was the Sierra Nevada.

These were the best views from a desert peak that I could remember. I wanted to stay on the summit longer but we had a lot of under reported terrain ahead of us and many miles to go. We dropped off the northwest side of the peak until we connected with the trail again, then followed it down to the saddle between New York Butte and Point 10192.

I was very impressed by the conditions of the trail, considering it gets very little usage. The old mining trail appeared to be somewhat maintained, possibly by hunters and the occasional hiker.

At 10,000 ft, we left the trail and contoured to the right towards Survivor Peak. The cross country was easy and we made quick time approaching the western ridge of Survivor Peak. Knowing we would come back to the main ridge, we left some water bottles in the shade to lighten our load.

We hiked by several ancient bristlecone pines growing along the ridge. Located in the White Mountains further north is apparently the oldest tree known to man. The “Methuselah” is estimated at 4,852 years old, and its exact location is not marked in order to protect it from vandals. Seeing these trees sparked a conversation of how the scientists could measure the age of a tree without killing it, and how they could be so sure that they knew the location of the oldest tree. There were so many Great Basin bristlecone pines throughout the less accessible Inyo Mountains as well, and I highly doubt that every single tree was inspected.

We had the option to climb over a sub peak on the way to Survivor Peak or sidehill. I chose the latter option and found myself on rough terrain. Brett, not really caring for this obscure peak, decided to wait back while Sean and I progressed to our second summit of the day.

The remaining scramble up the ridge was quite fun. We had some minor brush to avoid and some crumbly rock, but this made for interesting terrain. We reached a saddle between to possible summits and climbed the western one which according to our map was slightly higher.

To the east were Sean and Death Valley.

To the north were Keynot Peak and Waucoba Mountain.

To the northwest was Voon Meng Leow Peak.

To the east was the perpendicular ridgeline from which we came.

To the southwest was New York Butte.

To the south were Pleasant Point and Cerro Gordo.

We dropped off the peak where we found one of the most unique summit registers I’ve ever seen.

The register mostly contained the names of locals and serious peak baggers, so I was very proud to include my signature among the archives.

Our our way back, we stayed on top of the sub peak to avoid the nasty sidehill.

We rejoined Brett and recovered our waters. Next we approached Point 10192, a minor sub peak that took minimal effort to climb.

From the top I was able to text Asaka, and Sean was able to talk to his dad on the walkie talkie in Owens Valley below.

To the south was New York Butte.

To the east was Survivor Peak.

To the north were Voon Meng Leow Peak and Keynot Peak, our next two objectives. We wasted little time and continued north.

We could not find a trail, but the sandy ground made for easy cross country travel down to the saddle where we found the remains of an old camp.

We had several hundred feet ahead of us which we took in stride.

Eventually, small use trails began to appear.

There were 3 bumps along the top of the ridge that contended for the summit. I felt the southernmost point was the highest, however the northernmost point was labeled as the peak.

To be safe, we climbed all three.

We had a long break here and analyzed our progress. We were ahead of schedule, and my calculations suggested we had only 2,600 ft total gain remaining. Everything was working out and I was very encouraged!

After lunch, we began our steep descent to Forgotten Pass.

Getting down to the saddle was pretty straightforward.

I had one track ascending the ridge to the right and another sidehilling underneath the ridge to the left. An eye-catching arrow on the ground persuaded me to take the left track.

What followed was the worst 1,500 feet of climbing in my life. We started off with a use trail that quickly disappeared among very loose rocks.

My instincts told me to climb up, but my track told me to continue sidehilling. I finally had enough, and started angling my way up towards the ridgeline.

I was on all fours for a good portion of the climb. I could barely stand on the loose rubble, making for extremely slow progress.

At one point Brett yelled, “I’ve never done this before,” to which I replied, “neither have I.”

It was just plain ugly, and this section zapped a lot of energy from us. I thought things would get better once we reached the top of the ridgeline, but that wasn’t the case. I found myself scrambling over very loose and precarious sections, so I instructed Sean and Brett to continue sidehillling beneath me.

The terrain only began to ease up as we ascended the final few hundred feet to the summit. By now our pace had slowed, and my water supply began to diminish.

With the summit in sight, we kept moving. I was dragging at this point, but I had to suck it up.

It took us almost 3 hours to climb the 1,600 ft from Forgotten Pass to the summit of Keynot Peak. To the south were Survivor Peak, New York Butte and Voon Meng Leow Peak.

To the southwest were Olancha Peak and the Whitney Region.

To the northwest were Mt Williamson and the Onion Valley Region.

To the north were Mt Inyo and Waucoba Mountain.

To the east was Death Valley.

We took a long rest here, but I couldn’t appreciate the views. I was simply beat. As we dropped off the summit I was relieved to find a patch of snow. I was running low on water and this would supplement me with enough liquid to continue to Mt Inyo.

I was getting pretty tired so I had to dig deep. I knew this was my best shot to climb Mt Inyo, so I was motivated, but I wasn’t as galvanized as I had hoped. All that changed when our initially steep and rough descent ended, and the amazingly smooth and beautiful ridge began.

The delightful colors and the gentle nature of the ridge changed my mood from grumpy to euphoric. The hike was great, life was great and we were for sure going to complete the ridge run.

At the saddle, we took another rest and Brett told us that he would forego the final peak. Considering he had little interest in any of these peaks to begin with, I was grateful to have him along with us up to that point and accepted his early resignation. Sean and I agreed to climb Mt Inyo without him and return back to the saddle before descending together to Union Wash.

I expected a use trail of sorts but we found nothing. While we only had 1,000 vertical feet remaining, it dragged on and felt longer than that. For a while the clouds parted and the temperature increased, making an already tough climb even tougher.

