#anyway it’s always funny when rick stops the story to tell us something directly that’s been bothering him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

twdmusicboxmystery · 4 years

Text

Water Symbols and Ties Between Grady and Terminus: “A” Rewatch by @wdway

This is another re-watch from @wdway. She totally saves my butt on busy weeks when I don’t have time to write new theories, lol.

Here are her observations:

Hi ladies! I hope you're both doing well. I did a rewatch of s4e16 A, series number 51. I think it's important to mention that this episode was co-written by Scott Gimple and Angela Kang.

It starts out with a flashback of the prison and then we have Rick, Carl's and Michonne talking about how hungry they are. Later, they catch a rabbit in a snare. I thought about how much rabbits were featured in this back half of s4. It emphasized the size when Rick says, "A small one." Later, Michonne mentions again it was a small rabbit. This made me think of Lennie talking about the little ones.

I'll skip over the Claimers, other than the car scene where Daryl and Rick were talking. Daryl brings Rick a bottle of water. There's no label. It's just clear. It's actually a good size bottle and he sets it down in front of them. He brought water = Beth into that scene. They brought Beth into the Terminus part of the episode with the use of symbols that we were totally unaware of at the time. We gradually realized them as the seasons went on, the water being a huge symbol.

This is right after they jumped the Terminus fence and found this door propped open. Notice it says that it's a fire door, a way to escape. I think this can be considered a water symbol, just as a fire pull or ceiling sprinkler would be. I cropped this shot so that you could read the sign on the door a little easier. I do want to mention that Daryl is next to Rick and they are the only two in the shot.

Rick and co come out into a common area or plaza and are about to get a plate full of meat when Rick notices objects from people from the prison. He takes a guy to use as a shield against the sharpshooters.

I just mentioned how the door was the symbol of water, even though it was a door. Well, this is similar. That red object against the wall is a fire hose holder. I know this because I noticed it at the end of Us when Maggie and her group first came into Terminus. I noticed how it said fire hose. You can also see the fire hydrant next to it and if you look closely at the base, it's just a prop. There's a bottom section that should be buried or would be connected to some type of piping if it was real, so these are not objects that were already at this location. That means they're symbols.

Notice how this little corner is visible during the majority of this scene. We see it to the side or behind Rick almost the entire time. So, we have a fire hose and a fire hydrant. Both Beth symbols because they = water.

Look straight above the fire hose stand. There are 2 diamonds at the top of the building. I don't think they’re original to the building because of the shadowing around them. They appear to simply be tacked up, serving no particular purpose other than being diamond shaped, which = Beth.

Now look at the corner next to the hose and hydrant. There is a sign on the brick wall that I believe refers to the hose or hydron. It reads, “emergency water key, replace when used.” Just in case we didn't know this was a water reference, they wanted to make sure that they let us know, but I really like the fact that it's a water key.

I just needed to point out Daryl's Poncho which, ironically, he didn't notice, but Rick did.

The three small pictures underneath it are original sketches of the Native Americans’ Thunderbird.

Our little group starts to run for their lives. We follow them as they run past a boneyard, turn different corners, and then all of a sudden we see this shot.

Notice the fire hose stand, a tire, the yellow objects, the abandoned car with a shattered windshield and these stacked train cars. During this shot, we hear a female voice calling for help. Here's the funny thing: we never see our group running through or past this, so this is staged simply to show us symbols. In one of the five flashbacks was of Rick coming into the prison with Beth/Judith sitting on the steps, Patrick was sitting on the floor in front of Beth's cell, making something out of Legos. Carl is cleaning his gun. Rick stops to talk to Patrick and Patrick thanks Rick for picking up the Legos and he makes a comment about that they are for ages 4 through 12. I've always thought that was somewhat odd.

I just want to throw out an idea to you. This might actually be a comment about the story arc lasting from season 4 through season 12. I'm not talking about the series ending at 12, I'm simply thinking that this storyline, Rick, Beth, Daryl and Carol will continue through season 12.

@twdmusicboxmystery:

Love it all! I especially liked the fire and water stuff you pointed out at Terminus and how they brought Beth into it. The combination of water and key is especially interesting. You did spark one idea from me.

And I know I sound like a broken record on this point, but could Terminus have foreshadowed the helicopter group? (Yes, I know I’m saying this WAY too often, and all the things I point to and consider probably do NOT directly equate to the helicopter group, but think of it as a mindset shift on my part. I’m kind of considering all things in light of the helicopter group.)

I was thinking that Terminus was where all the train tracks met, right? And we’ve seen more than one representation of the train tracks representing character paths. So, it would have made more sense if all the characters had met up at Terminus. And most of them did. Beth was the exception. But if this was a foreshadow of all character paths converging at some future point, then that would make sense. Because Beth is the one that’s been gone for a long time, but since then, others, such as Heath and Rick, have also disappeared.

So, all paths need to converge at some point, and we believe that will happen in some way via the helicopter group. See why I’m thinking this? I think what you’ve found here backs this up.

Another insight? Remember in 5x09, we see some train tracks with the camera moving forward along them, and the tracks disappear into the woods up ahead. Maybe those tracks represent Beth’s path, and the fact that it’s going to disappear for a while. But it will reappear and meet up with other character paths at some future point.

Which also reminds me of a kind of famous passage in the book of Revelation about a woman who gives birth to a child but then goes into hiding in the woods. Most scholars interpret it (a total analogy) as that the true gospel Christ taught would go into hiding for a while (Dark Ages) but re-emerge later. I don’t know if this is what they were going for or even considering, but it’s what I thought of. Might be a similar template. Anyway, great rewatch. You always have eagle eyes.

@wdway:

I cannot tell you how much I agree with you. I definitely think Terminus was tied to the helicopter people or, more precisely, that Terminus is connected to Grady and it is Grady who had a connection with the helicopter or what the helicopter group was at the beginning of the turn. I believe it's around a year-and-a-half into the turn when Beth was brought there, and I believe they have evolved over the 10 years.

Dawn pretty well confirmed that there was a group coming soon, so it makes total sense that it could be a military-type organization. I'm going to show you some shots that will totally bring back what I've been obsessing about all the seasons.

Top one is Hansen, Dawn's Superior until he went crazy. I know the second shot is really dark. This is the best I can do with trying to lighten it. Do you remember this at the end of No Sanctuary, where they give a bit of a backstory of Terminus being taken over by this big guy who terrorized them? I believe this guy is Hanson.

Isn't it strange that they tell a backstory about a group that TF has taken down and that they go to a lot of effort to make this person hard to see?

