Wanderlust meets Story

1
one human left
Selected Writing June 23
Copyright Purcell Press – Content and Images – All rights reserved

Are you looking for a creative escape from the everyday?
Immerse yourself in our featured stories
Take part in the journey as we uncover the
stories hidden in the crevices in every corner of
life.
Meet an eclectic cast of misfits whose struggles
for personal growth surprise and delight in equal
measure.
From an introspective would-be ethics professor
to a sassy college student roaming the streets of
NYC to a goofy love story set in a quaint village
in Crete.
• The Accused: Join Alex, a college student
navigating the mean streets of NYC, as
she stumbles upon the undead
• Ponderings of R: Dive into an aspiring
professor's introspective wanderings.
• In the bosom of Mount Ida: Ride along
this adventure into the bizarre and the
absurd.
• Latest Travel Piece: Join us as we
explore the wonders of Knossos, a marvel
of the ancient world.
Intro Page
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The Accused
01
02
03
04
05
Table of Contents
The Ponderings of R
In The Bosom of Mount Ida
Mysteries of the Minoans
Info and Thanks
Page 4
Page 10
Page 19
Page 24
Page 37
3

Chapter One Title
Goes Here
THE ACCUSED
By Alice Frances
4

Climbing the subway into
a blast of hot air, the
warm, buttery smell of
cinnamon rolls taunts my
stomach. Skyscrapers bear
down like the Nephilim,
squeezing the life from
the ground.
I know not to look strangers in the eye in case if they
attack me with a knife or rob my stuff, but not seeing
anyone is worse. I feel like an ant in a galaxy of concrete.
Clutching the card the priest gave, I reach the bar. He
said I would find a friendly face, but I can tell a dive when I
see one. The outside includes two black wooden doors. I
see a dirty neon sign over the door showing a withered
shamrock and the bar’s name – SHEBEEN – printed in
bright green on a cheap decal stuck in the window – not
even a proper sign.
Inside is no easier on the eye—claustrophobic walls
stacked with photographs of the Kennedys. A galley bar
spans the room; I see an old guy polishing the whisky
bottles at the far end. The smell of bacon and cabbage is
from somewhere off in the back, but no one is sitting at
any of the tables.
NYC 1990
The Accused
5

No music or T.V., just an antique clock hammering out the
hour, 12.30 pm, eerily quiet, no lunch crowd. A business-
like lady, prim and proper, sits on a stool, giving the
impression of a B-Movie star with a ring of tobacco
orbiting her head. The old guy saunters down along the
bar, blowing his nose with a cloth hanky.
As the old guy approaches, I see him stuffing the hanky in
his trousers pocket. ‘It’s the devil’s own breath out there
today!’
The skin on his neck flaps like a broken blind. ‘Now, miss,
what can I get ye?’
I ask for a Budweiser on tap.
Right, ye are.’ Pouring, he winks at the woman, and I get
an uneasy vibe, as though some kind of conspiracy is
going on between them.
‘Need a top-up?’
‘In a minute Jack.’
He turns his attention back to me. ‘New to the city, are
ye?’
‘No. I’ve been here loads.’
‘Is that so?’
He knows I’m lying. ‘Where are ye from, Germany?
France?’
People always take me for someone else. It pisses me off.
‘Wrong soldier. None of the above.’
‘You have a foreign appearance if that’s allowed.’
‘Yeah, I heard it on the news.’
He trims the top of the glass. ‘That’ll be five for yourself,
seven for anyone else.’
I give him the five-dollar bill. ‘Hey, do you have any work
then?’
Him and the blonde smirk. ‘No work around here, miss,
sorry.’
The Accused
6