Whenever I felt we were getting close to the top, there always seemed to be a little more that I hadn’t accounted for. We came across a primitive shelter dedicated to Marion Howard, known as the beekeeper of McElvoy Canyon.

We dragged our way up the final pile of rocks.

To the north was Waucoba Mountain.

To the east was Saline Valley.

To the south was Keynot Peak.

To the west were the Sierra Nevada.

A bird of prey circled us overhead, waiting for us to collapse in the warm climate.

Now it was time to regroup with Brett at the saddle.

Brett was surprised it took us so long, but hiking up Mt Inyo was no walk in the park. I felt that if we descended at a good pace, we would be able to make it down to Union Wash in 2 hours.

I was surprised to find an actual bed spring at Bed Spring Camp. I have no idea how it got all the way up there in the first place.

The terrain became easier to quickly descend as we dropped lower and lower down the mountain.

Soon we were experiencing the best boot plunging I have done in a long time. This must be absolutely horrible to ascend, but quite magical to descend.

We were at the wash in no time.

It took us only 1.5 hours to drop 5,000 vertical feet from the saddle to the road leading to Union Wash. Everything was great except for one thing; Asaka and Scott were not at the trailhead. I had a little service so I called Asaka and she was still in Lone Pine. Ugh! Rather than wait there, we decided to continue walking two more miles down the road. This was probably the right choice because I was not sure that either my vehicle or Scott’s could make it all the way to the end of the road. I moped all the way down the road, and once we reached an intersection with better road quality, I laid down on the ground and waited. Asaka and Scott finally came, and we rejoiced that we were done with our 19 mile day.

A feast for kings in Lone Pine was warranted. Rather than drive home that night, I reserved a night at the Best Western in Lone Pine. It’s safer to get some rest before a long drive.

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newsnigeria · 5 years

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Check out New Post published on Ọmọ Oòduà

New Post has been published on http://ooduarere.com/news-from-nigeria/world-news/behind-hong-kongs-black-terror/

Behind Hong Kong’s black terror

By Pepe Escobar – Hong Kong : Posted with permission

“If we burn, you burn with us.” “Self-destruct together.” (Lam chao.)

The new slogans of Hong Kong’s black bloc – a mob on a rampage connected to the black shirt protestors – made their first appearance on a rainy Sunday afternoon, scrawled on walls in Kowloon.

Decoding the slogans is essential to understand the mindless street violence that was unleashed even before the anti-mask law passed by the government of the Special Administrative Region (SAR) went into effect at midnight on Friday, October 4.

By the way, the anti-mask law is the sort of measure that was authorized by the 1922 British colonial Emergency Regulations Ordnance, which granted the city government the authority to “make any regulations whatsoever which he [or she] may consider desirable in the public interest” in case of “emergency or public danger”.

Perhaps the Honorable Nancy Pelosi, Speaker of the US House of Representatives, was unaware of this fine lineage when she commented that the law “only intensifies concern over freedom of expression.” And it is probably safe to assume that neither she nor other virulent opponents of the law know that a very similar anti-mask law was enacted in Canada on June 19, 2013.

More likely to be informed is Hong Kong garment and media tycoon Jimmy Lai, billionaire publisher of the pro-democracy Apple Daily, the city’s Chinese Communist Party critic-in-chief and highly visible interlocutor of official Washington, DC, notables such as US Vice President Mike Pence, Secretary of State Mike Pompeo, and ex-National Security Council head John Bolton.

On September 6, before the onset of the deranged vandalism and violence that have defined Hong Kong “pro-democracy protests” over the past several weeks, Lai spoke with Bloomberg TV’s Stephen Engle from his Kowloon home.

He pronounced himself convinced that – if protests turned violent China would have no choice but to send People’s Armed Police units from Shenzen into Hong Kong to put down unrest.

“That,” he said on Bloomberg TV, “will be a repeat of the Tiananmen Square massacre and that will bring in the whole world against China….. Hong Kong will be done, and … China will be done, too.”

Still, before the violence broke out, hundreds of thousands of Hong Kong people had gathered in peaceful protests in June, illustrating the depth of feeling that exists in Hong Kong. These are the working-class Hongkongers that Lai supports through the pages of Apple Daily.

But the situation has changed dramatically from the early summer of non-violent demonstrations. The black blocs see such intervention as the only way to accomplish their goal.

For the black blocs, the burning is all about them – not Hong Kong, the city and its hard-working people. Those are all subjected to the will of this fringe minority that, according to the understaffed and overstretched Hong Kong police force, numbers 12,000 people at the most.

Cognitive rigidity is a euphemism when applied to mob rule, which is essentially a religious cult. Even attempting the rudiments of a civilized discussion with these people is hopeless. The supremely incompetent, paralyzed Hong Kong government at least managed to define them precisely as “rioters” who have plunged one of the wealthiest and so far safest cities on the planet “into fear and chaos” and committed “atrocities” that are “far beyond the bottom line of any civilized society.”

“Revolution in Hong Kong”, the previous preferred slogan, at face value a utopian millennial cause, has been in effect drowned by the heroic vandalizing of metro stations, i.e., the public commons; throwing petrol bombs at police officers; and beating up citizens who don’t follow the script. To follow these gangs running amok, live, in Central and Kowloon, and also on RTHK, which broadcasts the rampage in real-time, is a mind-numbing experience.

I’ve sketched before the basic profile of thousands of young protestors in the streets fully supported by a silent mass of teachers, lawyers, bewigged judges, civil servants and other liberal professionals who gloss over any outrageous act – as long as they are anti-government.

But the key question has to focus on the black blocs, their mob rule on rampage tactics, and who’s financing them. Very few people in Hong Kong are willing to discuss it openly. And as I’ve noted in conversations with informed members of the Hong Kong Football Club, businessmen, art collectors, and social media groups, very few people in Hong Kong – or across Asia for that matter – even know what black blocs are all about.

