KNOW YOUR HISTORY: Chechnya and al-Qaeda

This is going to blow up real quick-- so please make yourself acquainted with some history.

As you may have heard, we know more about those responsible for the acts of terrorism at the Boston Marathon.
They are two brothers that lived in or near Chechnya.  It is believed these brothers are ethnic Chechens.
It is also believed that they carried out this act of terror on behalf of al-Qaeda (they have yet to determine if they acted independently as al-Qaeda activists, or if a larger al-Qaeda directive is involved).
It doesn't appear they have links to any Chechen terrorist groups.

Chechens are an ethnic minority governed by Moscow.
When the Cold War ended, there was a massive movement for Chechen independence that did not go well. They had 2 wars and revolution is ongoing.
The history of the Chechens is similarly dark; for hundreds of years, they were a mountain-dwelling people that were mainly Muslim. Peter the Great ordered constant raids in Chechnya and they never really stopped.

In the 1800s, a Russian General that perceived the Chechens as "savages" made it his goal in life to destroy them and burned their crops and villages, and killed all Chechens he could.
In return, the Chechens fought back guerrilla-style.  Doesn't this remind you of Native Americans and English settlers?
It only took about 20 years for the Chechen population to be cut in half, and they had to admit defeat.  And so, Chechnya was formally absorbed into the Russian Empire.
Lenin cut them some slack though, and basically told them to live their own life.  In 1922 Chechnya
became an autonomous republic of the Soviet Union.
But then... WWII, that crazy ass Stalin believed the Chechens were helping the Nazis, and deported to Siberia or Central Asia (estimates put the death rate for this relocation at approx. 30%).
Stalin died and Khrushchev finally allowed the Chechens to come back to their homeland 13 years later.
Too bad their property had been seized by others and they had nothing to return to.

In the early 1990s, national rights movements caught fire and Chechen General Dudayev became President of Chechnya and declared the country's independence from Russia.
As you can imagine, it did not go well.
Russia dropped bombs on Chechnya and sent in troops.  There was outright fighting, with Chechens huddled in high rise buildings with guns, trying to take out Russian soldiers in the streets.
This would have been highly influential on the Chechen brothers responsible for the Boston bombing, who are believed to have been among the 300,000 residents that fled as refugees during this war.



As far as al-Qaeda---the ongoing guerrilla warfare in Chechnya attracted quite a few Islamist combatants, some of whom had links to the al-Qaeda terrorist group.  These terrorists used Chechnya as a recruiting ground for their jihadist ideology.
What we are now trying to learn is if these brothers were radicalized through their experiences in Chechnya, or if they self-radicalized while living in the United States (via access to radical Islamist resources and propaganda).

It is important to note that the bombs they made using pressure cookers are a common practice of al-Qaeda (they put out an article on "Make this bomb in the kitchen of your Mom" a couple of years ago).

So it appears that we have Chechnya nradicals belonging to (or at least following the tenets of) al-Qaeda, that have resided in the United States (giving this incident a tinge of domestic terrorism). Some people just want to watch the world burn, regardless of who they are or where they come from.

What a mess.
What a tragic mess.
I shudder to think what implications this will hold internationally, especially for those that are not well-versed in their history.
Some of the older generation may point fingers at the "commies", while those who think all Muslims are terrorists will use this as support for their movement to deport/imprison Arabs.

Lets try not to get too ugly over this America, we've had enough pain this week.

The basics:
http://www.buzzfeed.com/danoshinsky/things-you-need-to-know-about-chechnya
http://www.unc.edu/~tgillan/Chechnya.html

Documentaries/video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bxaB85-qAnY&playnext=1&list=PLCDDBDB6123D11300&feature=results_main
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MHVKSW6NKPk&list=PLCDDBDB6123D11300

Photographs of the Chechen people:
http://lens.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/04/05/documenting-the-chechen-struggles/

More on Chechnyan history and struggle:
http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/108244/Chechnya/283782/History
http://www.foxnews.com/politics/2013/04/19/chechnya-history-horrors/
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/feb/12/chechen-struggle-ilyas-akhmadov-review

Chechnyan ties to Islam:
http://www.worldpolicy.org/journal/fall2012/Islam-Rises-Chechnyas-Ashes
http://www.chechencenter.info/n/46-politics/1296-1.html

Current updates from Boston:
http://boston.cbslocal.com/cbs-news-live-feed/
http://www.cnn.com/2013/04/19/us/boston-area-violence/index.html
http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/headlines/2013/04/live-updates-boston-bombing-suspect-dead-in-shootout/

Be It Ever So Humble...

...There's No Place Like Home.

If we could just find one, that is.

We are still on the hunt.  We've put a few offers in and been outbid.  Which is disappointing.
We did research on the Utah housing market to see if it is just us, but it seems we are not alone-- Salt Lake City is in the top 10 cities with housing markets in short supply, and inventory is slim.
The housing market is rebounding so raters are great, there just aren't many houses to choose from, not to mention now that the weather is warming up, all the house-hunters are on the move!!