That's right. I think the crazy guy from the train box car is none other than Hanson. If you look at Slabtown and Coda, this person is discussed several times. An awful lot of screen time is taken up with a story of how Hanson went rogue. What's the need of that when Grady is about to be left behind and, more importantly, why do we repeatedly see a picture of him?

The first picture I showed above has his badge next to it. Another question of why do we need to see that? I'm going to throw out a crazy idea. Why not, haha. In the very dark picture below, the guy seems to be wearing some kind of large belt buckle. I think it might be a gun or something stuck in the front of his pants, but I think there's a badge there.

I guess there's a definite yes to me, believing that all of this relates to the helicopter people. More importantly, the new series The World Beyond apparently did not want to start until after we see episode 16. I've said this before. I think at some point, not necessarily the first episode, but I think somewhere within it we will see Grady, pre-Beth.

@frangipanilove

I love you take on Hanson. I totally agree that they alluded to something that we haven’t quite seen yet, and I would love to see Grady tied to the helicopter ppl somehow. I have wondered a lot about the tattoo guy from Terminus and what the deal was with him, and your pics show a remarkable resemblance between Hanson and the crazy terminus dude.

@twdmusicboxmystery:

It would explain the defunct cop cars at Terminus, if Hansen left Grady and arrived in them. And as you’ve said, the weirdness of some of this that hasn’t yet been explained.

That’s it for today. Anybody have any thoughts on these insights?

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

8 notes · View notes

occasionalfics · 5 years

Text

worth my while // p. 7

main masterlist | thor masterlist | ko-fi | p. 6 | p. 8

Summary: After being banished from his home, Thor Odinson has stopped at nothing to prove himself worthy of his throne, title, and power.

After losing the love of your life, you turned to a power you didn’t understand.You know you shouldn’t get involved.

But how could you not?

Pairing: Thor x Reader (Hercules au…kind of…)

A/N: Oh, you know, just more not very subtle references to Hercules here ;)

Also there’s a reference to Parker Robbins, who’s not in the MCU but he’s a Marvel comic villain. I basically just chose him because he fits in with the other, more recognizable Marvel villains Hades wants to work with but, ultimately, he’s not on screen. I just also knew he was kind of an obscure choice for a Thor fanfic XD

Warnings: Violence, lots of angst, borderline abuse and definite manipulation, eventual smut, way too many feels, major character death (eventually). Hades is still a huge creep.

Words: 3,126

Hades is putting a board together. He has a square in the center of the board, four names spread out - one at each corner - and a mess of a diagram throughout the center of the square. It only worries you marginally that the names are: Von Doom, Fisk, Osborn, and Robbins.

You’d asked him who the last one was.

“Some...I don’t know, some mob boss’er something,” he’d said.

You still can’t figure out what he needs these men for. All four are rich, white, and have a stake in the destruction of the Avengers. But the closer you look at the diagram, the less it looks like Hades actually wants to destroy them. He hasn’t written down his actual plan, but it doesn’t seem to involve allowing the souls of the heroes into his domain.

Each of the men on the board have two or three names of Avengers around them. You already know Hades wants to split them up, but the order doesn’t make sense.

Remarkably, Thor is missing from the board entirely. Something inside of you is relieved, but something more suspicious is suddenly on edge.

Hades won’t let you meet these men. Won’t even send you to give Von Doom messages or updates or anything anymore. Apparently, the failure of the first meeting has left its mark. You’re not of much use to him, but you know he won’t just let you go.

Actually, as you look closer, you realize that you’re not even on the board at all. Neither is Hades.

If the three of you are missing, you can only imagine what Hades has planned. Nothing good comes to mind. Your stomach sinks at all of the possibilities.

You hear the flat heels of his dress shoes as they patter against his marble floors. Hades comes into the room as you step away from the board, pulling out your phone to attempt to make it look like you weren’t studying his plan.

He’s ancient. He’s smart. He knows better.

“You worry too much, you know that?” he asks you, stepping around you to push the board against the window of the den.

“Just trying to figure out what you’re gonna do if you were willing to throw me off a building,” you shoot back.

At that, he rolls his eyes. “Get over it already, would you?” he asks, turning around to take a seat on the couch. All three Cerberuses fall into the room, one at a time. Your favorite one - which you can only distinguish because of his behavior - immediately sits at your heels. One sits with Hades, and the third lays on the floor between the two of you.

“‘S not like you can die while you’re under my jurisdiction.”

You stare at him. That’s a detail he hasn’t given you before. Not even when you were negotiating the terms of bringing Rick back to life.

Gods you were naive then, to think that Hades had your best interest at heart. To think someone so cunning, so world-weary would care about one petty mortal life.

You’re not sure what that means for Thor. He’s different, but he’s still a God, still on a level of existence closer to Hades than you.

When you don’t have anything else to verbally throw back at him, Hades smirks. He tips his head back pompously and asks, “How’s the God of Thunder doing?”

At that, you cock an eyebrow at him. “Why do you wanna know?”

Your Cerberus whines beside you, turning his face up toward you with an inky sadness deep in his eyes. It’s like he can see inside of you and reflects your true emotions back at you. And given how little Hades has told you about his world, you might not doubt it.

“Am I not allowed to have vested interest in my servants’ love life?” he asks, feigning absolute innocence.

You cross your arms. “No,” is all you say. You don’t feel the need to justify your relationship with Thor (your head tells you it’s not a relationship), even though some part of you is screaming to tell Hades that you don’t love Thor, and that, by omission of that declaration alone, he will assume that you do.

Do you?

You can’t, that’s for sure.

You do... adore him, though.

But you stop your thoughts there, because going any further here, in Hades’ home, is dangerous for both you and Thor and who even knows who else.

“You are absolutely no fun, you know that?” he asks as his face falls into unamused boredom.

“You’re the king of the dead,” you spit back. “You should be used to it.”

At that, he laughs. He really must think you’re being comical, or else he just wants to believe you are. Either way, he laughs, then straightens up and pats the spot on the couch next to him.

You sigh. As much as you want to ignore Hades, you know you can’t. He owns you.

Every time you think about that, you hate yourself a little more.

Cerberus follows you to the couch, curling under your arm as you sit on the seat beside Hades. The third one comes over and turns in a circle between your right heel and Hades’ left before making himself truly comfortable on the floor.

“I know you’ve been spending a lot of time with the Asgardian,” Hades says. He pets his Cerberus slowly, and you find yourself doing the same to yours. You know they’re irresistible; that’s why he has them in the first place, you think. “You don’t spend time with anyone, and yet, you keep going back to him.”