‘There’s a recession on,’ the woman says in a cute
gravelly voice, like rusted popcorn.
‘Ah, she’ll do okay,’ The bartender says. ‘There’s always a
demand for young women.’
The blonde is wiping an invisible speck from her padded
shoulders. It is not reassuring. ‘By the way, how do you
know about the joint? We ain’t in any guidebooks? Are we
Jack?’
‘Nope.’
I tell them straight. ‘Father Finnegan sent me. He said to
hit you up for a job. Yeah, he said you are the man to find
work.’
The old boy shoots a stare that could cut through steel.
He leans in, his skinny elbow sitting in a puddle of beer on
the counter. ‘Father Finnegan, did ye say?’
‘Yeah.’
‘A job, did ye say?’
‘Am I speaking Chinese?’
The woman pops another cigarette. Through the bar
mirror, her hands quiver. The atmosphere is thick as putty.
I might as well have thrown a headless rabbit on the floor
before them.
‘Finnegan,’ she says, half choking from the nicotine, ‘is
dead.’
With that, her bar buddy sloshes whiskey into a shot
glass. He knocks back the liquor. Pours another. Knocks
that. The bar door creaks. I turn around to see a fat guy
trapped in a grey haze like something from Journey into
Fear.
The Accused
7

Bartender grabs a rag and zaps everything in sight,
including the totem leprechaun on the shelf beside the
cigarette machine. The blonde searches her purse for her
keys; says she’s going back to the office, to work.
Sneakers are squeaking like crazy behind. I turn around –
two eyes as soft-as-s *** are looking straight into mine,
both sets protected by a veneer of professional hostility.
‘You’re Alex, right?’
‘That’s right; you must be Michael.’
‘Call me Mike.’
He shakes a hairless wrist, showing off a bracelet watch,
link-chain, solid gold. It annoys the crap out of me the way
he’s checking the time on there, like I’m holding him up.
‘Are you just about ready?’
‘Mind if I finish my drink?’ (Five dollars’ worth).
‘Go ahead.’
I figure it’s best to play nice, so I slug the beer, grab my
backpack, and slide off the stool. ‘Okay, let’s go.’
Before I know it, I’m with fat guy in a cab up to Harlem,
staring out the window to hide my suspicions.
Street scenes flash past – and now and then, I flick my
eyes at the plus-sized tracksuit and the green baseball
cap inscribed ‘B.O.S.S.’ in gold thread.
I figure overall, he’s a normal type of idiot, quite
inoffensive, discounting the faux-French cologne.
Cab driver throws a sneaky glance in the rear-view mirror,
clearly having a mental WTF moment about the tall,
skinny college type – foreign by the look of it – sitting next
to an aspiring gangster.
The Accused
8

Are we human?
Or puppets that
glow in the dark?
His alarm bell rings. It’s 6 am. He gets dressed, gulps a
glass of milk, reads the morning newspaper, and leaves
for the office. He arrives at his desk in a fidgety mood; the
milk taste in his mouth makes him a little nauseated. He
nods at his colleagues and settles down to work. During a
lunch break, he sits with his friend D.
He has been his friend since university.
“I dislike carrots.”
R makes no comment.
There is a minute of silence, and then D continues. “Have
you read Alice in Wonderland? My eight-year-old
daughter was doing an assignment on it last night. I think
it’s crazy they are teaching that book at this level.”
“I read it as a kid, but when I grew up, I found out it is an
allegory and a satire. I read it again.”
The Ponderings of R
10

“It is a metaphor for the absurdity of existence – Alice
desperately tries to make sense of the world around her,
but the more she tries, the more she becomes befuddled.”
“This idea that we live in a world surrounded by
narcissistic leaders, idiots and pseudo-intellectuals. We all
are trying to escape reality and move to a wonderland full
of exquisite fairies and snow queens, but when we
encounter that wonderland, we find out that it is not that
wonderful; we are dumb like Alice.
We will waste time partying with the idiots of the world.”
On his drive home, he plugged into a podcast titled, ‘The
Addicted Generation: can we overcome this Menace?”
The speaker talked about primitive people – it was simple
back then, no industries, no driveways, no electricity, no
depression, no substance abuse, no night owls, no
sedatives, no tranquillisers, and heartbreaks. People lived
underneath a sky scampering with stars.
They did not hoard food, they did not accumulate things
unnecessarily, there was no system, they never felt
chained by unnecessary laws, and every drop of rain and
every ray of sunshine was pure and unaffected by
dangerous gases. Animals roamed carefree, trees grew
without artificial fertilizers, fish swam in shoals, and they
were not afraid as there was no oil leakage.
The Ponderings of R
11

