Geckos bathe with tiny drops, use their tails as optional legs, and can alter the stickiness of their feet as needed. They come in brilliant colors, and make charismatic mascots. And now we know that they can run on water, Inside Science reports.
Ardian Jusufi, a biophysicist at Germany’s Max Planck Institute for Intelligent Systems, was observing flat-tailed house geckos in a Singapore rainforest when he noticed their ability to evade predators by scampering over puddles. Not through them, he observed, but “on the water’s surface,” as Jusufi and his coauthors write in a Current Biology study published yesterday. It was an impressive sight, but it wasn't until they conducted lab experiments that the true extent of the lizards’ aquatic dexterity was revealed.
The researchers found that the geckos could run at the speed of nearly three feet per second. That’s faster than ducks, mink, muskrats, marine iguanas, and juvenile alligators can swim, the researchers write. Predators, in other words, can eat their wakes.
But just how do the geckos do it? They’re not the only species that can walk on water—the basilisk lizard is famous for it, the insects called water striders, too—but the geckos don't do it in quite the same way. They're not heavy enough to create enough force just by slapping the water like the larger lizards, and they're too heavy to sit on water's surface tension like a bug.
Experiments revealed that the geckos combine four distinct techniques. First, they actually do utilize surface tension. When the team added surfactant to the water, the geckos’ velocity was cut in half. Second, the geckos also slap the water with all four legs, which creates air cavities like basilisks do. Third, they benefit from their water-repellent skin. And finally, the geckos undulate their bodies—even their submerged trunks and tails—to propel themselves forward, a little like a butterfly stroke.
There’s more at stake in these findings than geckos’ ability to outrun predators. Coauthor Robert J. Full, of the University of California, Berkeley, tells Inside Science that the geckos may provide a model for robots that could gracefully “run and climb and race across the water” to conduct rescue missions.
Recently we asked Atlas Obscura readers to tell us about their unusual collections, and much to our delight, they showed us some truly incredible (and incredibly surprising) personal exhibits.
You told us about your beloved collections of everyday objects like dice and cocktail stirrers; ultra-specific collections such as a set of factory employee badges or Alka-Seltzer ads from the early 20th century; and even slightly eerie collections of bodily bits like eyelashes and kitty whiskers. More than anything, it's your enthusiasm for your unusual personal collections that makes each one intriguing.
“About 20 years ago, I saw an employee badge that had particularly interesting Art Deco lettering. I bought it and then did a little research into its origins, and discovered that it was from a defunct company that had existed in my area of the city. I looked for others and found that there were many Detroit-related employee badges available. They embody the vitality, ambition, creativity, and muscularity that represented the city both as the Motor City and the Arsenal of Democracy.” — Robert McBroom, Detroit, Michigan
Vintage Found Photographs of People Kissing
Collection Size: “I've collected anonymous found photos for over 30 years, so I've got a lot!”
“I am obsessed with vintage photos and they are all around us. I unearth photos from flea markets, garage sales, eBay, and dusty attics to understand their artifact nature and to hopefully reveal something not seen at first glance. With kissing photos we immediately start creating a story: Who are they? What do they see in each other? Is it mutual? Are they kissing the way I kiss, or want to be kissed? Who was the invisible photographer who had access to the intimate moment? I began and will continue to collect because the best found photographs transcend time and place to speak to contemporary questions and sensibilities.” — Barbara Levine, Houston, Texas, and San Miguel de Allende, Mexico
Dice
Collection Size: "636"
“I saw a set of dice that was really cool and then another and then another. The nice thing is that dice are relatively cheap and easy to acquire, unlike some collectibles.” — Kevin McCarthy, Central Texas
Juggling Props, Photos, and Posters
Collection Size: “It fills five rooms in one of my homes.”
“I'm the world's leading juggling historian and wanted to save historically important juggling props and images.” — David Cain, Middletown, Ohio
“I like old cocktails and forgotten drinking items. I found some old glass cocktail umbrellas and became obsessed with finding out where they came from, and travelled to Germany to find more, so my collection of cocktail shakers grew to include glass cocktail umbrellas, and cocktail sticks in mechanical glass carousel holders, and other wacky forms from the '30s and '40s.” — Dominic Pennock, Yorkshire
Vintage Medicine Bottles and Glass Eye Wash Cups
Collection Size: "150+"
“[Originally] I was looking for some pretty old bottles to decorate a bathroom with.” — Liz, Boston, Massachusetts
National Park Service Visitor Pamphlets
Collection Size: "43 pamphlets and counting."
“Visitor pamphlets are an affordable, informational, and easily stored way of commemorating visits to our U.S. public lands.” — Brett Iredell, Flagstaff, Arizona
Headstone Rubbings of Deceased Prime Ministers of Canada (and One Governor General)
Collection Size: “35 to 40 rubbings of various sizes.”
“Some of the rubbings are normal headstone size. Some, like Laurier and Thompson, are much bigger. I require two more headstones to complete the collection, keeping in mind that Canada currently has eight living Prime Ministers. When l started, pre-Google, the grave sites were poorly marked and rather hard to find. I wanted a tangible memory of my visits and stumbled across the idea of doing headstone rubbings. I've drove/flown thousands of kilometers and have visited 14 grave sites in Ontario, Quebec, Nova Scotia, and England.” — Travis Shalla, Eastern Ontario
Antique Sample and Medicinal Tins
Collection Size: "Over 400, after weeding out about 100 that were duplicates."
"I began my collection when I was 8 years old, when a neighbor gave me a small tin egg filled with tiny little hard candies. Since then, I have spent nearly 50 years adding to my collection, but due to space constraints, I now limit myself to collecting only small sample and medicinal tins. Many of my tins still contain the original contents, such as pills, typewriter ribbons, and cosmetics. My most valuable tin is an old 'Three Merry Widows' tin which still contains an old (unused!) condom from the late 1800s, back when they were made of sheep intestines. I also have quite a few interesting tobacco tins, including several of the pre-World War II Lucky Strike tins that are green, instead of the red and white, which Lucky Strike is now famous for. The green paint was needed to paint military vehicles so 'Lucky Strike' went to war and have been red and white ever since." — Susan Purdue, Fairview, North Carolina
Vintage Potato Mashers
Collection Size: "15"
“There are so many different kinds of metal mashers and the handles are lovely!” — Ruth, Victoria, British Columbia
Paper Clips Found On the Ground
Collection Size: "300 to 400"
“It started while living in Spain and I was pregnant. On my first visit to the doctor I found a paper clip on the doorstep. It's said that the paper clip is a Norwegian innovation, so I picked it up an put a lot of luck into it. Ever since, I always pick up paper clips found on the streets or ground and the paper clips give me luck or I can wish for something. Been doing this since I was pregnant and my daughter is now 14 years old.” — Rikke Sanni, Norway
Gospel Records With Cringe-Worthy Covers
Collection Size: “Only about a dozen records at the moment”
“I’ve always been a record collector and in the search for more listenable material, I started to notice the incredible graphics, the over-the-top images and the not-so-subtle attempts to prey on people’s fears, which are used on the covers of these records. Plus, how can you pass on a gospel record with a small piece of paper attached to the back, stating: ‘This cover fails to give the much due credit to my talented wife, Joy. She has helped compose all our music and is a great source of inspiration. God bless.’” — Michael Fahey,Savannah, Georgia
Fortune Cookie Fortunes
Collection Size: “Over 1,000... maybe more”
“Who doesn't love a cheeky little saying or wise words to pick you up? I wasn't always an avid collector, until one fortune really hit home. I was feeling down about my situation in life and prayed to God that I would find love. A couple days later while eating at a Chinese restaurant I opened a cookie and the only word on that little paper was ‘Love.’ I laughed out loud… all by myself. It was the reminder I needed that I am loved. That fortune is currently the only one that I've laminated and will probably keep forever. My collection will continue to grow (with the help of friends and family who know my obsession) until who knows when! The upside is they're so small, my large collection hardly takes up any space.” — Francesca, New Jersey
My Eyebrows
Collection Size: “I started collecting them in 1983 and they are stored in 10 glass contact lens vials.”