The black bloc matrix

Black blocs are not exactly a global movement; they are a tactic deployed by a group of protesters – even though intellectuals springing up from different European strands of anarchism mostly in Spain, Italy, France and Germany since the mid-19th century may also raise it from the level of a tactic to a strategy that is part of a larger movement.

The tactic is simple enough. You dress in black, with lots of padding, ski masks or balaclavas, sunglasses, and motorcycle helmets. As much as you protect yourself from police pepper spray and/or tear gas, you conceal your identity and melt into the crowd. You act as a block, usually a few dozen, sometimes a few hundred. You move fast, you search and destroy, then you disperse, regroup and attack again.

From the inception, throughout the 1980s, especially in Germany, this was a sort of anarchist-infused urban guerrilla tactic employed against the excesses of globalization and also against the rise of crypto-fascism.

Yet the global media explosion of black blocs only happened over a decade later, at the notorious Battle of Seattle in 1999, during the WTO ministerial conference, when the city was shut down. The WTO summit collapsed and a state of emergency was in effect for nearly a week. Crucially, there were no casualties, even as black blocs made themselves known as part of a mass riot organized by radical anarchists.

The difference in Hong Kong is that black blocs have been instrumentalized for a blatantly search-and-destroy agenda. The debate is open on whether black bloc tactics, deployed randomly, only serve to legitimize the police state even more. What’s clear is that smashing a subway station used by average working people is absolutely irreconcilable with advancing a better, more responsible, local government.

My interlocutor shows up impeccably dressed for dim sum on Saturday at a deserted Victoria City outlet in CITIC tower, with a spectacular view of the harbor. He’s Shanghai aristocracy, the family having migrated to Hong Kong in 1949, and he’s a uniquely informed insider on all aspects of the Hong Kong-China-US triangle. Via mutual Chinese diaspora connections that hark back to the handover era, he agreed to talk on background. Let’s call him Mr. E.

In the aftermath of dark Friday, Mr. E is still appalled: “Not only you’re harming the people making their living in businesses, companies, shopping malls. You’re destroying subway stations. You’re destroying our streets. You’re destroying our hard-earned reputation as a safe, international business center. You’re destroying our economy.”

He cannot explain why there was not a single police officer in sight, for hours, as the rampage continued.

Cutting to the chase, Mr. E attributes the whole drama to a pathological hatred of China by a “significant majority” of Hong Kong’s population. Significantly, the day after our conversation, a small black bloc contingent circled around the PLA’s Kowloon East Barracks in Kowloon Tong in the early evening. Chinese soldiers in camouflage filmed them from the rooftop.

There’s no way black blocs would take their gas masks, steel rods and petrol bombs to fight the PLA. That’s an entirely new ball game compared with thrashing metro stations. And color-coded “revolution” manuals don’t teach you how to do it.

Mr. E points out there is nothing “leaderless” about the Hong Kong black blocs. Mob rule is strictly regimented. One of the black shirt slogans – “Occupy, disrupt, disperse, repeat” – has in effect mutated into “Swarm, destroy, disperse, repeat.”

Mr. E asks me about black blocs in France. Western mainstream media, for months, have ignored solid, peaceful protests by the Gilets Jaunes/Yellow Vests across France, against corruption, inequality and the Macron administration’s neoliberal push to turn France into a start-up benefitting the 1%.

Charges that French intel has manipulated black blocs and inserted undercover agents and casseurs (persons vandalizing property, specifically during protests) to discredit and demonize the Yellow Vests are widespread. As I’ve witnessed in Paris first hand, the feared CRS have been absolutely ruthless in their RAND-conceptualized militarized operations in urban terrain – repression tactics – without excluding the odd beating up of elderly citizens.

In contrast, mob rule in Hong Kong is excused as protest against “totalitarian” China.

Most of the conversation with Mr. E centers on possible sources of financing for the initial nonviolent protest and, particularly, for the mob rule that the black blocs have brought in its place.

Motivation and opportunity will get you on the list, which is not terribly long – but is long enough to include names of people and organizations diametrically opposed to one another and thus unlikely to be working together.

Among governments, we can start with the still (if not, probably, for much longer) number one superpower. Trump administration officials, locked in a trade war with Beijing, would have no trouble imagining some advantage coming from a weakening of the People’s Republic’s rule over Hong Kong, and could perhaps see good in positively destabilizing China, starting with fomenting a violent revolution in the former British colony.

The United Kingdom, contemplating a lonely post-Brexit old age, could have pondered how nice it would be to get closer to its favorite former colony, still an island of Britishness in a less and less British world.

Taiwan, of course, would have had interest in provoking a test run of how One Country, Two Systems – the formula that the PRC and the UK used with Hong Kong in 1997 and that Beijing has offered to Taiwan, as well – might work out under stress. And after the stress of peaceful protest had exposed weak underpinnings, the temptation may well have arisen to go farther and make such a hash of Chinese-ruled Hong Kong that no Taiwanese would ever again fall for the merger propaganda.

The People’s Republic seems an unlikely protagonist for the initial, nonviolent phase, but there are plenty of Hong Kongers who believe it is now encouraging provocations that would justify a major crackdown. And we can’t completely rule out the possibility that a mainland CCP faction – opposed to the breach of recent tradition with which Xi Jinping extended his time in the presidency, say – is trying to discredit him.

OK, enough about governments. Now we need some on-the-ground agents, Chinese with plausible deniability who can blend in as they receive and disburse the necessary funding and handle organizational and training matters.

Here the possibilities are far too numerous to list, but one popular name would be Guo Wengui, aka Miles Kwok. The billionaire fell out with the CCP and, in 2014, fled to the United States to pursue a career as a long-distance political operative.