“It is a metaphor for the absurdity of existence – Alice
desperately tries to make sense of the world around her,
but the more she tries, the more she becomes befuddled.”
“This idea that we live in a world surrounded by
narcissistic leaders, idiots and pseudo-intellectuals. We all
are trying to escape reality and move to a wonderland full
of exquisite fairies and snow queens, but when we
encounter that wonderland, we find out that it is not that
wonderful; we are dumb like Alice.
We will waste time partying with the idiots of the world.”
On his drive home, he plugged into a podcast titled, ‘The
Addicted Generation: can we overcome this Menace?”
The speaker talked about primitive people – it was simple
back then, no industries, no driveways, no electricity, no
depression, no substance abuse, no night owls, no
sedatives, no tranquillisers, and heartbreaks. People lived
underneath a sky scampering with stars.
They did not hoard food, they did not accumulate things
unnecessarily, there was no system, they never felt
chained by unnecessary laws, and every drop of rain and
every ray of sunshine was pure and unaffected by
dangerous gases. Animals roamed carefree, trees grew
without artificial fertilizers, fish swam in shoals, and they
were not afraid as there was no oil leakage.
The Ponderings of R
12

Summer turned into autumn and winter, and things
remained pure, serene, and enigmatic. The world silently
achieved grandeur and grace; there were no cameras, no
celebrities, no red carpets, no glittering dresses, no pomp,
and no show. The madman was an outcast. The wise
man dictated wisdom.
No books could lure you into thinking differently, and no
politicians could fool you with false promises. Every man
lived on the brink of death and embraced uncertainty
willingly.
There were no perfumes, toys or toy markets, and
children enjoyed playing with stones and fruits. The sun
dawned every morning with its glorious rays spreading in
every direction, igniting passion, loyalty and brotherhood.
People lived for the sake of living, but now we all live to
hunt each other down.
But as time passed, we lost all the glamour of sandy
beaches, warm summers, and cold winters. There was
the hustle and bustle of a fast-paced life.
Things stopped being natural, and so did we. In trying to
achieve some measure of success, we stressed all night
and sweated all day.
Diabetes and blood pressure plagued our existence, and
as the demands of the corporate world increased, our
anxiety increased with it.
We sat down in buses, trains and strange vehicles and
fidgeted constantly, pulled at the skin on our forearms and
chewed our lower lips. We roamed the empty corridors of
our apartment buildings at night and gazed out of our
bedroom window. The constant race, competition, and
struggle to be more elegant, beautiful, financially stable,
bright, wise, and kind.
The Ponderings of R
13

The race to reach the top without falling once, the race to
beat through storms and torpedoes, jungle men and
madmen. The race to influence with an impressive word
or to mesmerize with heroic action. We could not bear the
pain. We turned to temporary fixes.
We lost ourselves to alcohol and drugs, and soon the
world stopped being the world and became a terrifying
monster in disguise. The long dingy hospital wards, the
sterile needles, the bags under your eyes, the screaming
under covers each night and the formidable terror of
losing every ion of hope as your body persistently
fluctuated and broke down.
And didn’t we try to cope with the pain of reality and the
pain of our thoughts by becoming addicts? Was it a
choice?
Or did our circumstances force us to withdraw all forms of
reason and dive into the abyss? Were we not too afraid to
address our thoughts?
We exiled ourselves from the world. Locked in a room
with no light, we avoided looking at our fragile being to
avoid the truth of existence. Or perhaps our peers
ingrained in us dark notions about reality with no form of
truth. Perhaps we all accepted that we were living a lie.
And if it was all a lie, it didn’t matter what we did with our
lives.
The Ponderings of R
14