“They kept falling out on my sketchbook (I'm a sculptor), so I decided to start collecting them.” — Mary Bailey, Connecticut
Analog Computers
Collection Size: “About 150 square meters”
“Analog computers shaped our modern world and yet are nearly forgotten.” — Bernd Ulmann,Germany
Steel Dip Pens
Collection Size: “Over 800 different types. Over 25,000 individual nibs.”
“I began with wanting to learn old styles of penmanship. Then I became interested in the history of this lost industry. The more pens (nibs) I have, the better I understand what people used to know about pens.” — Andrew Midkiff, Durham, North Carolina
Vintage Postcards of Early 20th-Century Asylums
Collection Size: “Upwards of 80.”
“I like the brevity of the medium, the surprising ways in which text and image can converge, and the unexpected subject matter. So many of the images would never be replicated on modern cards.” — Devon W. Thompson, Ohio
Corn-Themed Objects
Collection Size: “50+ items, including my current license plate, my email address since 1999, and artwork.”
“My dad was a corn farmer and a top seed corn salesman the year I was born. I inherited the land, so I am now a corn farm manager.” — Margaret Berry, Lincoln, Nebraska
Vintage Paperbacks With 'Shame' in the Title
Collection Size: "40 books"
“A thrift shop book, Baptism in Shame, with a great cover and terrible story [inspired my collection].” — Seth Berg, Telluride, Colorado
Vintage Souvenir Buildings
Collection Size: "200+ pieces"
”I have always loved old architecture.” — Lily Witham, Portland, Oregon
Tobacco Tins
Collection Size: "60 items"
“They’re colorful, historic, and most of all, don’t take up too much space.” — Steve Wehr, Saugerties, New York
1930s Alka-Seltzer Advertising Fans
Collection Size: “Roughly 50+ fans.”
“As a graphic designer, I was drawn to the wonderful color cartoon illustrations of George W. French. Each fan features one of his cartoons and humorous copy that French himself wrote. French died in Chicago in 1955 at the age of 71.” — SteveWilliams
Children's Watercolor Sets
Collection Size: “Somewhere around 150 pieces, probably a bit more.”
“I have collected tins of all sorts for about 40 years. In 1973 I found my first children's watercolor set at a yard sale. About two weeks later I found another similar one in an antique store. It was then that I realized I might be on to something. Most are from the '40s, '50s, and '60s, however some earlier schoolhouse sets are much older, '20s and '30s. They can be cartoon-related, nursery rhymes, or fairy tales. Many different themes, from manufacturers such as Binny & Smith and Milton Bradley. I like them because they're colorful windows to the past. A reminder of a gentler time gone by.” — Rick Davis, Starksboro, Vermont
Recordings of 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight'
Collection Size: "342 different versions"
“It was my first favorite song. When I heard it on the radio in the early 1970s, I needed to know more about it. I had never felt that way about a song before.” — Linda Simensky, Alexandria, Virginia
Typewriter Ribbon Tins
Collection Size: “I have just about 20 tins.”
“My mom typed address labels to earn extra money when I was little. She had an old typewriter ribbon tin that she used for paper clips, Carter’s Midnight, and I was entranced by the graphics on the lid. I set out to find my own Carter’s Midnight tin and discovered a world of colorful tins with a wide range of themes. Who knew‽” — Laurie McCabe, Orange County, California
Cat Whiskers
Collection Size: “I have hundreds!”
“As a kid, when I found my first one, I wanted to glue it back on! I keep them just in case my kitties need spares!” — Terri Brink, Mayview, Missouri
Egg Scales
Collection Size: “About 30.”
“I grew up on a small, family egg ranch in the 1950s and 60s. When I was real small, I remember using a primitive egg scale, such as one of these. At that time, most eggs came from small family farms like ours. Starting in the '60s, with rising feed costs and decreasing egg prices, egg producers either went out of business, or grew into large industrial operations. The scales graded the eggs by weight into jumbo, x-large, large, medium, small, & pee wee. Grading eggs by weight came into being during World War I, when the government paid more for eggs that were graded. “ — Kathy Smith, Goodyear, Arizona
According to the legend, it all began when a patriot soldier lost his shoe while fleeing Tory troops during the American Revolutionary War. After returning to the area, in Blenheim, South Carolina, to retrieve it, Spears discovered a spring. The water had a striking mineral flavor that eventually led doctors to start prescribing it as a stomach soother in the late 19th century. There was just one problem: It didn’t taste great.
When patients started complaining, Dr. Charles R. May decided to give the beverage a boost with Jamaican ginger and sugar. In 1903, May began producing his sweet, spiced soda on a larger scale out of the Blenheim Bottling Company, a facility built right next to the spring. In the century since, the ginger ale has become a regional favorite, especially due to its unique spiciness. The sinus-clearing soda has a fiery-sweet flavor that, according to the company, “goes down as smoothly as a firecracker exploding in your throat.” It packs such heat that some fans suspect another spice, such as cayenne, might be at work. But this has never been confirmed.
A drinkable firecracker might not sound enticing, but Blenheim has developed a cult following. In addition to drinkers who enjoy its spicy sweetness unadulterated, the ginger ale is especially beloved by mixologists who swear by its ability to enhance everything from straight bourbon to a Dark ’n’ Stormy. Unfortunately, the original Blenheim Bottling facility burned down, but that was not the end of the ginger ale. Now under new ownership and produced from a facility at an amusement park in Hamer, South Carolina, it comes in three varieties: No. 3, the original recipe; No. 5, a milder version; and No. 9, a diet version.