Even more popular would be name of Jimmy Lai, mentioned above. Confirming another of my key meetings, when Mr. E points to the usual funding suspects, the name of Jimmy Lai inevitably comes up. In fact, a US-Taiwan-Jimmy Lai combination may be number one on the hit parade when it comes to the common wisdom.

But when I tried that combination on for size I encountered problems. For one big thing, Jimmy Lai has made no effort to hide his aid to pro-democracy groups but in his public remarks has invariably encouraged nonviolent agendas.

As South China Morning Post columnist Alex Lo wrote not long ago, “What’s wrong with making massive donations to political parties and anti-government groups? Nothing! So I am puzzled by the media brouhaha over Apple Daily boss Jimmy Lai Chee-ying’s alleged donations worth more than HK$40 million to his pals in the pan-democratic camp over a two-year period.”

Let’s not give up so easily, though. I believe that some things are best hidden right out in the open in bright daylight.

Yes, Lai’s public voice happens to be Mark Simon, who worked for four years as a US naval intelligence analyst.

Yes, Lai has been good friends with neo-con guru Paul Wolfowitz since the latter became chairman of the US Taiwan Business Council in 2008, according to a Lai aide.

Wolfowitz served as deputy secretary of defense from 2001 to 2005 under Donald Rumsfeld, sort of by accident: He was supposed to become George W Bush’s head of CIA. But, alas, that didn’t work out because his wife got wind of an affair Paul, a member of the board of the National Endowment for Democracy (NED, had with a staffer, who was married at the time … and so it goes.

And, yes, according to Wikileaks documentation, in 2013 Lai paid US$75,000 to Wolfowitz for an introduction to Myanmar government bigwigs.

A document suggesting a transaction between Lai and Wolfowitz.Photo: Wikileaks via SCMP

But none of that really proves anything, does it now? Innocent until proven guilty. Colluding with arguably the most important US policy and intelligence operative of the past two decades, apparently yes – but can we establish active involvement by either the Pauls or the Jimmys of this world in black bloc provocations to achieve the bloody Chinese intervention that Lai forecast? Innocent until proven guilty.

This is going to take some further work. Back to the old drawing board with Asia Times.

There will be blowback

“We in Hong Kong are few in number. But we know that the world will never know genuine peace until the people of China are free.” – Wall Street Journal op-ed by Jimmy Lai, Sept 30

As much as there have been frantic efforts by the usual suspects to obliterate them, the images of black bloc mob rule and rampage across Hong Kong are now imprinted all over the Global South, not to mention in the unconscious of hundreds of millions of Chinese netizens.

Even the black blocs’ invisible financial backers may have been stunned by the counter-productive effects of the rampage, to the point of essentially declaring victory and ordering a retreat. In any case, Jimmy Lai continues to blame the Hong Kong police for “excessive and brutal violence” and to demonize the “dictatorial, cold-blooded and violent beast.”

Yet there’s no guarantee the black terror mob will back down – especially with Hong Kong fire officials now alarmed by the proliferation of online instructions for making petrol bombs using lethal white phosphorous. Once again – remember al-Qaeda’s “freedom fighters” – history will teach us: Beware of the Frankenstein terrors you create.

#China

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khedmedarcue-blog · 5 years

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boredsingaporean · 6 years

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Chapter 24: Take a Break, Have a Holiday