R thought to himself. You are empty yet complete – you
are stoic and desperate. You run in mills, and you run on
treadmills. You hop in artificial steroids, euphoric tablets,
and things that provide momentary relief. The pain of
existence is still too great, and you wonder what you need
to do to overcome it and overshadow it; you can’t hope to
swallow pills all your life, you cannot chase fairy tales all
your life, and you certainly cannot fall back on yourself all
the time, you cannot unhinge or unplug. Still, you can
pretend, and you can deny. Your life is beset with denials
and negative repercussions; you want to fly, but your feet
have been grounded.
You want to walk straight, but you are too clumsy and
lazy. You will remain in this stoic state all your life and
wonder why things fall apart as you sit, brood, and lament.
R turned in the key to his apartment, changed and slept a
little. He woke up by 7 pm, prepared dinner, and sat
watching TV. He kept flipping through channels; nothing
seemed to captivate his interest. After a while, his
attention got hooked to a documentary special titled,
‘Caged in a turtle shell: The Reality of Trauma.’
The program talked about certain traumas that get itched
in the deep recesses of our brains, and we cannot come
to terms with them because we are terrified of them.
Somewhere within our subconscious, certain dark
memories make room, certain triggers bring these
memories to the forefront, and the mind-numbing, heart-
wrenching terror shatters our being from the inside out.
We were all young once upon a time, naïve, innocent, and
charming. We felt the world was beautiful with toys,
cartoons and candy shops.
The Ponderings of R
15

However, some of us were inflicted with deep gashes; the
dark stillness, the raging light, clouds without any sign of
rainfall, sinister bellows of laughter, the clicking of heels
on marble, the shouting and the screaming, the mourning
and the wailing, words that were incomprehensible, words
laced with malice, stone cold stares, and constant
negative banter.
Our veins bled out each day.
R held his breath as nostalgia consumed him – he
returned to his teens. He saw himself sitting on a
computer chair in his room. His mum sat in front of him,
and she kept mumbling. She was lost in a world of her
own making. R’s fragile heart thumped with fervour. His
eyes kept watering. He was depressed. He needed
consolation.
He needed a kind word and a mother who could
understand his pain. He writhed in his isolation each
night, whimpering under covers, he tried to soothe his
nerves through self-talk, but no self-consolation was
enough. The psychiatrists seemed cold-blooded.
They hardly offered any emotional support. They kept
examining him like a subject and scribbling on their
notepads.
He thought to himself. You visit a doctor; he looks at you,
gives you tests, and you sit under strange magnetic
machines and count your seconds to death –
unfortunately, you survive. You swallow pills repeatedly to
ease physical pain, but you don’t know how to cope with
the pain of existence.
The Ponderings of R
16

You run from one doctor to another to survive, but you
don’t know what to survive for. They inject you with
painkillers whilst your soul screams out in anguish.
Why do we run around chasing life when we are innately
lifeless?
R switched off the TV, brushed his teeth, turned off the
lights and went to bed. The little puppets on his windowsill
glowed blue in the moonlight.
The Ponderings of R
17

IN THE BOSOM OF MOUNT IDA
By Alice Frances
18

Crete in ’85 was like stepping into a time machine. In one
tiny hamlet, they discovered The Holy Grail – a cave used
by St. Myron to chow on bread and olive oil. Locals went
crazy over the blessed rain droplets that purified the
village’s rock face, using it to absolve themselves of their
sins.
Amid the ancient streets, a pink Byzantine temple stood
like a cotton candy lollipop on a hill, dating back to ancient
times.
Getting there was harder than solving a Rubik’s cube –
weaving through deserted streets with barred windows
and closed shutters.
Luckily, they found a charming, rustic abode to settle in.
Who needs a five-star hotel when you have a five-star
sense of adventure?
Man and woman stared at the low beams and
whitewashed walls; they marvelled at a painting of Jesus
at the last supper. Something seemed off; Jesus
appeared rather svelte and feminine. Later, on the terrace,
the couple chatted with their mysterious host, who was
merry as a cricket until the mere mention of the Hermitage
got him running like Usain Bolt. Soon they were jamming
with the elements, rolling their eyes at the bugs with B52
wings, and brewing sweet coffee amidst mountain tops.
When they stumbled upon the minuscule chapel, things
got eerie. Everything was outdated, including an iron
padlock that couldn’t keep the foreboding at bay.
19