You are lost, but not worried. Your curiosity about the secrets of this new place propels you forward, though your direction remains unknown. The whimsical sound of seabreeze clues you in to the fact that you’ve landed on an island—a seemingly deserted one with no one to guide you. Though the environment is foreign, the thrill of exploration is familiar and fun.
Twenty-five years ago, two brothers—Rand and Robyn Miller—designed a new destination in the form of their wildly successful computer game Myst. The hybrid mystery-logic game, in which you, the anonymous explorer, solve a series of puzzles to gain access to alternate dimensions and uncover the sinister storyline, debuted on the then-novel CD-ROM format. Consumers soon discovered that the flatness of the disc belied the three-dimensional topography of the world within.
In its first seven months on the global market, the game sold 200,000 copies and held its title as the top-selling game (to the tune of six million copies, and counting) until The Sims usurped it in 2002. Somehow, the brothers Miller had cracked the code behind what makes a game with little hype surrounding it a multimillion-dollar success. Part of that formula was how hard the Millers leaned in to innovation. But more centrally, what distinguished Myst was the concept that making moral choices is an advantage of adventure, and that exploration becomes more satisfying when one faces adversity followed by triumphant relief.
Myst created a new language in interactive media: one that depended less on violence and hemorrhaging “lives” and instead on our natural human interest in free choice and overcoming obstacles. Exploring Myst’s island was a first-person and non-linear experience. The narrative depended wholly on the player’s decisions for what to do next. The possibilities were seemingly endless, and were decidedly self-determined.
Though the 1980s produced text-based adventure games like The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy that used fiction as the game’s central vehicle, when Myst first hit shelves in 1993 it was still an underdog: There was no time limit, so where’s the urgency? There were no machine guns, so where’s the thrill? Scores of computer games rotate on the axis of adventure. But what Myst reinforced is that exploration—in both the virtual and the real world—has the potential to teach us a lot about ourselves.
Robyn and Rand, who at the time of Myst’s development jointly operated under their game production company Cyan Inc., say that Myst (their first adult game) began as an experiment. “I’m not sure we knew exactly what we were doing, a lot of what we were putting into the game was instinctive,” Rand says. The brothers’ instincts had been formed by previous computer games they had made for children, like Cosmic Osmo. This game features a point-and-click interface and takes place on a friendly spaceship, giving players the ability to explore different planets through various animated shortcuts, like a miniature mouse hole.
One of the distinguishing characteristics of Myst was the first-person point of view. It had worked well in the narrative of their kids games, so they maintained it for their adult one. The brothers also actively worked against the dominating computer game template at the time, which was predicated on competition and “being killed and starting over,” Rand says. “In reality you don’t die every five minutes. So we thought, why don’t we build something where it feels a little ominous, that feels interesting like it could be threatening … people might expect a jump scare, but it won’t come.”
The tension that mounts throughout the game is thanks to two feuding characters, brothers Sirrus and Achenar, and their mysterious, slowly unfolding backstory. Both have been imprisoned in books and it’s up to the player to choose which brother to free at the end. But things are not what they seem and betrayal is seemingly inevitable.
The parallels between Myst Island and reality multiply: two brothers were created by two brothers, and the quest for morality became a useful path to success both inside the computer and out. “In some ways, Myst became our adventure,” Rand says. “We were truly lucky to have had our adventurous life mimic the game and the surprises. We had friction in life and we overcame it, and now you look back 25 years later and you say: Wow. I guess we played the game well and got rewarded.”
The mysterious environment of the island makes exploring it equal parts intimidating and exciting. And its elements, both surreal and slick, bear a strong resemblance to the environment of Cyan’s homebase: the Pacific Northwest. “People who visited our offices would remark about the similarity between the pine trees in the game and the piney woods of the Northwest,” Robyn says. “I'm sure the environment subconsciously found a place in our design.”
According to the game developer, operating from an office just outside of Spokane, Washington had its pros and cons. “We were unable to communicate with a broader community of game creators, or even technology enthusiasts. I remember the shock of first moving to Spokane and feeling like I was totally disconnected,” Robyn notes. But the silver lining of creating a cerebral computer game in Washington state? Silence. “In Spokane, we were the only company making games. In a way, this might have been a positive. Instead of looking at what everyone else was doing, we were forced to look inward and think only about what we wanted in a game.” The lush isolation of this region is mirrored in the feeling of playing Myst—picturesque and private. By isolating the player’s anonymous solo character on Myst Island, the two brothers were able to challenge users’ sense of self.
“We wanted the player to make some sort of ethical choice,” Robyn says. In the narrative, the main character is often tasked with making tough choices to drive their journey forward. During the design phase, Robyn says they asked themselves: “When people make the wrong decision [in the game], would they feel the same feelings that they’d feel if they made the wrong decision in real life?” Some might argue that the stakes are dramatically lower in a computer game—that without a society around you to judge your morality, those choices ultimately don’t matter. But Myst aimed for a greater moral resonance. “We just had this aspiration that a player will have legitimate emotion and that they’d examine themselves because of it,” Robyn says. “[We hoped they’d] ask: Wait, why am I feeling this if it’s just a game?”
According to Rand, the answer is adversity. “The issue was just the friction,” he says. The friction he’s referring to is a synonym for the logic-driven puzzles included in the game, which serve to frustrate the player into a slower pace of play. “You get a little bit of tension and then you get the resolution, and it’s this great feeling. You’re a part of that resolution, you’re the one actually overcoming that frustration … it has a real profound, satisfying effect for somebody playing the game.”
Though the environment of Myst is dreamlike, the real-world relevance was no doubt instrumental in its success. Much like the joy we get as travelers to new places, which are steeped in unfamiliar symbols we must navigate based on some latent internal compass, Myst activated an adventure-based adrenaline. “The way Robyn and I looked at it was: The fiction and the fantasy worlds we enjoyed, whether that’s science fiction or Lord of the Rings, it felt like they had this really interesting balance between reality and dreamlike,” Rand says. “In other words, if you push too hard on the reality, it becomes a little mundane, or too normal … and if you push too hard in the dreamlike, it doesn’t feel relatable enough. Striking a balance between the two made it viable, like this could be a real thing.”
The books the brothers read when they were younger influenced their understanding of exploration and the atmosphere of their computer-generated island. “I was reading Mysterious Island [by Jules Verne] when we started designing Myst,” Robyn says. “It's about a group of people shipwrecked on a desert island. As they try to survive, they begin to encounter mysterious evidence of a dark presence.” Additionally, Robyn says that when he and Rand were thinking about portals and how to create ways for players to travel to different worlds (which are called “ages” in Myst), they were “really inspired by the sensibility in books like the Chronicles of Narnia” and tried to approximate its thick, heavy mood.