Choi, Nicky, Sally, Kah Leng, business development manager from the Singapore Capital Markets team, and I had been talking about making a trip together for quite some time. With the Christmas season break just one month away, we decided to work on a concrete plan. “So where can we go for a week’s break?” Choi asked. “Should we go London?” Nicky asked. “I’ve got some friends there and we can stay at their places and save on accommodation.” “But Nicky, I think most of London will be closed during the Christmas season,” Choi objected. “I’m sure not all places will be closed right?” “Let me check from the Internet.” After a few typing on the keypads and a few clicking and scrolling on the mouse, Choi turned his notebook screen to face us. “Dude, almost all shopping centers will be closed from twenty-fourth to twenty-sixth of December, most of the museums like the National Gallery will be closed, and even the Tower of London will be closed! What are we going to do there? Sit at Hyde Park outside Hard Rock Café and feed the pigeons?” “Maybe even the pigeons are not around,” I added. “I guess not everywhere is going to be closed right?” Nicky was skeptical. “Then how about those tour groups going over from Singapore? The tour guide must bring these tourists to somewhere right?” “Erm… I think in most Europe tour packages that touch on London, our tour agencies only arrange visits to the Big Ben, along the House of Parliament, at the gate outside Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square, London Bridge and Tower Bridge. So they’ll never have any opening or closing problem.” I explained. “Anyway, London will be too cold for me,” Sally added. “Okay, fine. Let’s go somewhere else then,” Nicky sulked. “Guys, I read from the newspapers that there is this Icehotel in Sweden where the whole hotel is built using the mountain water from Torneälven River. Every thing there, even the furniture is made of ice. Pretty cool huh?” I suggested avidly. “You meant pretty cold,” Kah Leng commented. “Beng, I know Ms. Xiao Long Niu from Louis Cha’s Chinese wuxia novel, The Return of the Condor Heroes, slept on ice. But she had very powerful inner strength, a.k.a. nei gong, which we commoners don’t have,” Nicky mocked. “Hey, you’ll be provided with a sleeping bag with liner!” I argued. “Erm… if you don’t mind, I’ll prefer to sleep on a white goose feather and down featherbed,” said Kah Leng. “Anyway, it’s not worth going to the Scandinavians in winter, when the days are short and the nights are long. Too much time wasted sleeping,” added Nicky the typical Hong Konger that believed that time is money. “Okay, let’s go somewhere else then,” I gave up. “Since most places in the western countries will be closed for the Christmas season, and their days will be rather short, why don’t we stay in Asia Pacific instead?” I suggested. Besides the issue of having shorter days, we could have problems finding our meals as well. Most restaurants in the western countries will be closed during the holidays. This meant that we would have to either take ridiculously expensive dinners in the hotels, or settle with cheap but almost inedible Chinese food. The hardworking Chinese businessmen do not believe in closing for holidays. In fact, knowing that most western cafes and restaurants will be closed and hungry souls will be awash on the street, most budget Chinese restaurants are happy to remain opened for even longer hours during the holidays. However the problem with these budget Chinese restaurants is that most of them only serve gong bao chicken, sweet and sour chicken or beer or pork, deep fried chicken or beer or pork and fried rice or noodles, and most of these dishes taste, well, funny. “How about Gold Coast or Cairns?” Sally suggested. “Err… Sally, Australia and New Zealand will be having their summers during that period,” Choi said. “And I’m not very keen in getting sunburn.” “You can always put on some sun block lotion what.” “I don’t really like the feeling of perspiring so much under a layer of sun block lotion,” Choi still rejected the idea. “It reminds me of those national service days when I had to wear camouflage face paint and scout around in the hot forest, with houseflies trying to land on my face all the time. Oh, that reminded me. There are tons of houseflies in Australia during their summers.” Okay, our destination should be in Asia and not Asia Pacific. Anyway, it might not be a good idea to walk beside a constantly perspiring Choi for a week. “Let’s go to Taiwan. None of us has ever being to Taiwan right?” Kah Leng suggested. “Hmm… Taiwan sounded good,” I agreed. “There are a couple of scenic national parks in Taiwan, like the Taroko National Park and Yangmingshan National Park.” “Erm… I was thinking more of the shopping areas there,” Kah Leng admitted. “And Taipei 101.” “Yah! I heard that the crystal jewellery there is stunning! And their fashion is also very ahead of us! Wow, so many things to buy!” said Sally, the other shopping queen. “And the night markets there! Like Shi Ling night market!” Choi exclaimed. “I heard they’ve got this super-sized chicken chop there that is simply delicious!” “Err… guys,” Nicky interrupted our excitement. “I’m not really into Taiwan. To me, Taiwan seems to look like another Hong Kong. And I would rather return to Hong Kong since I prefer the food there.” “Oh…” “Hey, you guys can still go ahead without me. It is okay, I don’t mind! I can always return to Hong Kong and spend the holidays with my friends and relatives there.” “No, no, no. We won’t just desert you like that. Let’s think of another destination then,” Kah Leng gave up Taiwan though she seemed to be disappointed. Well, if we said we will travel as a team, we will travel as a team. “How about Japan? Like Hokkaido?” Sally asked. “I’ve just seen Globe Trekker on the Discovery Travel channel introducing Hokkaido and it seems interesting. They have a musical box museum where you can choose the tune that you like and make your own musical box, a white chocolate factory, and the Kitaichi Glass Shop reputed for its unique and elegant hand-blown glassware.” “Good idea! Then we could try their snow crab and king crab which are as big as lobsters! We could have crab sashimi, crab tempura, yaki crab, crab miso soup, baked stuffed crab shells and crab hand rolls! Hahaha…” Choi thrived at the thought of food again. “Erm… Choi, I heard that these crabs are expensive,” said Sally. “Hey girl, you could only get them there. You’ll regret if you don’t try!” “Wait… though the thought of Hokkaido with snow flakes floating down from the sky seems romantic, I must remind you people that Hokkaido is also famous for being very very cold,” I reminded. There was nothing wrong with my language. I had used two ‘very’s intentionally to emphasize on the extreme coldness of Hokkaido. Winter temperatures in Hokkaido are known to remain well below zero and can even drop to as low as minus fifteen degree Celsius. The occurrences of heavy snow and gusty winds are also common. “I’m more worried about you girls. Nicky should still be okay with the cold weather because Hong Kong could be pretty cold sometimes too. Choi, I’m not so worried too because he has got a think insulation layer…” Choi raised an eyebrow at me and folded his arms. I continued: “But are you girls sure that you can stand the harsh weather? Are you aware that the temperature could drop to as low as minus fifteen degree Celsius?” Both gals pondered upon what I had said, looked at each other, and then nodded their heads to indicate that they agreed with me that Hokkaido was a bad idea. “Then how about South Korea? It won’t be as cold as Hokkaido and it’s just as interesting,” Kah Leng suggested. “Oh yes! South Korea! Why didn’t I think of that?” Sally blurted. “Then I can visit the filming sites for Winter Sonata and Jewel in the Palace!” “What’s Jewel in the Palace?” Choi asked. Kah Leng, Sally and Nicky stared at Choi as if he was saying that pigs can climb trees as good as cats. “Jewel in the Palace is the most popular Korean drama in South Korea, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Singapore and even Malaysia!” the shock Nicky hollered. “What is it about? Some kind of Korean Tomb Raiders show with smart and armed thieves stealing hilariously expensive crown jewellery from the royal palace?” “No!” This time, Sally hollered at Choi. “It is about how Jang-Geum the heroine fought through a feudalistic society with serious sexual discrimination, defeated all the male doctors in the palace and became the first female head physician of the Joseon Dynasty! It is based on a real story!” “Not your type of bimbos kicking action movie,” I nudged Choi. “Okay, fine. But why are we going to those Korean TV serials filming sites?” Choi protested. This time, Kah Leng and Sally stared at Choi as if he was saying that pigs are more intelligent than women. “Err… but I kind of have problem with those spicy Korean kimchis,” said Nicky. “Don’t worry, Nicky. They’ve got other non-spicy food like claypot rice, stew beef, seafood fermented in salt, BBQ beef and ginseng chicken soup,” Kah Leng consoled. “Ginseng chicken soup? I like it!” Nicky grinned. “And we mustn’t forget that South Korea has got a cheap and good skiing resort,” Kah Leng grinned. “And breath-taking scenery at Jeju island,” I grinned. “So do you have any objection to South Korea, Choi?” Kah Leng asked. “Well, with lots of pretty Korean girls surrounding me, and lots of delicious food, I’ve got no problem,” Choi grinned. Gosh, finally the five of us had agreed on our tour destination. Since South Korea was a popular tour destination among Singaporeans, we needed to quickly decide on the tour details. “Should we go on a packaged tour or a free and easy one?” I asked. “Beng, we can’t go on a packaged one. Sally’s Chinese is pretty bad and Kah Leng can’t even write our company name in Chinese,” Nicky commented. “Yah, and most of these packaged tours have Chinese speaking tour guides,” Kah Leng agreed. “Okay, which means that we’re going free and easy…” I agreed, and then suddenly realized that something was amiss. “But which one of you speaks Korean?”