“He’s the first person to treat me like a decent human in years, so,” you say, shrugging and looking at your Cerberus, because even this feels like being over-the-top vulnerable with Hades.

“So you must know a lot about him, then,” he says. “Intimate details. Things he might not even tell his teammates.”

“I doubt that,” you mutter. And you do - doubt that Thor has told you anything he hasn’t shared with his friends already. The Avengers have to trust one another to work as a cohesive unit - the fiasco over the Accords proved that much already. Hades’ plan is never going to work because of it. You’re absolutely sure of that.

But Hades chuckles anyway. “C’mon, (Y/N),” he calls. “You gotta know something! Something good, something useful!”

You think about what Thor told you out on that balcony. Heat creeps into your face, despite your best efforts to tame it, because you just remember being so close to him, physically and emotionally, and you know you’ve gotten yourself into more trouble than you bargained for already. But maybe you can cover your tracks, maybe you can lessen the inevitable blow you know is coming just by virtue of sitting next to Hades, having this very conversation, by just giving him...a little peek. Nothing big. Not the whole story that Thor’s trusted you with.

You sigh, at least to make it seem like you’re giving into the temptation to gossip. “He was banished here because he mucked up some...political conflict back home. He didn’t just show up, like all the news outlets want us to believe.”

Hades absolutely eats it up. He sits forward, eyebrow cocked, smile positively gleaming. His navy eyes burn with intensity that scares you.

“So he does have weaknesses,” he mutters. “They’re just not like the others’.”

“I mean, dude’s pretty close to perfect,” you start. And then you find that you can’t really stop. “I don’t...think he was when he got here, but now he’s really...wonderful.” You bite your lip, but really, it’s just coming out of you now. You haven’t shared your inner feelings like this in so long that it’s forcing its way out almost violently. “He cares, so much. And, sure, he wants to prove himself worthy of going home, but he really loves it here, too. He loves the people. He’s stayed with the team this long for them.”

You’re somehow able to keep this to yourself, but you think that, even if it hadn’t you that fell from that building, Thor still would’ve stopped his fight to save whoever it was. He didn’t know that your presence was more than just a coincidence.

Hades is shaking his head, a mad look in his eyes. He stands up to tower over you, and you’re suddenly frozen to your spot.

You’ve said too much. You can feel it in your gut.

“I know how to get him,” he mutters. It’s the first breath of a sign to you about this whole plan, which immediately shakes you.

Hades hasn’t told you anything that you’re not directly involved in. But this…

You shake your head. “I won’t help you hurt him,” you say, forcing your face into a scowl despite the trembling of your hands and knees. Your Cerberus cries beside you.

But Hades doesn’t care. He comes closer to you, reaches out and dares to cup your cheek. You can’t move to do anything about it. Your whole body feels cold - you’ve felt this before, and you know it’s because Hades is using magic on you. No matter how much you struggle, you can’t control your body anymore.

“The funny thing about our little arrangement, babe,” he says, stroking your jaw with his thumb, “is that I own your soul. You’ll do whatever I tell you to do. You signed on the dotted line.”

You glare at him, eyes closing into little squints because they’re the only things you can move.

“But I know you, (Y/N). I know you well enough that, if you truly believe something isn’t right, you’ll fight it.” He chuckles. “I’ve always liked that about you, believe it or not. But right now, it’ll only get in my way. So.” He lets go of your face, but not the control over your body. “How about I make you a deal you can’t refuse?”

All you can do is wait to hear him out. Exactly as he wants.

“How about, in return for finding out just one of Thor’s concrete weaknesses - anything that’ll get him out of the way - I give you the one thing that no one else can. The one thing that I know you’ve been craving since that creep Rick left.”

You don’t have to ask to know what it is.

“You get me a weakness, and you’re free.”

Everything about this feels wrong.

You know it’s because you’ve asked Thor out with an ulterior motive. That doesn’t make knowing that it all feels wrong any different.

Maybe he’ll understand, you think. Maybe he can identify with your plight. It’s not like he doesn’t have one of his own, you know?

It’s not like he doesn’t understand what being out of control of your own destiny, even for a single moment, is like.

You’re desperate. He can understand. Maybe. One day.

For now, he’s content holding your hand, walking around the city like a pair of tourists. He looks at everything with such joy and unadulterated light that it’s easy to forget why you’re out with him. Why you’re really out with him.

After lunch, you amble around in the warm sun, God of Thunder attached to your side and you wonder, for a second, how you got so fortunate. How you are the lucky one he decides to spend his days off with.

Although, you wouldn’t say it’s so much his day off as it is an afternoon in which he’s out of the tower without means of communicating with the team, as he doesn’t have a phone that he carries with him on a regular basis. You figure they probably just have some kind of tracker on him, anyway, so if the world were truly in danger, Thor’d be easy to find.

So back to you being fortunate - because, really, it’s not fortune. At least this time, it’s by design.

And you haven’t been working toward that design much. Thor’s laughing at something you’d said, and you’ve already forgotten what it was and exactly what your aim is here.

He laughs with his whole body. He’s never ashamed to show how he feels. You wonder what his secret is.

You come down to a set of stairs that spread into a park, Thor leading you down them still laughing and filling you with warmth and guilt that he doesn’t even know exists. You know you need to get a move on. You sigh, then cover it by clearing your throat. And as you come to the last step, you intentionally fall forward, pretending to have tripped.

“Oh!” you exclaim, in just enough time for Thor to catch you from falling to the ground. When he’s got you standing, you lift one leg and say, “Sorry. Weak ankles.”

“Well then,” he says, pulling you closer to him. He has all of your weight resting in his arms, doesn’t even look away from you before he pulls you out of the way of most of the people moving around you. “Maybe we should sit for a little while.” He brings you to the bottom stair and sets you down easily, then sits beside you.

You instinctively rest on his shoulder. Everything in you calls to everything in him. It hurts to acknowledge.

You give a small laugh and ask, “So, do you...ever have to deal with something like this?” You throw one leg out in front of you and wiggle your toes. “Weak ankles?”

It seems like such a preposterous question to ask someone so immensely huge. Thor must think so, too, because he laughs and shakes his head. “No, not really.”

You hum. “No...trick knees?” In an entirely not subtle move, you put your hand on his knee and draw circles over his jeans. In a low voice, you ask “Ruptured...discs?”

Thor leans in toward you, and you meet his gaze. He’s giving you a look you’ve only seen in the privacy of his bedroom before - the openness about it here scares you a little bit, but you can’t pull away now. You’re so close, and the closer you get, the quicker this can all be over. The sooner you can start begging Thor for forgiveness.