In 1993, when the game debuted, desktops operated as islands: totally isolated from the outside world, a digitized room of one’s own. Myst became an analog for the entire computer gaming experience. It provided players a chance to create their own identity and path, much like the internet and its social media offshoots allow us to do today.
What is it about a self-determined experience that keeps the spirit of exploration alive? “We’re humans, we like to choose. It feels like that’s our superpower,” Rand says. “Animals don’t have that, they don’t get to choose, they kind of just run by the instincts. We get to override our instincts … that’s really powerful.” Other forms of entertainment, like movies, allow us to watch adventure performed by protagonists, but we don’t get the chance to truly experience it. “In computer games and active media, we have to make those choices, and that’s like life.”
The spirit of exploration, particularly one that leads you into the curious unknown, is the middle space in the Myst / Atlas Obscura Venn diagram. Of this, Rand says: “[Atlas Obscura] opens up the fiction of real life, and we kind of make the fiction feel like real life. It’s the same goal for both—it’s to pique someone’s sense of wonder and to play off their desire to see what’s around the next corner and intrigue them to go forward and to explore a little more.”
Much like discovering a new place somewhere in the world, the only prerequisite for playing Myst is a curious mind. And Rand and Robyn cultivated a fanbase of explorers by designing a world that was believable, albeit unreal. “I think the power of this game was not with the characters,” Robyn says. “It took me so many years to realize that the power of all games are not with the characters but instead the actual environment.”
Twenty-five years after its release, Myst’s appeal endures. In May, fans aching for Cyan’s updated version of the game crowdfunded $247,500 in eight hours.
Those who love Myst have often complimented the brothers on the game’s ability to make them forget that they were in the real world. Both the graphics and the novel-like narrative were so convincing, that devotees began to feel truly transported—as if they were experiencing a new place based on coordinates they’d discovered.
“That felt like we had accomplished what we were going for,” Rand says. “Making people feel like this was an alternative world that they could explore.”
The year was 1781 and a Patriot soldier by the name of James Spears was fleeing from Tory troops during the American Revolutionary War. According to legend, Spears lost his shoe while trying to escape and went back later to find it in a hole filled with water in Blenheim, South Carolina. He sampled the water and was surprised by the heavy mineral flavor. The springs soon became an attraction, drawing visitors who wanted to try it for themselves.
In the 1890s, Dr. Charles R. May was advising his patients to drink the water from the springs to remedy stomach ailments. After several patients complained about its heavy, iron-like taste, May added Jamaican ginger and sugar to make it more palpable. In 1903, May and a partner began bottling the sweetened, spiced mineral water. Built next to the spring, the Blenheim Bottling Company quickly gained fans with its ginger ale, which offered a unique spicy kick.
After the company changed ownership and the bottling facility burned down in 2008, production of Blenheim ginger ale has moved to an amusement park in Hamer, South Carolina.
The inspiration for the UFO-shaped Institute of Information, built in Kyiv in 1971, came from the Space Race between the United States and the Soviet Union. But the shape was not only inspired by alien spaceships—it was also designed to be a unique venue for concerts and events.
Florian Yuryev, an artist, architect, inventor, composer, musician, scientist, violinist, poet, and public figure active in Kyiv at the time, wanted to demonstrate the “synthesis of the arts” by combining color, light, and music. He even developed a theory around “color music” and how colors were perceived and could be combined in harmonies. Unfortunately, his work was never officially recognized by the Soviet authorities and the alienesque building was soon used as an ordinary movie theater at the institute.
Today, the intriguing building is threatened by modern shopping malls being built in the area. It has still not gained any official status as a protected architectural monument, and the city of Kyiv claims it doesn’t have any money to repair or maintain it. For a building built during the Soviet era, this poses challenges, as the technology and materials used were of poor quality and the budgets were always small, meaning the structure is in definite need of modern maintenance.
For the time being, the UFO-shaped Institute of Information is still there, squeezed between modern shopping malls. Fortunately, events like the 2017 Kyiv Biennial, which used the structure as a venue, show that there might be a future for the building after all.
Established in 1964, the Nairobi Animal Orphanage houses and treats over 20 animal and bird species in need of rehabilitation after injury or abandonment.
Lions, cheetahs, jackals, hyenas, ostriches, parrots, and more inhabit the orphanage, which welcomes over 200,000 visitors each year.
The Nairobi Animal Orphanage is both a conservation facility for animals in need and an educational resource for the public—mainly school children who wouldn’t otherwise have an opportunity to see these animals in the wild.
While the conditions of the orphanage are from the majesty of seeing these creatures healthy in their natural habitats, each of the orphaned animals has been taken in to receive medical treatment before being placed in an individualized rehabilitation program for a second chance at life. The aim of the orphanage is to strengthen the animals so they may eventually be released back into the wild.
The Nairobi Animal Orphanage is located just inside Nairobi National Park just 20 minutes from the center of Nairobi—billed as the only city which doubles as a safari capital for unbridled wildlife sightings. Day tours of the orphanage are available for booking.
Monte Albán was founded around 500 B.C. and at its peak, it had about 35,000 inhabitants.Today, the archaeological site preserves a sacerdotal temple, a ballgame court, observatory, palace, several truncated pyramids, 170 elaborate tombs, and something more peculiar: hundreds of petroglyphs that are hidden among the stones.
The most notorious of these petroglyphs are found in the Plaza de los Danzantes. These are a set of stelae depicting naked and fat men partaking in what archaeologists think is some ritual dance, hence the name of the square (Plaza of the Dancers). The most recent interpretation of the images is that each figure represents an enemy ruler that was captured and sacrificed, and hence some appear with ritual castration.
In other places, it's possible to see hieroglyphs that correspond to the calendar. One stele is even aligned with the polar star facing north. And on the sides of one of the pyramids (Building J), there's a series of images that show the cities conquered by the army of Monte Albán.
One of the earliest and most important Mesoamerican cities, Monte Albán was a cultural center of the Olmec, Zapotec, and Mixtec people over the course of some 1,500 years. Around the 8th century, the farmland dried up and the rains were so scarce that the city began to suffer the consequences.Before abandoning the city, the people entrusted their dead to the bat god and the ruling priests never returned. Since then, Monte Albán has been considered a sacred, mystic place.
The abandoned city was unearthed between 1931 and 1939 by archaeologists Alfonso Caso, Ignacio Bernal, and Jorge Acosta. The site has been open to the public since then.
Tuslob buwa is a popular Filipino street food found in the Pasil neighborhood of Cebu City. Its chief ingredients are pork liver and brain, which get sautéed with garlic, onions, shrimp paste, and chilis. Cooks fry everything up with oil or lard, which gives the dish a greasier consistency, and sometimes soy sauce for extra flavor. The mixture starts out as a watery stock, but changes into a thick, bubbly stew the longer it stays over the fire.