#nanowrimo

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anonymousereporters-blog · 6 years

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Into the Hands of the Soldiers review: how democracy failed in Egypt

In December 2010, a Tunisian street vendor named Mohamed Bouazizi set himself ablaze. His death sparked a conflagration that raged from North Africa to the Levant and all the way to the Gulf.

On 11 February 2011, mass demonstrations and the collapse of US support forced Hosni Mubarak, Egypt’s president, out of office. After nearly 30 years, a pharaoh had fallen.

Libya would be launched into chaos, Syria would be hurled into a grinding civil war, Isis would emerge as a force to be reckoned with. But in the end, the Arab spring melted like a mirage in the cruel desert sun. With the exception of Tunisia the Middle East is now less free, not more. Egypt would again be led by a man in uniform. Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.

From 2011 to 2015, David Kirkpatrick was the New York Times Cairo bureau chief. His book, Into the Hands of the Soldiers, gives a first-hand account of the failure of democracy to take root in Egypt and the region. Kirkpatrick meticulously chronicles Mubarak’s downfall and the coup that ousted Mohamed Morsi – Egypt’s first freely elected leader and a member of the Muslim Brotherhood – barely a year after he took office in 2012.

Recalling the heady days of early 2011, Kirkpatrick writes of the protesters: “They were all so heroic, so ingenious, but also so familiar. Of course we fell for them. We all did, even Obama.”

Not exactly, not everyone.

While the president was betting on the kids, his administration stood divided. Hillary Clinton was telling the press: “Our assessment is that the Egyptian government is stable.” Joe Biden, Obama’s vice-president, and Robert Gates, the defense secretary, urged caution.

America’s allies were stunned. For them, Egypt without Mubarak was uncharted territory. Or worse.

To Gulf state autocrats, the uprisings posed a threat. As America armed Afghanistan’s mujahideen against the Soviet Union in the 1980s, sowing the seeds of al-Qaida, Israel had turned a blind eye toward a nascent Islamic movement for more than a decade, only to watch it blossom into Hamas, the Brotherhood’s violent Palestinian offshoot.

In the aftermath of 9/11, “democracy” and “the Brotherhood” were oxymoronic to many. Middle East watchers and opponents of the Brotherhood argued that a line could be drawn between the movement’s teachings and al-Qaida. For some, the 2011 protests were about pent-up rage at a system rife with corruption. For others, Morsi’s election was a mere interlude before the army reasserted control.

Kirkpatrick emphasizes that among those who lent a hand in Morsi’s downfall were some who sought to depose Mubarak. The two impulses were not mutually exclusive. At crunch time, Egypt’s liberals could not abide a democratically elected Islamist as president.

Mohamed ElBaradei, the former chief of the International Atomic Energy Agency and a winner of the Nobel Prize, backed the anti-Mubarak demonstrators. With equal gusto, he came to support the coup that toppled Morsi in July 2013.

In Washington, John Kerry, Obama’s second secretary of state, unabashedly told Pakistani television Egypt’s generals “were restoring democracy”. Indeed, the Obama administration refused to label Morsi’s fall a “coup”. They feared that doing so would result in an aid cut-off mandated by an anti-coup law. Still, if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s a duck.

A general, Abdel Fatah al-Sisi, seized power and left carnage in his wake. The government killed hundreds and imprisoned thousands. Cairo saw a greater casualty count than Tiananmen Square in 1989.

Yet Kirkpatrick tells of a massacre site where a jubilant crowd congratulated the powers that be. As Omar Suleiman, Egypt’s spymaster, said to CNN: “Everyone believes in democracy … But when? Only when they have the culture of democracy.”

Like Godot, that desired “culture” may never arrive. Just last month, an Egyptian court sentenced 75 pro-Morsi protesters to death for their role in post-coup violence.

Into the Hands of the Soldiers vividly depicts the perils faced by Kirkpatrick and his family. In summer 2013, Cairo morphed into an urban war zone, checkpoints and bullets a steady source of life-threatening danger. Kirkpatrick was attacked, his family harassed. Before that he was tried for libel, after accurately reporting a recorded interview with an Egyptian judge. Fake news, indeed.

Kirkpatrick grapples thoughtfully with events he witnessed. At one point he writes: “We set ourselves up for disappointment … Who stole the revolution? That image of the revolution was as much about western narcissism as it was about Egypt.”

In the same vein, he describes the arc of Samira Ibrahim, an activist who in 2011 challenged the interim government’s imposition of virginity tests upon assault victims. But Ibrahim was no Jeffersonian democrat or Václav Havel. Far from it.

Basking in the glow of fame, Ibrahim commended the 9/11 attacks, prayed that “America burn again every year” and freely quoted Hitler. An invitation extended by the US government was hastily retracted.