His hand envelopes yours on his knee before he tells you, “I believe the saying Stark uses often is fit as a fiddle. Nothing out of place. Yet.” He winks, and you feel your whole body warm up, even more than the temperature around you.

The breath you let out is shaky at best. The fact that half of his hair is tied back, keeping his front bits out of his face, isn’t helping you or hurting him.

You want to kiss him, to claim him. You want the tabloids to be talking all about the Avenger and his little plaything while you and Thor know the truth - but the truth, the real truth, is not something you even want people to guessing at. The truth fucking sucks.

So you force yourself to sit back, and you let out, “Thunderboy, you are perfect.”

He must think that’s really a compliment, because he chuckles and says, “Why, thank you.” But then his eyes close, and his face angles toward his lap. “You know that’s not the truth, though. And yet, you still choose to spend your days with me.”

You hesitate to tell him that you were only just thinking the same thing.

And in your hesitance, he goes on. “That’s why I love humans. You’re all so…”

“Petty and dishonest?” you ask before you think.

His eyes open and he looks at you in that curious way - the same way he’d looked at you when you’d asked him to get coffee all those weeks ago.

“I was going to say forgiving,” he tells you. “Not everyone is like that.”

“Yes they are,” you refute, managing to wiggle out from under his grasp. You scoot along the step until you’re right up against a metal handrail.

Thor follows. “You’re not like that.”

The electric blue of his eyes has never been anything but genuine to you. Even when he stared you down in Von Doom’s office - he was still open and honest. Dangerous, for sure, but he’s not now.

Your heart breaks a little bit when you ask him, “What do you know about me?” It’s not a fair question. You know it, he knows it, you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole fucking park knows it. You’re the one who’s been keeping secrets this whole time.

“I know that you’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met,” he says, reaching out for one of your hands. The hand that had just been on his knee. Only this time, he keeps his fingers between yours and just...holds you. “And one of the most confusing. But I like that.”

A ghost of a smile is able to break out across your sombre expression.

“I know that I like waking up next to you. And I know that, before I met you, I didn’t realize how much of Earth I was missing out on.”

One signal in your head tells you that you can’t let him go farther than that. That feelings will only get complicated and dirty the second he realizes what you’ve done.

Another signal tells you that you so desperately want this. Want Thor. That he makes you feel like you can move whole mountains just because he believes in you.

Then, there’s a third signal. Except it’s not inside of you, and really, it’s not a signal at all. It’s Tony Stark’s voice over a crowd that’s increasingly interested in whatever Tony Stark is doing.

You look out toward the fountain beyond the stairs and notice both Iron Man and War Machine headed right for the two of you. Thor sighs, tightens his grip on your hands a bit, then shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N),” he says, and you actually deign to believe that he is. “It seems I’m being called to duty.” He stands, and a breeze pushes a small red flower past his feet. Thor picks it up, brushes its petals off softly, then turns and hands the flower over to you. “Until next time,” he says.

Then he bends and kisses your cheek. Though you’ve kissed him before, his lips send electric jolts through your body. He lights you up.

And then he stands, backs away, calls forth a hail of lightning and transforms from civilian into hero. He smiles at you gently, genuinely, before calling forth Mjölnir and joining his teammates in the sky.

#thor x reader #thor odinson x reader #thor au #hercules au #worth my while fic

89 notes · View notes

belphegor1982 · 5 years

Text

Chapter 2 is up!

FAIRY TALES AND HOKUM

Summary: 1937: The O'Connells are required by the English Government to bring the Diamond taken from Ahm Shere from Cairo to London. Things get interesting when Jonathan bumps by chance into an old friend of his from Oxford, Tom Ferguson…

Chapter 2: Familiar Faces (on AO3 here)

“So that’s your office? I must say, I’m impressed, old boy.”

“Knock it off, Jon.”

The room was tiny and rather stuffy, and Jonathan had to wait a while before Tommy could find a spare chair, in this case a collapsible with a cloth back. The mess was indeed impressive – you couldn’t see even a little bit of desk under all the huge, dusty files lying on it and all the loose sheets. All around the desk, the path was more or less cleared, but you still had to be extra careful not to step on books and files of varying shapes and sizes. The whole floor was cluttered up by cardboard boxes, some still held shut by adhesive tape, most of them open; as Jonathan peeped into one, he saw various items wrapped in protective paper.

Despite the messy aspect, Tommy’s office gave an overall cheerful impression, helped by the sunlight pouring in through the window, high up the wall. Dust danced in the rays and didn’t seem to be willing to settle anywhere.

“Sorry for the shambles, mate,” said Tommy, rummaging through the papers on his desk and starting to tidy everything up. “They made me move in here only a week ago, I haven’t had time to clean it all up.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve seen worse.”

Tommy’s head shot up from the desk, glancing sheepishly at Jonathan. “Y’know, when I told your sister I was one of the chief agents… Well, I might have overstated the thing a lil’ bit.”

“No! You’re not serious, are you?”

Tommy growled at Jonathan’s smirk, and he fell silent, letting his eyes wander here and there. They finally came to rest upon the only thing that seemed tidy enough – a dozen old-looking books resting on a set of shelves.

Jonathan left his chair to get a proper look. Some of the books came directly from the British Museum, and looked as if they were borrowed from the archives – old and worn, with leather covers slightly frayed along the edges. Not to mention the dust. And they smelt like escapees from the City of the Dead.

“I say, that’s some collection you’ve got yourself here,” said Jonathan amazed as he read the date of print of a particularly shabby-looking one. “My God… Evy would go spare if she saw this.”

“I’m sure she would,” Tommy said, emerging from the layers of paper and straightening himself up. “I just love these kinds of old books, you know; there’s a feeling about them you just don’t get with more – ‘recent’ ones. Now, where’d I put that bloody –”

“Looking for something in particular?”

“Yes,” Tommy sighed as he dropped on his chair, only to jump up and remove something before sitting down. “I’m sure what little I’ve got on Hamunaptra is lying ‘round somewhere in a folder – can’t seem to find it.”

Jonathan put the book he was holding back on its shelf and looked at the desk, his hands in his pockets. “No wonder.”

“Oh, that’s gonna help for sure, Jon,” muttered Tommy. Jonathan was about to retort, when his eyes stopped on a small picture in a frame. It was a photograph of a woman, and the longer he stared at it, the more familiar the woman seemed. Finally, it clicked into place: the freckled face with a round nose and pointy chin, the mass of frizzy hair and the sweet, candid smile could only belong to one person.

“Hey! Isn’t that Elizabeth McAlester?”