The name roughly translates to “dip in bubbles,” a reference to its consistency and a hint on how to enjoy it. Diners dip pusô, or hanging rice (cooked rice wrapped around coconut or pandan leaves), into the thick and bubbly froth and pop the salty, greasy pieces into their mouths. Sodas, such as Coke, Sprite, and Mountain Dew, are common refreshing chasers.
Tuslob buwa is cheap: You will pay only for the hanging rice, which is around 5.00 Philippine pesos per piece. Served from a street cart in a large, bubbling wok, it is meant to be shared among friends and strangers. If you'd rather have a serving all to yourself, you'll have to go to a restaurant.
All that remains of Fort Kyk-Over-Al is a small brick archway and some scattered foundations. But in its heyday, this small Dutch fort was an important center of colonial operations in the region, and a target for rival British forces.
In 1616, Dutch colonists came to what is now Guyana to create a colonial stronghold in the region. They traveled from the coast up the Essequibo River and created a strategically-located trading post on a 1.5-acre island near the confluence of the Essequibo, Mazaruni and Cuyuni Rivers.
Here, under the command of the Dutch captain Adrian Groenewegen (who had been sent by the Anglo-Dutch firm of Courteen and Company to establish a settlement in Essequibo) they built a small star-shaped fort. Armed with just a few guns, it was possibly one of the smallest forts ever built by the Dutch overseas.
The new fort was initially named Fort ter Hoogen, after an influential Dutch businessman. But it was soon renamed in a more descriptive manner: Kyk-Over-Al, meaning "see over all," in reference to the fort’s commanding views of the rivers.
Groenewegen was particularly interested in exploration and trade, and was soon trading successfully with the indigenous population, with Kyk-Over-Al at the heart of these operations. In turn, however, Kyk-Over-Al became a tempting target for British colonial interests in the region.
In 1665, Major John Scott was sent by the Governor of Barbados, Lord Willoughby, to invade the settlements in the Pomeroon and Essequibo. After seizing the settlement of Nova Zeelandia with his Carib allies, Scott pushed further up the Essequibo River and occupied Kyk-Over-Al with just 20 men.
Scott was overstretched, however, and couldn’t hold the fort for long. The Dutch Commander of the colonial settlement of Berbice, Matthys Bergenaar, marched overland with a group of soldiers and retook Kyk-Over-Al. At the same time, a French force, allied with the Dutch, besieged the 50 English troops left at Nova Zeelandia and starved them into surrender, and they were soon after massacred by the Arawaks, who were allied with the French.
Kyk-Over-Al was redeveloped after the British attacks and, by 1676, trade and local sugarcane plantations were once again thriving. But while the British had backed away, French privateers were becoming increasingly active along the Essequibo River in the early 18th century. They launched attacks on settlements and forts along the river in 1708 to 1712, but were either driven away or paid a ransom to leave.
Despite standing strong for one hundred years, Fort Kyk-Over-Al was eventually abandoned. The small island had become overcrowded by 1716, and the decision was made to build a new fort on Fort Island, much closer to the mouth of the Essequibo River and the Atlantic Ocean.
Kyk-Over-Al soon outlived its usefulness. It was completely abandoned in 1748 and nearly all of the buildings on the island were demolished. Some of the materials were used to build a sugar mill at Plantation Duyenenburg on the Essequibo River.
Today, a single brick arch is all that remains of Fort Kyk-Over-Al. It was nonetheless declared a national monument in 1999 and is now managed by the National Trust of Guyana.
In Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew, the protagonist, Petruchio, attempts to tame the hot-headed “shrew” by unceremoniously disposing of her dinner. Plates clatter to the ground as he snatches a leg of roast mutton from her hand. “It engenders choler, planteth anger,” he cries, as he suggests “better ’twere both of us did fast.”
How could a leg of roast mutton fuel anger? For Elizabethans, food and drink was more than mere sustenance. Eating the right foods in the proper quantities, 16th-century Britons believed, balanced mind and soul. So in Shakespeare’s plays, roasts, ales, and pies are not props, but clues to characters’ souls, moods, and motivations.
The key to decoding these clues lies in understanding the medicine and science of the (pre-Scientific Revolution) era. Shakespeare’s peers still hewed to the 2nd-century theories of the Greek physician, Galen, who believed the balance of four humors (categories of fluid) corresponded to different temperaments. A surplus of blood meant a person was sanguine, too much black bile made someone melancholy, yellow bile meant you were choleric, and an oversupply of phlegm caused one to be, naturally, phlegmatic. Foods could sway this balance—roast mutton, for example, was considered hot and dry, spurring choleric (irritable) temperament. Which is why Petruchio deprived hot-tempered Katherine of her mutton.
Shakespeare’s characters often personified a specific temperament. Hamlet and Ophelia, who exude melancholy, should avoid tart or sour foods such as lemon and vinegar in favor of sanguine (moist and warm) foods such as basil, butter, and, apparently, peacock. Yet, in his grief over Ophelia’s death, Hamlet claims he will drink vinegar, though it will exacerbate his melancholy, to prove his love for her.
But in Shakespeare’s world, as in Elizabethan society, one culinary imbalance reigned above all others: gluttony. Beginning in the fourth century, gluttony topped the list of cardinal sins (the seven deadly sins). Early definitions even offered five different ways to commit the premier sin, including eating too soon, too much, too eagerly, too lavishly, or too daintily. As the “forechamber of lust,” gluttony could also lead one to committing the six other deadly sins: pride, lust, wrath, envy, greed, or sloth.
Many Shakespeare characters were gluttonous, but few equalled the corpulent Sir John Oldcastle, known as Falstaff. A lover of anchovies, capons, and sak (a sherry-like sweetened wine), all foods to be avoided for his phlegmatic temperament, Falstaff epitomized both the humoral imbalance and sin of gluttony. According to Shakespearean scholar Dr. Joan Fitzpatrick, as a large man during a period of food scarcity, Falstaff’s indulgence in food, drink, and carousing signified selfishness that corresponded to his cowardly and irresponsible behavior. In fact, Shakespeare provides a lesson about moderation when the soon-to-be King Henry V must reject Falstaff to become a virtuous ruler.
However, Shakespearean society is equally suspicious of another form of gluttony: fasting. People who do not enjoy the pleasures of food and drink, especially those who refuse hospitality, were seen as flaunting the masochistic pleasure to be had in depriving the body. In The Merry Wives of Windsor, Slender, a thin man characterized by his refusal to accept food or drink, is portrayed as dim-witted. In 15th- and 16th-century England, providing food, shelter, and entertainment to guests was a way to maintain neighborly relationships and make connections across social orders. Hospitality demonstrated generosity and virtue, so while feasting could be sinful, it had a positive side, too.