Yes, it’s complicated. Before the 2013 coup, a Pew survey portrayed an Egypt where a majority of Muslims voiced support for a democracy. The content of that “democracy” was, however, limited.

The same survey reported that two in five Egyptian Muslims situationally approved of suicide bombings, and nearly three-quarters supported Sharia law as the basis of their legal system. Indeed, Egypt was the only country surveyed where more than a 10th of the Muslim population agreed that it was a good thing non-Muslims could not freely practice their faith.

In 2017, Kirkpatrick visited Egypt for a final time. On his departure, he matter-of-factly observes: “I left Cairo early the next day with no plans to return.” You can’t blame him.

Lloyd Green was staff secretary to the George HW Bush 1988 campaign’s Middle East policy group

Since you’re here…

… we have a small favour to ask. More people are reading the Guardian than ever but advertising revenues across the media are falling fast. And unlike many news organisations, we haven’t put up a paywall – we want to keep our journalism as open as we can. So you can see why we need to ask for your help. The Guardian’s independent, investigative journalism takes a lot of time, money and hard work to produce. But we do it because we believe our perspective matters – because it might well be your perspective, too.

The Guardian is editorially independent, meaning we set our own agenda. Our journalism is free from commercial bias and not influenced by billionaire owners, politicians or shareholders. No one edits our Editor. No one steers our opinion. This is important because it enables us to give a voice to the voiceless, challenge the powerful and hold them to account. It’s what makes us different to so many others in the media, at a time when factual, honest reporting is critical.

If everyone who reads our reporting, who likes it, helps to support it, our future would be much more secure.

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fesahaawit · 7 years

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Seeking Financial Stability as a Gay, Non-White, Man of Muslim Faith

So I got a pretty intense email the other day, and my gut said to share it here with y’all in hopes it broadens our perspectives more.

We talk a lot about our dreams and perfect lifestyles that money brings, but something that’s easily forgotten is how important the *safety* and *security* money can bring is too. Especially for those with drastically different backgrounds than ours.

I know it’s a risk sharing this correspondence here, but I also know how loving and respectful our community is so I’m hoping our new friend leaves here today feeling better (and more motivated!) about his situation than before he got here :) I can’t even try to relate to his situation, but I also know how talking it out and getting fresh perspectives can help immensely!

So if you have something positive to add after reading this, especially those in similar situations?, please do share. It’s nice to have a safe area to discuss this type of stuff, especially with all the turmoil going on these days…

Here are briefly edited snippets from our email conversations. His name has been anonymized.

******

Hello,

I don’t know if you expect to know who your readers are, but the reason I feel I need to learn more about money is because of security.

I’m an urban planning student of 25 in Lisbon, Portugal and I believe I need to feel I’m economically stable to have security over my unchosen heritage: being gay, of non-white ancestry and part of a religious Muslim community.

These three parts of my life makes me feel unsure about my future, and a better foundation of finances would help immensely:

– With the rise of Muslim hatred worldwide (specially in the “western world” where I live in), if I ever need to migrate to a more secure place, having money helps to start a new business, buy a house, etc.

– My closest family members are spread across the globe, and if any disaster happens (say, someone close to me dies suddenly), having money helps to buy an expensive last minute ticket to be there and give support on those difficult times. These trips cost around €1500). Or to simply have the comfort of visiting them every year.

– With society still intolerant towards LGBT+ people (within my own Muslim community, or even, within many white gays being racist towards non-white gays) having money helps because I want to have kids with my boyfriend and we’d need a lot of money to send them to private schools that would help assure their security, respect and integration more.

– Not to mention that being a gay couple adopting, we’ll have much more bureaucratic barriers, so a good net worth is a plus. As well as for providing educating, health, food, activities, etc for our kid.

– Money can’t assure I won’t ever face discrimination, so IF anything happens along the way, paying lawyers to fight for my justice is costly and I would like to fight for it.

– I’m a genetic bomb of diseases: family history of cancer, diabetes, heart attacks, blood pressure, scoliosis, etc. I might end up with a major chronicle disease that will disable me. Having money will help to pay for chemotherapy or big surgeries (like I had when I was 18. I had an urgent spine surgery that cost €24,000. Fortunately my parents were able to pay, otherwise I’d have to wait years for government aid and risk having problems later because the surgery had to be done right then and there).

– Lisbon is a wonderful city, but very very vulnerable to a mega earthquake anytime soon because we’ve had the deadliest earthquakes in history around the 1530’s, then the 1750’s and it’s probably going to happen again soon. Our city is not prepared for an earthquake, so having money (preferably not just in Lisbon) will help rebuild my life if a disaster like that happens again.

I did my school in the regular time (12 grades) with the highest marks in my classes. I entered university when I was 17-18 and expected to have a degree by 22-23 and start my career from there. With money (economic stability) I wouldn’t have to fear admitting I was either gay or Muslim or whatever (being me). I wouldn’t have anything to lose, right?

But things didn’t go as I planned. The school experience has been so horrible that I’ve been failing for the last three years and I’m currently in my last year of university. The prospects of growing economically in the urban planning field now seem scarce (especially someone who has been failing for the last three years… Who would want to hire such a failure?)

It makes me feel that I’m being left behind: many of my friends have graduated, are getting economical stability, and don’t have the fear of being rejected because they are gay, nor fear being profiled because they are Muslims.

And I feel that my economic independence is getting further away rather than closer. I feel stuck: until I have money, I can’t really be who I am. I’m always at more risk.

I am trying to convince myself that I have to be happy now. That I cannot project happiness to the future: “when I reach X is when I’ll be happy”. To be happy now with what I got.

I don’t know if it’s the media or what, but I still feel very insecure about everything. Even online I choose a nickname for me to freely say that I’m gay, Muslim and non-white (Iqbal is not my real name) so I don’t fear any repercussion.

