EP 011 - "La Prima Porta"

November 2nd. 1975.   Ostia.   Around 6:30 AM, the sun is coming up in the open fields of an ancient fishing village.   Just a few miles outside of Rome, it feels a world away from the Eternal City, The Capital of The World.      The rising sun reveals pebbled beaches, salt marshes, faded signs, piles of concrete.   The waters of the Tyrenniean Sea gently meet the sand at the nearby Lidos, but we begin further out, somewhere in the open fields of Via dell'Idroscalo.   A cold wind blows across the desolate landscape.      If you look closely, you can find the traces of an old runway for seaplanes, a satellite military installation from the first world war, but in the 50 years since, it has been reclaimed by sand, pine trees and piles of dead reeds.   The air smells of seawater and diesel fuel.     Seasons change, and many days here feel like the last, but this morning will be etched in the collective memory.     A body has just been discovered.  

This is False Walls….    Collect your belongings and pass the control gates.   Separate from the teeming crowd of tourists on holiday and locals folding back into reality.     Take the road from the airport but veer off immediately.   This is not the road that leads to Rome.  

Location:  Stockholm Sweden This year, I found myself in various locations in the Nordic countries, a region that contains stunning natural phenomena as well as a deep folklore populated by an endless cast of mystical beings.  Trolls inhabit lakes and dark caves, elves are found in deep forests and waterfalls, giants inhabit mountain ranges and rocky islands.  And yet even in the modern cities, folklore and legend can be found, ghosts and traces of history, real and imagined, overlap in certain places, hiding in plain sight but available for those of us who know where, and how to look for them. In this episode, we will take a trip to one of these places, a real place that has stories to tell, some from within our earthly realm, some within the world of fantasy and some that float between these two words, waiting for the right person to uncover them.   And we, of course, are following the arrow directly to that very destination.   Steel yourself, the train is leaving the station...

Location:  Kuwait City, Kuwait Welcome to part two of our search for hidden statues, figurative memorial symbols of power or commemoration that have fallen from favor, pulled from their pedestals and have been defaced, destroyed, decapitated and/or hidden away in secret locations as shameful totems of the past.      In our last episode, I brought to you my adventures in statue hunting in Albania, a beautiful place with a dark past that is physically impossible to ignore.  I found a small but potent gang of dictators lurking behind the local art museum, a graven image of former totalitarian ruler Evener Hoxha alongside his idol Stalin and other various symbols hardline communism, but also explored the underground complexes, the decaying concrete pyramid in the heart of the city, the omnipresent and indestructible bunkers, all of which serve as enduring physical reminders of this dark chapter in history and the ways in which we deal with them.  If you have not heard this episode yet, please do so.     In this episode, we'll be headed to the Middle East, the Arabian Peninsula or Persian Gulf specifically, where I was able to uncover the enduring traces of another difficult chapter of history, the Gulf War and its eventual sequel, including a chance discovery in a dark passageway that tied it all together.  

Of all the ways to achieve immortality, becoming a statue is probably not the one you want. If there exists a moment in time in which the powers that be go through the machinations to create and erect these figurative memorial statues, the powers that be may eventually fall from favor, the moment in time the statue represents may eventually be seen as a less than ideal moment of history, and these symbolic construction may be pulled from their pedestal, dragged through the streets, and thrown into the river.  Or worse.  For the next two episodes, I'll be taking you with me to the sites of two of the most interesting, controversial and hidden statues that I've had the luck to uncover.  Each one represents the results of changing eras, the ways in which we deal with our problematic histories, or in these cases, how we hide them away or at least, attempt to.   How do we dispose of fallen idols?  

This story involves murder, mystery, cryptic clues, hidden identities, and ulterior motives, all wrapped around one the best known tales in what we now call the True Crime genre.  But we'll look beyond the usual voyeuristic parlor games and shine a little light on the real people, and the real circumstances, that lead to the horrific real life killing of several women in Victorian London, as well as the strange secret that some feel the museum itself is built upon.   We are headed to Whitechapel 1888 and into the streets beyond…We are headed to Whitechapel 1888 and into the streets beyond...

Over 1500 prisoners made their way to Alcatraz federal Penitentiary during the 33 years it was operational.  These prisoners, especially in the early days, were considered the worst of the worst, though this ranking was determined less by the heinousness of the crimes committed before incarceration than the prisoner's behavior behind bars.  Those individuals who caused the most trouble at their respective home prisons were carefully evaluated and sent to Alcatraz. But make no mistake, prison behavior aside, the walls of this prison were filled with murderers and thieves.  Let's get to know some of them.

The isolation is eerie and palpable, and insult is even more injurious as the glittering lights of downtown San Francisco and all of it's wanton freedoms are within plain sight, only 1.25 miles away.  It was not uncommon for prisoners to hear Christmas music and and the sound of new years eve parties traveling across the bay.  And yet, Alcatraz as well be on the moon, because the likelihood of escaping the stone walls of the prison itself pales in comparison to the wet hell that awaits anyone attempting the fool's journey across the choppy, freezing blue waters of the San Francisco bay.  And as far as we know, though there is some margin for debate that we shall explore, there's no solid evidence that anyone who has attempted to escape from Alcatraz ever survived. Or did they?  

It is Friday the 13th, 1973...   Misty morning… clouds in the sky.   Without warning… a wizard walks by.   Well, perhaps not a wizard, but rather a magician, and occultist, paranormal investigator, a vampire hunter...

"The Ten Courts Of Hell are contained in a large, snake shaped mountain of crumbling plaster, which at one point was in the form of a large dragon. Small severed heads adorn the outside, with an inscription in Chinese that I would later learn translates to "The sea of bitterness has no boundaries, turn back and you will find shore". I suppose this was meant as a warning, a portent of what lay waiting for me inside, but I ignored the heads and ominous writing and headed toward the opening…"