From Hamlet’s leftover “funeral baked meats” to Twelfth Night’s “cakes and ale,” Shakespeare mentions food in every one of his plays. Like the real-life experiences of his contemporary audience, these are not just dinner parties or polite conversation, but moments that reveal virtue and sin.
Upon its inauguration in October 2018, the Statue of Unity officially became the tallest statue in the world. Reaching a height of 597 feet (182 m), the colossal statue of the Indian statesman and independence activist Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel is twice the height of the Statue of Liberty.
In 2010, Prime Minister Narendra Modi announced plans to build a statue in honor of Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel (1875 –1950), one of the founding fathers of the Republic of India. And while the announcement of a new statue typically evokes a few nods and disinterested shrugs, this announcement immediately fired the imaginations of people around the world.
The Statue of Unity was to be the tallest statue in the world, twice as tall as the Statue of Liberty and surpassing the previous record holder, the Spring Temple Buddha in China, by 177 feet (54 m).
Construction began in October 2014 at a site on the banks of the Narmada River in Gujarat. In charge of the project was Larsen & Toubro, one of India’s leading construction companies. The cost: a cool US$420 million.
Workers labored for about four years to build this gargantuan statue. The materials used included about 1,800 tons of bronze, 20,000 tons of reinforced steel and more than 7,000 tons of structured steel, with around 235,000 cubic yards of concrete filling the statue’s interior. And to prevent a very embarrassing and costly disaster, the statue was built to withstand winds of up to 140 miles per hour and earthquakes measuring 6.5 on the Richter scale.
The statue was inaugurated by Prime Minister Modi on 31 October, 2018 (and a month later was photographed from space). For many it was a source of national pride and a clear demonstration of Indian construction skills. But it wasn’t without its detractors. The sheer cost of the thing was and is an obvious bone of contention, with some arguing that Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel himself would never have approved of such a costly project.
Had the statue not attracted sufficient tourism to the area, it may have been even more controversial. But despite being able to see the statue quite clearly from miles away, tourists have flocked to see it up close. In the first few days of December 2018, the site was attracting around 30,000 visitors every day.
With exhibitions devoted to play, the history of toys, and nostalgia, the Museum of Childhood charts the generations of Edinburgh youth through the decades, as well as British youth culture going back to the 19th century.
The museum is composed of interactive play spaces and zones dedicated to specific elements of play—from a digital photo area to school memories.
Highlights of the collection include an improvised “shoe doll” from the turn of the 20th century; a small teddy bear from Vienna that made its way on the last Kindertransport train with a Jewish child rescued from Nazi Germany in 1939; a dollhouse built in 1894 that was expanded upon until it had 19 rooms, electricity, and running water; and the oldest object in the museum’s collection, a rare wooden Queen Anne doll from 1470.
The museum now boasts newly refurbished galleries following a five-month ground floor restoration. This includes a new exhibit displaying 60 rare objects, such as a Buzz Lightyear action figure circa 2000 and a Fisher-Price Chatter Telephone from 1979.
A metal menagerie of livestock stands within this picturesque city street. Though the statues look cute, they’re actually a somber reminder of the many animals who perished in this area throughout the centuries.
Beginning in the 1240s, the historic Stare Jatki, which translates to “Old Shambles,” provided Wrocław’s population with meat from several kinds of mammals and birds. Protected by powerful guilds, the butcher’s trade flourished for many generations in this part of the city’s Old Town.
But the industry was eventually forced to move to a less central spot. Even though bread, meat, and buckwheat remained the basis of the locals’ diets, by the mid-18th century, the municipality drove this business out of the city’s heart and replaced the butcher shops with less bloody industries to provide the image of a clean, civilized city. After the buildings of Stare Jatki were partially destroyed during World War II, they were restored and now host art and design shops.
This monument that remembers the animals slaughtered during the neighborhood’s time as a hub for butchers was erected in 1997. It originally consisted of several life-sized bronze statues: a goose (with an egg), two pigs, a rabbit, a rooster, and a goat. Each creature was created by a different artist. By 2017, the assemblage was joined by a calf (a cow was considered to be too big for the site).
It took an enterprising young man in Vicksburg, Mississippi, to bring this iconic beverage to the masses.
Born in 1866 to German immigrant parents in Monroe, Mississippi, Joseph Biedenharn was the eldest of 12 siblings.Young Jospeh followed in the footsteps of his father, Herman, by taking over the family’s confectionary/soda fountain business in Vicksburg when he was just a teenager.
Of course, king of the taps was Coca-Cola, which at that time could only be purchased if you were sitting in a venue that had a soda fountain. Biedenharn thought this was a shame, and was certain that plenty of folks further afield in rural Vicksburg would surely appreciate the effervescent elixir...if only he could get it to them!
Biedenharn had a flash of brilliance, and he took that Coca-Cola and put it in bottles.He immediately sent his first two cases off to Asa G. Candler, then president of Coca-Cola, who proclaimed the bottled version of his beverage was just “fine.”
Tepid response aside, the idea caught on like wildfire.Bottling franchises were soon handed out across the country by Coca-Cola, with the Mississippi territory being given to the Biedenharns, naturally. Joseph went from delivering bottles locally in a horse-drawn dray to having not only the Mississippi franchise but multiple additional territories in Louisiana and Texas.Joseph Biedenharn not only revolutionized the soda pop industry but helped launch Coca-Cola into the worldwide mega-brand it still remains today.
The fascinating story of his entrepreneurship is chronicled in the Biedenhard Coca-Cola Museum, which is housed in the now-restored original Biedenharn Candy Company in Vicksburg.The museum features a wealth of fascinating Coca-Cola advertising, historic memorabilia, and equipment of the type Biedenharn used for bottling the bubbly beverage.
Prumsodun Ok is a Khmer classical dancer, choreographer, and the founding artistic director behind Prumsodun Ok and Natyarasa, Cambodia's first LGBTQ dance company. The company began in Ok's living room in 2015, with the goal of not only preserving a 1,000-year-old art form, but also creating innovative works that reflect the LGBTQ experience in Cambodia.
Khmer classical dance has roots in animism, Hinduism, and Buddhism. Ok describes it as entertainment, worship, and education all at once. In the 1970s, when the genocidal Khmer Rouge regime was targeting elites around the country, an estimated 90 percent of Khmer classical dancers were among those who were killed. As Ok puts it, “It was a real tragic loss because Khmer classical dance is not passed on in a book.”
In the video above, Ok says that reviving and preserving Khmer classical dance is both a protest against a history of violence and a gesture of resilience. He hopes Khmer classical dance will be preserved and used to create new works of art that would make his dancers' ancestors say, “Wow, I never would’ve imagined that.”
It’s a hot, steamy night in Panama’s Soberanía National Park, and a male túngara frog is looking for a date. Under cover of darkness, he throws out his best croaks, hoping one will land like Cupid’s arrow in the ear of a potential mate. Just a few miles away, in the town of Gamboa, his (relatively) urban counterparts could be having better luck.