An uneasy sort of smile crept up on Tommy’s lips. “Yes, that’s her – ‘cept her last name hasn’t been McAlester for some time now.”

Jonathan stared at him blankly for a full minute. Now this, of all things, was unexpected.

“You mean, she’s – you’re –”

Tommy nodded, still smiling.

“How long –?”

“That’ll make it seven years in October.”

There was a moment’s silence, during which this piece of news sank in. Elizabeth McAlester had been a cousin of a common friend, Arthur McAlester – a tall, gangly fellow with glasses constantly perched on the bridge of his long nose, rather bossy but altogether likeable. She was a year or two older than them, and went to Somerville. Jonathan and Tommy had spent their last year before the war wooing her in turn, although it was more of a game for the two boys than something really serious. None of them had really gone too far, though. They valued their reputation as gentlemen – sort of – and she was too much of a nice girl.

Thinking back on it, Jonathan realised that, had things worked out differently, Elizabeth would probably have been the only girl he could have spent some significant time with. She was smart, sweet, and funny when she wanted to. And he used to make her laugh – she had a nice laugh. But there was also the fact that she didn’t really love him.

Perhaps, if he had been a little smarter, he could have won her over. Of course, that would have also meant spending less time in pubs, gambling and drinking; that would have meant growing up, and he was simply not ready for that, especially after the armistice. Most fellows of twenty-five were not, after all, and he’d made it his business to be as carefree as he could to make up for 1917 and 1918. Problem was, he was now forty, and most of people that age were supposed to be settled. Evy was younger than him, and Rick and her had been married for eleven years now. And Tommy and Elizabeth, of all people, had been together for seven years, and he had a picture of her on his desk. Why, they must even have children.

Perhaps Jonathan should have been jealous – but he just couldn’t be. Tommy was a decent fellow, and Elizabeth was a nice girl; they deserved each other. He had had his chance, had messed up, and there was no way to get back what wasn’t anymore. Petty jealousy was simply irrelevant there.

“That’s great news, old boy,” he finally said, with a heartfelt smile. “Congratulations. Wish I could have seen you in a morning suit, though.”

Tommy beamed in return, obviously relieved, and Jonathan felt a pang of annoyance. Did Tommy really think that he was going to be mad at him for that? That was ridiculous.

“Thanks, Jon. You know, that… that means somethin’.”

Dammit. It was still impossible to be thoroughly annoyed with Thomas Ferguson. He may retain his rotten luck, but he still had that innocent look on his broad face that fooled even the most sceptical of all. Even one Jonathan Carnahan.

A somewhat awkward silence passed. Jonathan was glad to end it when he spotted a folder under his chair and bent to take it for a closer look. “Here – wasn’t that the one you were looking for?”

The file was very thick, with a hard cover, and it was held shut by an old belt. On a little bit of yellowish paper was scribbled, ‘Hamunaptra, City of the Dead – Reign of Seti the First, Dynasty XIX.’

Tommy crossed the room in two strides and all but snatched the file from Jonathan’s hands. “That’s it! That’s the one.” His old enthusiasm was back in his voice. “I haven’t looked at it in years, guess it’s been buried under a ton of other things.”

“You can keep it if you want. It’s not that urgent, Evy can wait a bit.”

“No, take it – just be sure to give it back before tonight, someone could ask for it… Though nobody’s asked for it in years, so I can’t see why someone would just now. Except for Hamilton, but even him –”

“Hamilton?”

“Charles Hamilton, my immediate superior. Odd guy, very thorough, very clean. Might be a very likeable fellow if someone took the umbrella off his arse, but that’s just my opinion… Well. Fact is, I’m not really supposed to show that file to anyone, but as it’s you and Dr O’Connell…”

Jonathan couldn’t help but chortle. Tommy looked at him curiously.

“What’re you laughin’ at?”

“Oh, nothing, really – just the whole ‘Doctor O’Connell’ business. Funny thing to hear someone speaking in so high terms about my baby sister… especially you.”

Tommy shrugged and said with a grin, “Well, get used to it. Seriously, mate, I’ve heard of her since I was offered this job at the Research Department, and that was, what – ten years ago or so. Discovering Hamunaptra wasn’t such a big deal, I bet loads of people (poor chaps!) must’ve managed that in centuries past, but –”

Jonathan, whose first sight of the ancient City had been the skeletons and dried-up corpses of previous adventurers, gave a grim smile. Yes, indeed. Loads.

“– But she, her husband and… and you actually got out. Remind me to ask you how you did it someday, ‘cause I still have trouble believing it.”

“I bet you haven’t heard half of the story,” said Jonathan as a sly smile sneaked back on his lips.

“I hope you’ll tell me some time, then. This and that weird stuff with the Scorpion King two years ago.”

Jonathan opened his mouth, quite taken aback. “How d’you know about that, for cripes’ sake?”

“We, Mr Carnahan, know everything,” Tommy said with a mock smug grin, which he then dropped to finish, sounding almost embarrassed, “Well, not quite everything, I guess. In fact there’s still some huge blanks in the story.”

“Blanks you’d like me to fill, eh?” Jonathan chuckled. “I get it, Tommy old chap. I’d tell you the whole story anytime.”

Tommy’s right eyebrow shot up. “Anytime? That would include now?”

“Didn’t you say you had work to do?”

“‘Work to do’? Man, this is what I work on! Gathering pieces of information, I mean. Can I take notes?”

“Yes, sure,” said Jonathan, a little bit dumbfounded. “All right, you’d better take a seat, because this is going to be long…”

.⅋.

“And you told him the whole story of what happened at Ahm Shere?”

“And Hamunaptra, too. He already knew the main lines, anyway.”

Evelyn shook her head. Jonathan could be a wonderful brother at times, but one of his major faults was and always had been his complete inability to keep a secret the way it should remain – secret.

“I can’t believe you did that, Jonathan.”

“Oh, come on Evy, please trust me on this one, will you? Tommy’s reliable. He’s a decent bloke.”

His blue eyes were almost pleading, and Evelyn found her anger ebbing. The only times he had proved so persuasive were when he tried to cover up for one of Alex’s most foolish stunts. Though she could never admit it, such an attitude was very endearing, in a cheeky, annoyingly efficient sort of way.

Then there was this file. She couldn’t decently stay mad at him when he had been thoughtful enough to borrow it for her from this Ferguson fellow. And to tell the truth, she was positively dying to see what it contained. She couldn’t wait to get home to open it.

“Jonathan, it’s very touching to see you standing up for a friend, but you must admit that so far, the people you have entrusted with our, ah – family secrets – haven’t proved very ‘reliable’, have they?”