A truck blazed past. The driver stared at the strange
couple, then crashed into a tree, and his vehicle was
kaput. Meanwhile, the couple marched happily on toward
the town, oblivious to the sound of crunching metal.
On arrival, they settled outside the bakery café, chowing
down on all that Cretan goodness. But things started
getting weird when their server was identical to the
frescoed dancers of Knossos.
She was a young mother-to-be and reminded Christopher
of his long-lost lover. Her name was ringing in his ears.
Sophia.
What will happen next? Will they find peace amidst the
rugged terrain? Only time will tell. By the way, how much
more of this damnable drivel must I endure?
Disgruntled reader
“Isn’t that girl too young to be a mom?” he asked his wife
under his breath.
“Well, they start ’em young in these mountains,” she
replied mysteriously.
Still, Sophia’s last words still haunted him. “Please,
Christopher.”
“Sorry, Sophia, I’m broke as a joke.”
“But my parents will kill me if they find out…”
“Don’t worry; we’ll sell it off. They won’t suspect a thing.”
Sarah was buried in her guidebook, looking every bit as
fragile as the glasses perched on her nose.
“Let’s stuff our faces at the tavern by the church,” he
suggested light heartedly.
20

She closed the book and smiled. ‘Yes, let’s!’ At the tavern,
their hefty host led them to a table, offering a stunning
view, but their hungry stomachs grumbled to find the
kitchen was closed.
They settled for a meagre fare of bread, cheese, and
olives, washed down with a cold bottle of wine, and Sarah
even practised her Greek, much to the owner’s confusion.
They declined the offer of Raki, afraid of the wartime
stories his father had once told him about Greeks and
hard liquor. They walked on in silence, nerves on end,
until arriving at a nearby shop. Something sinister seemed
to lurk within the dim haze of that shop.
Sarah asked for lamb cuts for the grill, and the shop
owner produced a carcass from the freezer and skilfully
separated the meat from the bone, grinning wickedly as
he wielded his blade.
As he handed Sarah the wax-papered foil-wrapped lamb
sack, the old man proclaimed, “This is very good, good
flesh, very fresh!” A chill ran down Christopher’s spine.
What secrets were lurking in this supposedly normal
transaction?
As they trudged back to the ranch, Sarah turned and
asked, “Do you think he was betting on us carrying back
the entire damn lamb?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he expected us to lug it on our
shoulders,” he replied dryly. Sarah laughed, but an
unsettling feeling remained. It seemed like countless pairs
of eyes were watching. 👀
21

Sarah quivered in the cold breeze. “The ghost of Saint
Myron?” she suggested. “I have no clue, but you couldn’t
pay me to go back to that cave!”
Sarah’s laughter brightened his spirits. She returned to
the house and came back with cheese and sticky
pistachio nuts.
With every bite, their lips parted. Under the full moon, a
heavy weight was lifted from his rounded shoulders.
Then, out of nowhere, he slipped from his chair and lay on
the terracing, looking up at his wife with a sorrowful eye.
The other was glass.
It’s often said that the father's sins fall upon the son, and
they were both now feeling the strains of the fallen.
“Sarah?”
“Yes, my love?”
“I have a confession to make.”
“No, please don’t, dear.”
“Please, Sarah, time is running out.”
“Don’t say that! I’ll never run out on you, darling.”
“Not you, dear. Time.”
“It’s around midnight. But why do you ask? Are you tired,
my darling?”
Sarah, please listen because I have something to tell you,
something I’ve never told a soul.”
“I’m all ears, darling.”
Finally, he revealed the tragic truth about his affair, his
honesty igniting like wildfire. While putting out the flames,
Sarah forgave her him with open arms.
At dawn, he passed away under the dwindling moon –
sinking into Mount Ida’s bosom like a majestic ocean.
22