I did two years of psychotherapy and a year of anti-depressive medication, but I still felt stuck. Talking about how miserable I feel only makes me continue feeling miserable. There’s a Portuguese expression that says “a dog who barks doesn’t bite”. I feel I need to stop barking and start biting.

Kind regards from Portugal

-Iqbal Hassan

P.S.: Even the psychotherapy and meds for years were costly. Luckily I was provided with that by my parents, but what if I didn’t have the money to have that privilege? I don’t want to feel insecure to the point that I won’t do psychotherapy just because of money. I don’t want money to be a preoccupation in my life, yet paradoxically it is.

*****

I replied back thanking him for sharing his story with me as it’s one I can’t even conjure up if I tried?!, and that I wholeheartedly agree with the power of being financially stable (or “economically stable”, as he likes to put it). I then asked if we could publish his thoughts here.

I told him it’s a story we don’t hear much of in our blogging world, and although I can’t relate to his situation personally, I felt it would be helpful for others to hear too. If only to realize just how fortunate we are! I also reminded him how powerful it is that he knows himself so well at his age, and encouraged him to keep searching hard for those opportunities and do his best to not lose hope :(

I wasn’t sure how the convo would go from there, but to my surprise he responded back with some pretty fascinating insight! So of course I had to share that with you guys too :) And THIS is the part that really got my attention… and the one I think most of us can relate to more too.

Here’s Iqbal again:

******

Thank you so much for your reply, J.

Writing down my concerns, specially for someone else “playing the game well” to read it, allowed me to have a clearer view over what really bothers me.

And to have that someone validate is an even bigger plus, so thank you once again.

For a long time I’ve been a bit like “money is evil because it gives the wrong impression that whoever accumulates more has more worth, or is more intelligent.”

But money is intrinsically worth nothing. A person with a lot of money in a deserted island and no survival skills is in a worse scenario than a person below the poverty line and with great survival skills in the same deserted island.

And it’s true, it’s horrible to know that 1% of the world has more access to goods and services than the rest, just because of this thing (capital or net worth) that is very virtual.

But the problem is not money, the problem is human. Money is a tool. If money didn’t exist, something else would, and that would create this inequality. Just like I feel that most political ideologies and most religions have, in it’s core, peace and harmony. Problem is that humans, imperfect as we are, create chaos.

Fortunately, many of us also organize ourselves and create mechanisms of justice. Which is why I’m able to write to you today because I went to a school that someone created, I’m using a computer that took decades of improvements, I’m using a normalized refined electricity produced somewhere around Portugal, etc.

Chances are that I won’t be ending up in a deserted island. So in the meantime I keep living in a city, I have a family, I have friends and I’m in a society that uses money. I could choose to relinquish everything and move away to build my own house alone, grow my own food alone, etc., but that’s probably not worth it just to prove a point.

I’d much rather take advantage of this complex society that took hundreds of years of development.

Although still imperfect, it seems to be turning better, slowly: more information is out there, the internet access, the podcasts, more human rights revolutions, a shift to the official end of racism, sexism, medical achievements, technology, electricity, trains, etc.

So why ignore? Why not contribute to the system? It’s not perfect, but it won’t cease existing if I run away. If I can’t beat it, I’ll join it and try to make it as better as I can, for everyone, including me.

Is it easier than running away to a deserted island and living solely on my skills? It’s arguable.

It also depends on the person. For some it could be an easy option. For others, not. After considering that option for a while, I realize that I’m better off remaining in the system. And that’s why I want financial independence.

In the system that I chose to REMAIN in, money buys freedom, like you said. It’s not everything, but it’s very important to not forget about it.

I wasn’t expecting a proposal to post my story. It would be an honor if you did that. Just the fact that you read it and it resonated somehow makes me feel hopeful.

I will keep in touch, have a great week!

Kind regards from Portugal,

-Iqbal

*****

It’s hard to put into words how that last email moved me, particularly after the first one which was filled with so much distraught! How powerful the human mind is though, right?? Full of so many emotions and ideas and flipping through it all trying to make sense of the world?

I feel like that first email was for him, but this second one is for us :) I’m not sure at what point anyone ever “figures it out”, but it seems to me that it may just be an ever evolving process that we get better at as the years progress. And we keep striving for it the entire time!

Would love to hear your thoughts on any of this, and particularly any advice you have for our friend Iqbal here? Please do share them below and encourage him to keep fighting the good fight.

Financial freedom is more than just about not having to work anymore or having fun all day long – it can help immensely with feeling more safe and secure too!

***** [Photo of Lisbon by Miguel Vieira // It’s the view from the Miradouro de Santa Luzia at sunset.]

Seeking Financial Stability as a Gay, Non-White, Man of Muslim Faith posted first on http://ift.tt/2lnwIdQ

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heliosfinance · 7 years

Text

Seeking Financial Stability as a Gay, Non-White, Man of Muslim Faith

So I got a pretty intense email the other day, and my gut said to share it here with y’all in hopes it broadens our perspectives more.

Here are briefly edited snippets from our email conversations. His name has been anonymized.

******

Hello,

I don’t know if you expect to know who your readers are, but the reason I feel I need to learn more about money is because of security.

These three parts of my life makes me feel unsure about my future, and a better foundation of finances would help immensely:

– Money can’t assure I won’t ever face discrimination, so IF anything happens along the way, paying lawyers to fight for my justice is costly and I would like to fight for it.

I did my school in the regular time (12 grades) with the highest marks in my classes. I entered university when I was 17-18 and expected to have a degree by 22-23 and start my career from there. With money (economic stability) I wouldn��t have to fear admitting I was either gay or Muslim or whatever (being me). I wouldn’t have anything to lose, right?