“Tom is, Evy. I swear. And he works for the British Consulate, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Oh…” Evelyn sighed, about to give in, “if only this was a guarantee of safety…”

“Just because What’s-his-name of the British Museum woke our mummy again and bollixed things up last time doesn’t mean Tommy’s not ‘safe’, old mum. Please –” and there he stopped her in her tracks and looked at her in the eye, “– believe me.”

Aw, dash it… It was still impossible to remain angry with him. She never could resist this unique mix of fake innocence, thoughtless cheekiness, and sincerity somewhere in the middle.

“All right, all right – quit pestering me, and I won’t bother you about this Mr Ferguson anymore.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, that’s a promise.”

Jonathan’s ‘persuader’ expression turned into a dangerous smile, one that his sister knew only too well. As a rule, it meant trouble was on the way.

“That’s nice, Evy, because I asked him if he wanted to see the diamond while it’s still here in Cairo –”

No exception to the rule today, it seemed. Evelyn was flabbergasted, but she said nothing… She had promised, after all.

“– And we agreed that a few minutes wouldn’t hurt, and it’s still my diamond in a way, a little – I mean, I know I sold it and everything, but I haven’t looked at it in ages and –”

Evelyn let him talk until he ran out of words and finished on a rather lame, “And, well, I – I was hoping you could intercede on my behalf, you see…”

“You don’t have to ask me,” she said in a deliberately colder voice. “You’ll have to see the curator for that. I wish you good luck convincing him.”

Jonathan’s face dropped.

“Evy, please! You’re my sister! I’ve hardly ever seen this bloke, you’re –”

“I’m far more gullible, is that what you meant to say?”

“No, it’s not – that’s – cripes, Evy, all I’m asking for is two words to the curator from you. Consider it payback for Tommy, he might’ve got into trouble lending you this secret file for the afternoon.”

The file. She’d almost forgotten it. Although Jonathan’s last sentence sounded a little like emotional blackmail, ugly as the word was, Ferguson had indeed seemed pleasant enough the day before. There was a cultured man, with a proper job – something of a change from the dubious company Jonathan usually kept – who respected and admired her work. She hadn’t heard praise such as he’d given her in quite a long time. And he trusted her enough to lend her this file.

“Well,” she said eventually, very slowly and reluctantly, “I suppose I could talk Dr Hakim into letting the two of you in the diamond’s room… Not alone, of course, and only for a few moments. I’ll see tomorrow if –”

She started when her brother kissed her on the cheek, beaming.

“Dear, sweet Evy, you’re the best sister any decent fellow would ever dream of.”

“Oh, come off it,” sighed Evelyn, who couldn’t help but smile all the same.

They found the house empty: Rick had taken Alex to the bazaar downtown. Evelyn quickly sat down on the sofa and carefully put the file on the coffee table in front of her, while Jonathan disappeared into the kitchen. She didn’t wait for him and opened the folder.

It contained mainly sheet after sheet of paper covered in tiny scrawl, and as she ran her eye over them she could tell it was a report of sorts, with dates, names, and more or less precise directions. There were newspaper cuttings, some of them quite old, and also some sepia photographs. She was leafing through them when Jonathan put a cup of tea on the table and sat beside her, a tumbler in his hands.

“So? Have you dug some stuff up already?”

“I guess so, yes… I didn’t know Lord Carnavon had worked on Hamunaptra as well…”

“Good thing he kept it quiet, one curse as cause of death is well enough – didn’t need two,” quipped Jonathan. Evelyn elbowed him and picked up another set of pictures. Her brother’s eyes widened.

“Evy, that’s – that’s us!”

He was right. Though the photographs were old, blurred, and of rather bad quality, the figures on it were unmistakable. They must have been taken shortly after Hamunaptra, because Evelyn saw some shots of Jonathan with his left arm in a sling, and several of herself and Rick, arm in arm, both their faces shining with sun and laughter. She remembered how it was, back then – the slight awkwardness between them, the happiness fluttering in her stomach each time his hand brushed against her, even by accident; it had seemed to her that she was constantly walking on a little cloud, inches above the ground, silly as this comparison may sound.

Of course, she had got down from this cloud long ago – but reality had not been as harsh as her school friends had once told her. Rick was a wonderful husband, and there was never a second of boredom between them. Even after eleven years of marriage, he still took every opportunity to seduce her. Not in the romantic, literary way, with tête-à-têtes and candlelight, but something in the way he looked at her over the table, the twinkle in his eye that was for her and her alone never failed to make her melt. And after all these years, he still managed to make her blush, too. Of course, she protested, saying that it was absolutely ridiculous for a thirty-six year old woman to blush; but he’d just laugh softly, his rich chuckle sending shivers down her spine and making her feel as if she were twenty-five again.

Jonathan often said some people were born lucky. Hers was another kind of luck – she may not have a ‘proper’ social life like acquaintances of hers in London had, but the four men of her life, namely Rick, Alex, Jonathan, and Ardeth – in a very slightly lesser extent, as she saw him fairly rarely – were the four people she loved most, and they were wonderful. Lady Maria Evans and her circle of snobby friends would never know how it felt to die and being brought back to life by her eight-year-old son and her brother. She would never know the overwhelming smell of gunpowder, the ache you get in your shoulder from the recoil, the deafening noise, how it felt to be kissed awake by a three-thousand-years old mummy – but then, had Evelyn been able to, she would have gladly skipped this part. Ew.

“I say, Evy, do you think they’ll mind if we took a couple of photos to put them into frames?”

Jonathan’s voice drew her back from the memories, and she looked at the pictures in her brother’s hands. There was another one or two of Rick and her, one of the three of them – in the streets of Cairo, by the look of it – and a full-length one of Jonathan alone, his hands in his pockets, his nose in the air, and a curious look on his face. There was something funny and rather sweet about this one which matched the involuntary subject’s general attitude: offhand, ironic, foppish, forgetful, but altogether loyal and kind. Evelyn was indeed tempted to keep it, as Jonathan had suggested.

“I agree that some of those would be worth it,” she said, smiling. “But maybe you’d better ask your friend first –”

An odd thought crossed her mind at the mention of Tom Ferguson. When she had met him the day before, he had clearly shown that he didn’t know Jonathan had been a part of the Hamunaptra expedition. But it just would have taken a look at the contents of this file to know that his former schoolmate had been involved – his full name was written in black and white, and the photographs were faithful enough. Besides, Jonathan had not changed that much over the years.