A new study, conducted by an international team of researchers and published today in Nature Ecology & Evolution, finds that urban túngara frogs issue more complex mating calls than do their cousins in the forest, and that those calls are markedly more attractive. Indeed, a full three-quarters of female túngara frogs observed in the study preferred the urban calls, which comprise not only “whines” but also sultry “chucks”—staccato, baritone growls that, like exclamation marks, add emphasis (and maybe feeling?). Michael J. Ryan, an integrative biologist at the University of Texas at Austin and an author on the study, said that each “chuck” makes a male túngara frog five times more attractive to mates.
The researchers were already aware that, even within the same species, different animals may make different mating calls based on their location. They wanted to assess whether these differences are adaptive responses, so they orchestrated a four-part experiment. They began by recording male túngara frogs in eleven urban and forest sites, and documenting the surrounding levels of noise and light. Next, they broadcast the calls in both urban and forest environments, where they also tallied the populations of female frogs, predators such as bats, and midges (which bite frogs) in both areas. They then studied female frogs’ reactions to a variety of calls inside an acoustic chamber. Finally, they got particularly ambitious, and transferred urban frogs to forests, and vice versa, to see how they adapted their "dating profiles."
The findings showed the female preference for huskier urban mating calls (observed in 30 of 40 female túngaras). The team also found that, after the transfer, urban frogs were able to tone down their croaking and mimic the forest frogs, while the relocated forest frogs were unable to work up the cosmopolitan chucks. Like a short, assertive "Yo!" explains Ryan, a chuck is simply more effective at grabbing attention—from mates and threats alike. This suggests that city frogs have been selected to chuck because they have fewer close-listening predators to contend with. It all makes for a complicated version of fatal attraction.
There’s a lot to look at in Abraham Ortelius’s map of Iceland. The Antwerp-born mapmaker, who compiled the Theatrum Orbis Terrarum, regarded as the earliest modern atlas, was also among the first to annotate the country in considerable detail. Building upon the work of Andreas Velleius and Gudbrandur Thorláksson (Guðbrandur Þorláksson), an Icelandic mathematician and bishop, the geography of Islandia is vivid. Look for the vast network of settlements, fjords, and mountains. Wander toward the center of the engraving, then south, and you’ll find Hekla, the volcano; mid-eruption, it spews forth an angry torrent of red and orange.
Iceland being an island, much of the chart is made up of water. That’s where you’ll find pearlescent shards of ice on the top right, bobbing beneath packs of loafing and wrestling bears. Here also be fractured tree trunks and branches, bandied about by the waves, and blobs of spermaceti floating like oily icebergs.
And, of course, much of the water is home to a marvelously oddball menagerie. Many of these creatures are native to other maps. Ortelius explicitly invokes Olaus Magnus, who had, just a few decades earlier, drawn one of the earliest detailed maps of the Nordic world, with waters full of toothed, sharp-tailed creatures. (Another common go-to guide for sea-dwelling scaries was a chart by Sebastian Münster, whose bestiary evolved from Magnus’s.) The striped fish with a bulbous, fringed head, busily devouring a seal (labeled "E" on Ortelius's map), looks much like Ziphius, a creature on Magnus’s map, which was called the Carta Marina. Ortelius notes that he looked to Magnus for inspiration for the hyena (or sea-hog), too, borrowing its porcine snout and furry fin. A massive crustacean, with a flailing human in its clutches, apparently didn’t make the cut.
These sea beasts weren't only there to horrify or delight. "A lot of them were taken from what the cartographers viewed as scientific, authoritative books," Chet Van Duzer, author of Sea Monsters on Medieval and Renaissance Maps, told Lapham's Quarterly. “Most of the sea monsters reflect an effort on the part of the cartographer to be accurate in the depiction of what lived in the sea.”
Islandiaappeared in Ortelius’s atlas between 1590 and 1612. As the 17th century wore on and cartographers continued to chart the world, mythical map beasts eventually went extinct—and the waters grew much less whimsical.
A 1603 edition of Islandia is up for sale this week at Swann Auction Galleries, where dealers expect it to fetch between $3,500 and $5,500. Meet some of the creatures you’d adopt if you brought it home:
The Fatal Fish With Powers Like a Unicorn
The Nahval is no looker. (Look for it labeled "A" on the map up top.) Water pours out of two spots in the fish’s head, above a hard-set scowl. The creature isn’t easy on the eyes, and it’s not kind to the stomach, either. “If anyone eats of this fish, he will die immediately,” cautions the key (translated from Latin into English). Eating the fish’s body may be ill-advised, but nibbling on the massive tooth jutting out above its mouth? That might be a different story. The particularly pointy appendage was thought to be a “a good antidote and a powerful medicine against poison,” often sold as a unicorn’s horn, the key adds.
The Whale That’s a Lot Friendlier Than It Looks
Steipereidur has long fangs that overlap its lips, and a mouth that draws to a sharp beak. It’s a foreboding face, but might belie a cuddly personality. This giant is “a most gentle and tame kind of whale,” the key assures, one that fishermen will defend against wilier, more aggressive species.
The Fish That Looks Like a Furious Leaf
Skautuhvalur is “somewhat like a shark,” but “infinitely bigger,” and “fully covered with bristles or bones.” It has the visage of a squirrel with the body of a coiled fern frond. When it emerges, it’s the size of “an island,” and has no trouble overturning ships.
The Fish That Lurks With Its Head Above Water
The Staukul is in no hurry. Hungry for a hint of human flesh, it “has been observed to stand for a whole day long upright on its tail,” waiting for seamen to sail past.
The Creature With a Horse’s Mane and Dragon’s Tail
Hroshualur is a “seahorse,” but bears no resemblance to the translucent creatures floating in aquariums. The equine neck and tousled hair evoke something that gallops across land, while the scaly tail and webbed feet recalls something from the deepest recess of sea-sprayed caves.
Electrical inventor Nikola Tesla lived and experimented in Manhattan's Gerlach Hotel in 1896. The landmark is now known as the Radio Wave Building, and it pays homage to Tesla's influence through obvious means, such as its name and a commemorative plaque. It also houses a more latent tribute: the 34-seat, Tesla-themed speakeasy called Patent Pending.
According to Patent Pending's website, "This is the building in which Nikola Tesla lived and performed his experiments on radio waves, transmitting them to his laboratory near present day Trinity Church in downtown Manhattan. The ‘waves’ which guided you here (GPS) and surround you now (WiFi) were envisioned by Tesla more than a century ago." During the day, the building's storefront cafe, Patent Coffee, serves pastries and espresso in plain sight. But at 5:00 p.m., the coffee shop becomes a front for a bar tucked behind the menu board wall.