By Anam Ahmed
MYSTERIES OF THE MINOANS
By Alice Frances
23

Knossos Palace sits just outside the bustling city of
Heraklion. The masterpiece was constructed in 1900 BC,
and still today, its beauty and significance are incredible.
When you first arrive at the palace, you’re struck by the
serene surroundings.
The court sits amidst greenery and tall trees from the
surrounding forest and woodland and slopes gently
between two streams connected by a small wooden
bridge leading to the West Court. A proud bust of Sir
Arthur Evans, the site’s restorer, is right by the bridge.
Evans’ palace reconstruction may embody Victorian-era
values like order, symmetry, and cleanliness, but some
argue it might not depict the original Minoan layout.
Nonetheless, his work contributes significantly to our
understanding of the Minoan civilization, a term coined by
the man himself
Just as we arrived, a busload of German tourists showed
up and marched through West Court, stopping to read the
panels and other artefacts on display, each one clutching
a map.
Visitors get a route map but finding your way around
without feeling like Theseus challenging, with or without a
map. It’s wise to keep your wits about you!
24

Fabulous Ashlar Masonry
The basement-level chambers are filled with murals and
frescoes; you feel a sense of intimacy and connection to
the underworld.
down under, or perhaps they were worshipping Mother
Earth’s deities, showing their spiritual awe of the wonders
of Nature. The Queen’s Megaron: Originally home to magnificent
frescoes, now preserves copies of these artworks.
Painted pillars and a delightful dolphin fresco adorn the
room. Lean in, and you might even spot fragments of
dancing ladies on the frescoes here, but don’t let them
lead you astray!
Not just a pretty face. The Queen’s Bathroom houses a
sit-bath, a Toilet Room, a throne, and a bench. A door in
the north wall opens to even more wonders.
The Minoans knew how to build, no doubt about it, cutting
and fitting stone blocks to perfection. They had that down.
Living in an earthquake-prone locale didn’t stop them
either. Their secret?
Sturdy walls and columns were made to stand the test of
time until 1600 BC. They didn’t have air conditioning, but
they had light wells and air shafts.
25

Hers or His?
Now to the throne with the curved seat. Talk about a
throne fit for royalty! They crafted this curvy seat to
celebrate beauty and femininity, reserving its embrace for
only regal posteriors. There’s a spirited debate about it
among scholars. According to myth and a few old records,
some say King Minos’s tooshie was sitting on that throne.
Others believe the concave design accommodates a more
voluptuous derriere.
But hey, why not let the debate rage on? What fun would
this ancient civilization be if everything was just cut and
dried?
Lustral Basin
The strangest thing of all is the Lustral Basin. What was it
used for? Was it for water? Oil? Votive offerings or plain
old blood sacrifice? Why is there no drainage hole? Verily
the mind boggles.

The artworks and frescoes in the palace are as
captivating as a Netflix original.
Then there’s the bull. The Bull God at Knossos
was quite the beefcake 💪🐂 Representing
strength and might, bulls were a frequent sight
in religious Minoan art, especially in bull-
leaping frescoes
With mythical beings, daily life, and pictures from bygone eras,
The Prince of the Flowers and The Bull Leaping are all the
rage. However, the Minoans went with the flow of spiritual
ideas.
So, expect divine intervention with the gods, goddesses, and
ceremonies. The Minoans are labelled as “gynocentric” – or
female-centred. No surprise there.
Religion revolved around worshipping goddesses. The Mother
Goddess, for one, was a top favourite, overseeing everything
from farming to fertility. Think Wonder Woman mixed with old
Ma Walton.
27