“Jonathan, I’ve just thought of something – Tom knows this file, does he? I mean, you told me he’s been working in the Department for ages, so he must have read it at some point, right?”

“I suppose so, yes. And your point is?”

“Well, perhaps I’m just being silly, but how come he didn’t know you were at Hamunaptra? Your name and your face are all over these papers, look…”

Jonathan frowned slightly, and bent to look at the sheet she held out for him. There was an account of that night so long ago in the Sultan’s Casbah that had started it all, and it was just as Rick had told her when she had asked how her sticky-fingered brother had managed to steal his puzzle box.

“Whoa, Evy… there’s a fair amount of details in there.” She saw his eyes dart from the top to the bottom of the sheet; then he exclaimed, “Oh, of course! That Casbah barman, what’s his name again… Oh yes, Musa. I bet he was the one who gave them such a precise account. Can’t believe he still held that grudge after –” he looked at the top of the sheet again “– two years. Resentful git. It was only a little fight.”

Evelyn didn’t know what made her insist, but she ignored his last remark and continued. “You see? He could hardly miss you. And yet he seemed to ignore completely your part in the trip to and from Hamunaptra. By the way, my name was Carnahan at the time, not O’Connell. I don’t understand why he looked so surprised to see that his famous Dr O’Connell and your bossy little sister were in fact one single person – it’s just not logical.”

There was a short silence, during which Jonathan seemed to ponder her words. Then he turned to face her, and to her surprise, there was something like anger in his voice when he said, “You’re really something, you know, Evy. Stubborn as a mule, I’d say. I told you Tommy was a decent fellow, I mean – you met him, he’s not some sort of conman or something!”

“I’m not saying he is, Jonathan,” Evelyn said gently; she had not expected this kind of resistance at all. “I’m merely pointing out a fact. You must admit that it does look a bit odd, doesn’t it?”

“Well, don’t point. Fact is, you can’t admit that I know someone that you don’t, who’s smart, trustworthy, who works in the same stuff as you, and who also happens to be a damn good fellow to drink with.”

Evelyn raised her eyebrows. “What exactly are you talking about?”

“Just what I’ve said. Leave him alone. I don’t understand why you’re nagging about him. Besides, Tommy adores you – you should hear the way he praises you to the skies.”

“I’m not nagging. Honestly, Jonathan, from the little I’ve seen of him, I like him well enough – he seems to be good company, a funny, cultured, clever fellow. And I’m flattered to hear that he thinks so highly of me. But rationally and logically speaking, there are some tiny details that bother me.”

She had spoken and chosen her words carefully, not wanting to start a row. She hated being at odds with her brother when he wasn’t the one who had started it – it made her feel uneasy and oddly guilty. He had been her only family for a long time, after all, and neither was likely to forget it. They shared something special.

Anger faded from the bright blue eyes, and Jonathan’s expression turned into something that looked remarkably like a pout.

“Can’t you just leave these out for me?”

Evelyn almost laughed. “I won’t say I’ll forget it, but I won’t pester you about it anymore. Just – I know I’ll sound silly again, but don’t be angry with me for that. I don’t like it at all when you are.”

This time, the usual smile was back on her brother’s face, and he sank back into the sofa, his half-empty glass still in his hands. “Ah, come on, Evy – that was silly indeed… You sounded like a kid. Don’t worry, I’m not angry with you… I’m just annoyed that the one time I haven’t done anything, and I mean anything, you still find a way to be suspicious.”

Of course, when you put it that way… Evelyn could understand Jonathan’s touchiness, and respected his faith in his friend, but still. It was only a few minor things, but the logical, scientific part of her mind was puzzled. Of course, it could just be that Tom Ferguson had a bad memory – she had never seen a folder so dusty, so she supposed he really hadn’t opened it in a long time… She’d find a way to chat about it with him some time. Casually, of course, in passing.

Maybe it was her instinct. Or maybe it was just her curiosity. That particular trait had been said many times to run in the family, and Evelyn was forced to recognise that it had proved true in many occasions.

Especially when it came to herself.

.⅋.

(I have a lot of fun writing scenes with Evy and Jonathan. I absolutely love their interaction in TM, and it was something I missed slightly when I watched TMR. When I write them I can’t help writing with my memories of TM in mind. It’s also fun to imagine Evy, having grown from the girl she is in TM into the self-assured, brilliant woman, wife, and mother, inches from running the British Museum in TMR, being childish enough to bicker with her brother. Both Carnahan siblings are big goofs in their own way, Evy just hides it better :P)

#Fairy Tales and Hokum #my stuff #fanfiction #the mummy #the mummy films

3 notes · View notes

180abroad · 5 years

Text

Day 144: Going East

Today, after two and a half months in (mostly) English-speaking countries, it was finally time to dive back into continental Europe. And we'd be diving pretty deep--all the way over to Poland.

After our last British breakfast, we took a taxi out to the Inverness airport. Our flight was at 10:55, and our host had recommended leaving at 8:30 to make sure we had plenty of time.

Back when we first arrived in Scotland, we'd thought that flying out of Dublin was as easy as it could get (not counting the Burger King incident). But Inverness was on another level. Checking in, dropping off our bags, and going through security took less than 15 minutes total. That left us plenty of time to browse the airports impressively stocked whisky shop and admire the airport's three gates. Not three terminals--three gates.

Our flight was with KLM Royal Dutch Airlines and included a layover in Amsterdam. We were a little nervous about the layover because it would only be 35 minutes long. But the tickets had all been booked directly through KLM, so we figured that we could trust their judgement.

It worked out, but I’m not so sure about their judgement.

Our flight from Inverness actually left early, and we arrived in Amsterdam over ten minutes ahead of schedule. Which was a very good thing, because we were at the far end of one terminal while our next flight was at the far end of the opposite terminal. And half of the moving walkways were out of service. And we had to go through passport control.

There was a fast-track lane for short connections at passport control, but an attendant told us to go into the main line anyway. This wasn’t an Inverness or even a Dublin line–this was a major-international-hub line. After waiting in this line for about ten minutes, our mental math was raising red flags. We would have a hard time getting through the line before our flight took off, let alone getting all the way to the gate, which was still a considerable walk beyond the passport control desks.

Just as we were getting ready to ask again, another attendant came up and shouted for us to get over into the fast-track line.

Passports stamped, we speedwalked straight to the gate, bypassing several badly needed bathrooms, and only just made it to the gate at the scheduled opening time. If our plane from Inverness hadn't arrived early, we might not have made it to our gate even if we hadn't gotten stuck at passport control.

