Get ready for a delightful blend of travelogue, storytelling, and humour - from the ridiculous to the sublime.
Travel with us to Knossos Palace, Crete, and beyond as we share our tales and experiences through a refreshingly different lens.
A melange of storytelling, travel and humour.
Enjoy the musings of a would-be- professor of ethics.
Follow our loved-up couple on their absurd and very tragic story set in Crete.
Get to know Alex - a college kid trying to survive among the undead in NYC.
Dive into a travelogue about Knossos Palace in Crete.
Beginners Guide to TikTok for Search - Rachel Pearson - We are Tilt __ Bright...
Wanderlust Meets Story
1. 1
one human left
Selected Writing
June 23
Copyright Purcell Press – Content and Images – All
rights reserved
2. onehumanleft.com
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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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. 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?’
NYC 1990
The Accused
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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.’
‘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.
Bartender grabs a rag and zaps everything in
sight, including the totem leprechaun on the
shelf beside the cigarette machine.
NYC 1990
The Accused
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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.
NYC 1990
The Accused
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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.”
“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.
Meet R – An Aspiring Professor
The Ponderings of R
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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
tranquillizers, 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.
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.
Meet R – An Aspiring Professor
The Ponderings of R
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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.
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.
Meet R – An Aspiring Professor
The Ponderings of R
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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.
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.
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.
Meet R – An Aspiring Professor
The Ponderings of R
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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.
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.”
A Tragic Love Story Set in Crete
In The Bosom of Mount Ida
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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.
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. 👀
Back at the ranch, they dragged the lamb chops
over the hot coals, and a flickering light
illuminated a cowbell in the garden. The hooting
of an owl accompanied that strangeness. A
nearby horse watched enviously as they
indulged in grilled veggies, succulent olives, feta
cheese, and red wine like sherry.
Suddenly, a hooded figure materialised by the
gate and stared at them before vanishing into
the darkness.
A Tragic Love Story Set in Crete
In The Bosom of Mount Ida
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THE GRAND FINALE
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?”
A Tragic Love Story Set in Crete
In The Bosom of Mount Ida
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.
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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 and breath-taking 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—hats off to his
artefact preservation and scholarship, inspiring
generations of archaeologists and historians.
And speaking of important structures, who
knows what the three Koulores were used for?
(Basically, three big holes in the ground).
Were they the world’s first drive-thru
restaurants serving oil and food? (And who
knows what?!) We may never find out just what
the Minoans had in mind, but one thing’s
certain – the ancient Cretans loved their circles
and spirals. 🌀🍢🕺
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!
Let’s go down! Shall we?
Knossos Palace
Mysteries of the Minoans
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Fabulous Ashlar Masonry
The basement-level chambers are filled with
murals and frescoes; you feel a sense of intimacy
and connection to the underworld.
Maybe the ancients dug deep to get closer to the
party 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.
Lustral Basin and Throne
Knossos Palace
Mysteries of the Minoans
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.
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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?
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.
Knossos Palace
Mysteries of the Minoans
The artworks and frescoes in the palace are
as captivating as a Netflix original.
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.
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Their 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.
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.
Knossos Palace
Mysteries of the Minoans
What about human sacrifice?
Oh, gawd Must we go there?
Yes.
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.
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
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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. 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.”
https://www.archaeology.wiki/blog/2014/01/27
/did-the-minoans-sarcifice-humans
“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.
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!
Knossos Palace
Mysteries of the Minoans
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23. onehumanleft.com
Myth of 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
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.
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!
Knossos Palace
Mysteries of the Minoans
23
24. onehumanleft.com
Tips for your visit
Tip no. 1: Rise with the birds:
Leaving the beach is like ripping off a band-
especially regarding Crete’s warm, sun-kissed
sea, but visitors to Knossos flock to the gates
bang on opening. A pro tip: Arrive pre-9 am 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
the labyrinthine breakfast room could
you whole with its huge variety of all-
options!
Grab a glass of refreshing Cretan beer to
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
Heraklion Archaeological Museum in
advance:
The Heraklion Archaeological Museum a shot.
It’s an enjoyable and enriching journey
time with artefacts from various Minoan eras.
High-beaked jugs, magnificent vases, adorable
figurines, incredibly beautiful pottery-and
along Costis Davares’ illustrated guidebook on
Heraklion Museum Minoan artefacts.
It’s super helpful in finding key artefacts in
museum. The guidebooks are on sale in the
museum bookshop, and you can buy your
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.
Knossos Palace
Mysteries of the Minoans
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25. onehumanleft.com
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. 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
Minoan civilization.
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.
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.
Evans Controversy
Mysteries of the Minoans
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26. 9
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