Sacrificing bulls and goats to the gods was like a daily
wage. With temples and shrines adorned with fine
statues, nobody dared to miss a service or sit out of line. It
all seems rough, but those were the engaging rituals
honouring the divine. It’s a good bet that most ancient
societies, including our biblical ancestors, practised
human sacrifice somewhere along the line.
In Exodus 13.2 (Books of Moses), Moses receives his
instructions:
Sanctify unto Me all the firstborn, whatsoever opens
the womb among the Israelites, man or beast.
What do you think? Answers on a postcard.
Greece’s Director of Antiquities and Cultural Heritage is
unlocking ancient secrets in Chania that shed light on our
shared European history—including the possibility of
human sacrifice as a standard-upsetting a few Puritan
diehards along the way.
The most important finds came to light during the 2012
season when research went on towards unexplored
territory.
Notes Dr Vlazaki: “Bit by bit, the first stones out of two
large clusters, hinting at the existence of bones
underneath, start to appear. After their removal, the first
bones appeared, allocated in a dense manner, showing
that we were at the heart of the deposit.
28

Initially, many bones of ibexes, young pigs, sheep/goats
and cattle came to light in the (deposit’s) western part.
East, underneath the stones, we discovered what we had
expected, even if we did not believe that we could find it:
the young girl’s skull, in pieces, among animal skulls. It
was broken like all skulls were: opened through its sutures
(joints) by a heavy blow, its pieces scattered all around.”
Greek mythology records many examples of purification
sacrifices of virgins during periods when society was
trying to deal with great disasters -plague or famine- or
before major wars.
Even according to the local legend, the same happened to
Eulimene, the daughter of Kydon, the city’s founder, who
was sacrificed as a virgin to honour the country’s heroes.”
Enter the mysterious temple of Anemosphilia – 20 miles
away from Knossos, in a cave near Mount Ida.
Recently unearthed by archaeologists, this site features
an eerie tale: they found three bodies; that of a young
man, who was around 16 years old, an unusually tall
middle-aged male, and what has been identified as a
priestess.
29

They also discovered restraints and, even more
interestingly… an iron pendant! Iron would have been
practically priceless (like finding your moon rock!),
suggesting whatever occurred here must have held great
significance for those involved.
Could these findings point towards desperate attempts to
stop environmental disturbances – with human sacrifice
being its gruesome solution? One thing is certain–
something very important took place within those walls!
https://www.archaeology.wiki/blog/2014/01/27/did-the-
minoans-sarcifice-humans
30

King Minos
King Minos was a real pill. He made the Athenians pay up
with youths and maidens to feed the Minotaur he kept
housed in his basement. But heroic Theseus saved the
day and Athens from the annual sacrifice. Later, the
Greeks tried to invade Crete but did not make much
impact. Very little evidence remains of these skirmishes,
save for Homer’s epic poem, Iliad. Archaeological
evidence suggests some cultural exchange between
Mycenaeans & Minoans, but whether they got along will
forever remain a mystery… both civilizations eventually
faded into obscurity.
Decline of the Minoans
Earth tremors plagued Ancient Crete throughout the
second millennium BCE; the island experienced a pattern
of seismic activity more powerful than anywhere else
because of its unique geological features. The largest
known earthquake registered between 7 and 8 on the
Richter scale.
Much like the 2011 disaster in Japan (9 on the Richter
scale) in 1600 BC, Crete, landslides, tsunamis, and fires
would have been the secondary effects, destroying
Knossos and all other Minoan palaces in one blow.
Like Sendai, Japan, in 2011, this would have been a
fearsome cataclysmic event, causing irreparable damage
across much of the island’s coastal regions.
31

However, it wasn’t until around 1500 BC that an invasion
by King Agamemnon and the Mycenaean Greeks further
compounded these calamities, effectively culminating with
what many now refer to as ‘the decline’ of Ancient Cretan
society.
By the way, scholars say that the Cretans had an
advanced naval fleet allowing them to trade across the
Mediterranean. They were skilled diplomats, and with
such a powerful navy, there was no need for
unsustainable military expansion. Diplomacy meant they
could gain what they wanted without resorting to violence.
Clever them!
Uncovering some of the world’s most ancient civilizations,
from Tutankhamun’s tomb to The Golden City and
Gobekli Tepe megalith to Knossos Palace, gives a sense
of continuity with history.
The loss of civilizations gives cause to pause. Is it a
warning that we are teetering on the brink? Will we finally
understand that Mother Nature is life’s ultimate custodian?
🤔
Historian Graham Hancock suggests these discoveries
could foretell a future apocalypse. Ouch!
32