Luckily for us, our next plane was also late, so we had time to use the toilets and grab a cold beverage from a vending machine before hopping on the bus that took us to our plane. It was smaller than the plane we took from Dublin to Edinburgh, but it did have jet engines instead of turboprops–so I still count it as an upgrade.

The flight was smooth, and soon enough we were stepping out into Krakow's John Paul II Airport. We decided to get some Polish Złotys (pronounced “zwah-tes”) from the airport ATMs (or "Bankomats") before hailing a taxi from into town. We ended up withdrawing way more money than we needed--the interface had been designed to make it look like you couldn't pull out smaller amounts unless you looked closely.

As it turned out, we probably would have been better off skipping ATMs in Poland altogether.

I always imagined Eastern Europe as a very cash-based place, but that couldn't have been further from the truth--at least in Krakow. Everyone there seems to use credit cards for everything. Spending the 100zł bills that we'd gotten from the ATMs (worth about $25 US) was nearly impossible. Even at large grocery stores and tourist sites, the cashiers would just shake their heads and smile at us condescendingly as if we were simpletons trying to pay with rocks.

We eventually went looking for a bank or currency exchange that would break some of our larger bills for us and gave up after a frustratingly unsuccessful hour of searching. Two of the currency exchanges (or "kantors") practically laughed us out of the doors.

I have to admit that I got angry once or twice over this odd phenomenon. There are ATMs everywhere in Krakow. How is it possible that everyone is using them when the money they dispense is worthless?

It actually seemed like there was a shortage of small bills and coins going on. When I tried to buy 41zł worth of groceries with a 50zł note, the cashier was visibly distressed at the prospect of having to scrounge together 9zł in change. When Jessica managed to rustle up a 1zł coin from her wallet (bringing the change to a single 10zł bill), the cashier's face lit up with relief and gratitude.

All of this wouldn't have been a much smaller deal if my credit card hadn't stopped working back in Scotland. We never figured out why, but at some point my credit card's chip had gotten corrupted and slowly started working less and less reliably. By the time we reached Krakow, it had stopped working altogether. I eventually got comfortable using Android Pay at places that took it, but Jessica ended up making most of our in-person purchases for the remaining two months of the trip.

But all of that was still ahead of us in the coming hours and days. For now, we happily made our way to the airport taxi stand with cash in hand and got a ride into town.

The first thing that struck me about Poland–and I noticed it from the airplane window before we even landed–was the totally unique landscape. I’ve seen forests, farmland, and urban sprawl before, but never mixed together quite so thoroughly. On the 30-minute drive from the airport into town, we passed through dense forests, low-density farmland, and a wilderness adventure park. Even in the suburban periphery of the city, apartment blocks are separated by cornfields as well as vacant lots.

This patchwork aesthetic extends to the architecture of the old city itself. On any given street, the buildings form a mosaic that tells the long and turbulent story of Poland’s past, from the middle ages through the 21st century. Many struck me as ironically eastern European, with inward-sloping buttressed walls and steep, almost pagoda-like roofs. Others looked straight out of Renaissance Venice or Imperial Vienna. And, of course, there are the Brutalist mementos of Soviet austerity.

What holds it all together is a charmingly rough-around-the-edges spirit of making do with what you have. Concrete walls patched with plaster, plaster walls patched with plywood. Walking down an alleyway between two buildings, you might tread on tile, cement, and gravel all in the space of thirty yards.

But this is not a third-world country. Enter into one of these unassuming domiciles, and you might find a surprisingly luxurious abode.

Like ours.

Poland is not a wealthy country. But that means that a little money can go a long way. And while you may trip on a pothole or slip on a patch of sand outdoors, you can come home to a bathtub bigger than any I’ve enjoyed in the States.

The second thing I noticed about Poland are the people. They are both the most reserved and the most outgoing people I’ve met in Europe.

Professionally and in public, everyone is just a blank face in the crowd. Our taxi driver from the airport did not make a single attempt at small talk the entire ride (not that I’m complaining!), and shopkeepers have no trouble flatly declining to assist you if you ask for something they don’t want to do.

But if you engage them personally, as a friend, guest, or tour companion, you’ll have trouble getting a word in edgewise as they talk your ears off with kind enthusiasm, sincere questions, and thoughtful advice.

Obviously, this is a stereotype and doesn’t apply to everyone in Poland. But it’s exactly what Jessica–who spent a summer here in 2010–told me to expect, and it’s exactly what I’ve experienced.

Another funny quirk is that two of Poland's biggest chain stores are named after animals. The main supermarket chain is called Biedronka, which means ladybug, and the main convenience store chain is called Zabka, which means frog.

After checking into our Airbnb and stocking up on groceries, Jessica could hardly wait to take me into the old town. Rick Steves says there isn’t a better city in Europe for just wandering around in, and I can’t say I disagree.

The main market square is spectacular–like Venice’s San Marco Square and Madrid’s Puerta del Sol rolled into one.

The old Renaissance merchant hall dominates the center of the square, and St. Mary’s Basilica stands proudly overlooking its northern corner.

Technically, the church only has one tower. The taller tower on the left–the one with the crown encircling its spire–is officially a city watchtower. According to legend, a 13th-century watchman was struck silent by an enemy arrow in the middle of trumpeting an alarm. Now, every hour on the hour, a trumpeter plays the same traditional anthem almost but not quite to completion in his honor.

The curtailed call is also used by the Polish national radio broadcaster, so it is a familiar sound across the country.

After taking a peek inside the market hall and up at the nearby clock tower–the remains of an otherwise-demolished medieval city hall–we meandered up the main road to the barbican gate–one of the few remaining parts of Krakow’s medieval walls.

Unlike the many European cities that turned their medieval walls into ring roads, Krakow turned their walls into a green belt surrounding the old city center. Like many Polish names, it was unintentionally amusing to us as English speakers--Planty Park.

As we walked back down the main tourist drag, Jessica noted how much the place had changed in just the past eight years. A local café she'd wanted to take me to had been replaced by a Starbucks, and there were a lot more ethnic restaurants than she remembered seeing before. Though not all of them looked especially authentic.

Tired and thirsty, we headed back to our flat after stopping for drinks at a Zabka along the way. It was a warm night, but thankfully the windows were big and opened wide. As much as I had feared a culture shock, and our currency-related annoyances notwithstanding, our arrival in Poland had been surprisingly smooth. We were comfortable, well-fed, and excited to see what the city had to offer.

Next Post: Schindler’s Factory and St. Mary’s Basilica

Last Post: Resting Up (Markets, Museums, and More Pizza)

#180abroad #krakow #poland #travel #history #architecture #eastern europe #no cash

1 note · View note