The walls, lighting, and menu design all reference Tesla, but Patent Pending's craft concoctions, several of which include obscure ingredients, stand on their own. Spirit-forward cocktail fans should try the "Hit By a Taxi," in which Japanese whiskey mingles with pu'er tea from China's Yunnan Province. For the tiki-inclined, there's the "Currents and Coils," featuring a blend of two rums, tropical fruits, Patent Coffee brew, and malted milk over crushed ice.
Ring the doorbell. There might be a wait, but there are no pretenses. Anyone is welcome in, should they be confident enough to approach a dark coffee shop with no evidence of nightlife inside. Once situated, you'll be guided by a Tesla-themed menu divided into the categories: energy, frequency, vibration, and descent.
Those of us who have seen the Great British Bake Off know that competitive baking is no joke. But in Northern England, it’s a matter of the soul. Last month, a challenge from Durham University spurred bakers to whip up a soul cake, a bygone bun once integral to a medieval tradition of feeding the poor and honoring the dead. But, in the spirit of competitive baking reality shows, there was a catch: Nobody really knows how, traditionally, it was supposed to be baked.
We know generally what soul cakes looked like, and what was inside of them. We know that bakers crafted them into small, round, square, or oval buns—garnishing the top with currants in the shape of a cross. And we know its purpose: Giving a soul cake to someone in poverty allegedly freed a departed soul from Purgatory. But we’re still in the dark about its intended taste and texture, and exactly how to go about concocting a soul cake in true medieval fashion.
“We have a recipe from a household book from 1604 compiled by a certain Lady Elinor Fettiplace that includes a recipe for a soul cake,” says Dr. Barbara Ravelhofer, a professor of English literature at Durham University and facilitator of the soul cake challenge. “However, it doesn’t give us the quantities—nor does it tell us how long to bake it. So you have to work out for yourself what to do with the ingredients.” Spearheaded by Dr. Ravelhofer and the Records of Early English Drama North East team, the Great Northern Soul Cake Bake doubles as a competition and crowdsourcing project. By challenging the public to decode the bare-bones recipe, the research team hopes to understand and resurrect the original soul cake—as well as the tradition that surrounds it.
Soul cakes are connected to Britain's early Christian celebrations known as All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day, Halloween-like festivities commemorating the recently departed. On November 2nd, beggars would weave their way through the chilly darkness, rapping on wealthy homeowners' doors in exchange for a soul cake. But obtaining it was no cake walk. To successfully soul, one had to sing for sweets.
Whether it be musical or theatrical, souling required performance in exchange for a cake—a tradition that looks a lot like modern-day trick-or-treating. And, though it’s impossible to definitively claim souling as the progenitor of tricking and treating, Dr. Ravelhofer says they’re certainly connected. However, she points out, there are key differences. “A soul-caker was somebody who did something to obtain something,” she says. “Whereas trick-or-treating strikes me as, 'Give me something or else I’ll do something.'”
Demanding candy door-to-door, she posits, is a “slightly degenerated, commercialized form” of the All Souls’ Day transactions of medieval Europe. Souling, Dr. Ravelhofer adds, also had a strong connection to charity and memoriam. The act of doling out freshly baked goods, while thinking of a “poor, departed soul,” filled two needs with one deed, giving to the hungry and freeing a soul in question from Purgatory in one fell swoop.
While vestigial remnants of this practice can still be found in some parts of England, the tradition of souling, and the cakes that came with it, have since disappeared—until now.
To more fully understand the history and tradition of All Souls Day, Dr. Ravelhofer and her team devised the bake off. The technical challenge (the first of a series of three) called for readers to recreate a successful iteration of the festive bun using only Elinor Fettiplace’s 17th-century recipe, which reads:
“Take flower & sugar & nutmeg & cloves & mace & sweet butter & sack & a little ale barm, beat your spice & put in your butter & your sack, cold, then work it well all together & make it in little cakes & so bake them, if you will you may put in some saffron into them or fruit.”
Folks from across the globe responded, submitting recipes, photographs, and anecdotes via email, Facebook, and Twitter, with results ranging from wild successes to valiant flops.
“We had proper food archaeologists who really got into the spirit of things, and then we had candidates who tried to microwave it,” says Dr. Ravelhofer.
David Petts, Senior Lecturer in Archaeology at Durham University, posted about his soul cakes on his personal blog, likening them to “slightly dense hot-cross buns.” Another participant found that using a ruby or dark ale gave the cakes a soft, chewy texture. Yet another made a successful stoneground cake by adding rye, theorizing that medieval bakers may have used additional grains.
But cataloguing the failed cakes, Dr. Ravelhofer says, has been just as informative as admiring the more edible ones. Understanding what doesn’t work, and why, allows historians to do detective work when it comes to understanding what the recipe may or may not have looked like.
Dr. Kristi DiClemente, a professor of history at the Mississippi University for Women, created this kind of informative flop, which she's dubbed "condemned soul cakes."
“It was a disaster, a complete disaster,” she says of her not entirely edible creation. Dr. DiClemente, who hadn’t heard of the medieval cake before, spotted the challenge on Twitter and took it on for a fun weekend baking exercise.
“I was thinking that this was going to be like a bread, and so it would rise,” she says. She substituted a natural yeast starter for the ale barm, which she assumed to be a rising agent, and kneaded the dough. But to her surprise, what she pulled out of the oven was a far cry from the fluffy, roll-like treat she had anticipated.
“They looked like little, neat buns, and they were absolutely inedible and disgusting.” The condemned soul cakes were easy on the eyes, but apparently, quite tough on the teeth. Her theory: They’re not meant to be bread-like, but rather more the consistency of a scone or biscuit.
Dr. DiClemente hopes to try again next year. But in the meantime, she plans to bring her experience into the classroom. “When I teach my food class again, we can look at a recipe like this and say, 'What do you think this looks like, and what does this tell us about the society that made this?'”
According to Dr. Ravelhofer, studying soul cakes—as well as the performances put on to receive them—tells us a lot about community. The plays performed to receive soul cakes, she says, were often comedies that addressed death, mortality, and other serious issues. “These plays and soul-caking are communal practices that serve community-building, but they also harness the psyche individually and collectively to come to terms with coldness, darkness, and having to die,” she says. Soul cakes, carefully spiced, sweetened, baked, and garnished, were the currency connecting the living world to the dead.
And, Dr. Ravelhofer adds, it’s also about having a good time—something that still rings true of the Halloween season. “It’s dark, it’s cold, and people want to have a little bit of fun as well!”
The other challenges involved collecting soul cake memories, and creating a new and improved soul cake recipe with added regional flair. The "most interesting" submissions will be catalogued in a booklet and distributed around Durham, and the winner will receive a dinner for two at a local restaurant. And if you know a soul in need of saving—or are just hungry for historical fare—you, too, can try your hand at baking a soul cake.