Where archaeology meets imagination
Evans reconstructed the room based on a stone throne he
found, but recent evidence suggests a more sacrificial
purpose. He might have gotten a bit carried away with his
creativity. Still, his vision of Minoan life sparked much
interest in the ancient civilization.
While Evans was not the first to discover the site, he
played a crucial role in bringing attention to the ancient
history of Crete and laying the foundations for further
archaeological investigation of the site.
The first discoverer was Minos Kalokairinos who
uncovered the ruins at Knossos in 1878. Kalokairinos, a
Cretan merchant, began excavating the site after noticing
ancient stones and architectural fragments. Minoan
civilization.
His excavations uncovered a wealth of artefacts and
structures, including the remains of the palace of
Knossos, which would later be identified as the centre of
Sir Arthur Evans followed in 1900, introducing the world to
ancient Minoan culture.
He may have used an artistic license with some bull
motifs. Still, the bull is integral to Cretan art and
architecture, and Evans made each brushstroke count to
depict ancient Cretan life accurately as possible
Arthur Evans left a mark on archaeology as lasting as
those of the palace artefacts he uncovered.
33

His restorations may raise eyebrows, but there’s no
denying the valuable insights he provided into Minoan
civilization.
Suggested Reading
Mysteries of the Snake Goddess by Kenneth D Lapatain
and Minoans by Fritton J Lesley.
34

Tips for your visit to Knossos
Tip no. 1: Rise with the birds:
Leaving the beach is like ripping off a band-aid, especially
regarding Crete’s warm, sun-kissed sea, but visitors to
Knossos flock to the gates bang on opening. A pro tip:
Arrive pre-9am to dodge the crowds or take your chances.
We stayed at Arina Beach Resort near Heraklion,
snagging a last-minute deal. It’s a wonderful family-
friendly hotel–but be warned, the labyrinthine breakfast
room could swallow you whole with its huge variety of all-
inclusive options!
Grab a glass of refreshing Cretan beer to wash down all
the delicious breakfast bits you can manage – but don’t
linger long, or you’ll be stuck in line at the ancient site.
Tip no. 2: Consider a trip to the Heraklion
Archaeological Museum in advance:
The Heraklion Archaeological Museum a shot. It’s an
enjoyable and enriching journey through time with
artefacts from various Minoan eras. High-beaked jugs,
magnificent vases, adorable figurines, incredibly beautiful
pottery-and bring along Costis Davares’ illustrated
guidebook on Heraklion Museum Minoan artefacts.
It’s super helpful in finding key artefacts in the museum.
The guidebooks are on sale in the museum bookshop,
and you can buy your ticket to Knossos and museum
entry at a 10 Euro discount.

Tip No. 3 There are plenty of guides at the entrance to
Knossos:
Are you a “wing it” person or someone who prefers a
guide? The entrance area of Knossos has you covered. I
love to explore ancient sites at my pace, snapping pics
along the way. Afterwards, I’ll geek out on history with a
well-illustrated guide (no shame in my game!).
But if you prefer a flesh and blood guide to show you
around, licensed guides are on standby.
Cross your fingers and hope for a pro. I’ve heard the
quality of guidance varies. Some tours are like a drive-by
history lesson with a finger pointing to a well-thumbed
textbook.
Hot Tip No. 4: If you’re waiting in line for the bathroom
and spot some “jump-the-queue-ers,” always let them
through:
They could be one of the site guides claiming divine
rights! Better to bite your tongue and avoid the Goddess’
wrath.
36

9
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