Every house we've seen has had multiple offers, and several people viewing it at the same time we are!
I can't help but give them the stink eye, trying to tell them get out my MY HOUSE with my face.
It hasn't worked, apparently.

But in the meantime, we're having fun dreaming about decorating and the options out there!
We both adore the fresh, New England Cape Cod style--both exterior and in.

So without further ado, let me turn temporarily turn my blog into an idea board!

There is something about that crisp white trim that is clean and welcoming.

 



Grey has really made a comeback, have you noticed?
People are pairing it with yellow, but that is just too retro and trendy for my taste.

I think grey with white/beige/blue is more timeless.

I'd pair it with a soft orange before I would put it with yellow.

  Light turquoise and white is such a classic, beachy look.
Perfect for a relaxing in a hot bath.

I can't wait to hit up some funky stores to search for unique drawer pulls and hardware of that sort--
Anthropologie has the best selection of this stuff.


Wood floors are theeeeeeee shit (in the best possible way).
Obviously.

They pop against the white in a way carpet never can.







So white white white is our foundation here (could you tell from these photos?).











For the smaller decorative touches, I love prints of maps and birds/plants.

And I am a complete freak for terrarium type accents.

I would plant fresh lavender in the garden... well, that is another story for another day.

Damn, I need a house as a creative outlet now. 

Defining Moments in Europe : My Personal Memories

I've been missing Europe lately.
Not in the way that you miss the summer when everything crusts over with snow mold in February and you don't see the winter as beautiful anymore, or the way you miss that other high heel you lost at a rambunctious house party.

I miss Europe the way I miss my favorite dog that we put to sleep last year.

It feels more like a breathing, growing person to me than a country or a place.
Some places I visit, I feel like they are locked down that way--only existing when I am there.
But Europe... I know that Europe is going on without me, adapting heart beating on, and I want to serve as witness.

For some reason, only momentous things happening in the United States count as history for me.
And living in Utah, those moments are few and in-between in particular.
But every day feels like history in Europe, even when it is just your own personal history that is being added to as you sip the best cup of coffee you've ever had in your life in a sidewalk cafe and make a mental note--amending your life's chronicle: I had the best coffee of my life at the Cafe Latin.  I took the first sip as the bells of Notre Dame rung.


I have been to Europe 3 times.
I have not been there in 3 years.
But I'm having fun reminiscing about my favorite places there.  That you may not have heard of before, as they are not particularly mainstream.

St. Mary Abbot's -- London
The first time I went to London, I stayed on High Street in Kensington.
Everyone in my group was knackered with jet lag, but I caught one glimpse of those Mary Poppinsesque chimney silhouettes out of the window and grabbed my camera and a bottle of water and dashed out of the hotel on my own.
I didn't wander far, of course, being a girl alone, 16 years old, and never having had been to Europe, but I wandered deep.
Which means I didn't walk a terrible distance, but I wandered down alleyways and up ancient stone paths without using a map or noting markers to make my way back the same route;
 I firmly believe getting lost is the best way to enjoy a city.

And get lost I did.  A light rain started to sprinkle me.  This is SO London! I thought to myself.
I had entered a small stone courtyard full of arching old trees and I suddenly saw a spire and realized I had come upon a parish tucked into the city.  I was enthralled and began snapping away on my camera, fiddling with the knobs to turn the image to black and white to better capture the atmosphere.

There was a walkway with ancient graves, one of them nearly entirely enveloped in a tree, the name of its occupant long washed away by the weather and hands of the grieving.  As I rounded this tree I gasped, for there, sitting on a stone pile near the cemetery was a meditating monk.

I observed him for a moment, savoring the comradery of just the two of us in this secluded nook of London, in the rain.  It was so spiritual and so human at the same time.  Then I tucked my camera back into its pouch and left him to his solitude.

Sognefjord -- Norway
Nature in all of her beauty.  All of her overwhelming, pure, pre-human beauty.
That is the wonder that is Sognefjord.

We were staying in Olso with our delightful Norse relatives, who own a cabin perched on a small fjord off of Sognefjord.  So we took a boat up Sognefjord to get there.
We went early, to enjoy the area before boarding the boat.
There was that strange mist in the air that is like virtue itself (you know what I mean? The kind of fresh fog that you feel breathing in will make you healthier?).

The water is an indescribable color.  It is emerald green, then iridescent purple with sparkles of blue running through it.  It ripples like a cotton sheet on a clothesline, throwing off dazzling streams of sunlight.
It is glacially cold and glacially clean, so clean you can see more than twenty feet down.
I perched at the end of a dock by myself and slipped off my shoes (to the aghast stares of the few others sitting on a bench 40 feet away).  It was freezing but it felt so good.
The mountains of the fjord rose up around me and I hoped they would swallow me whole.
It felt so gloriously real to have the sun warming my upper body and the water like hands of ice massaging my feet.  I thought about my Viking ancestors and decided they probably did this sort of thing all. the. time.

The boat ride was beautiful, needless to say.  Waterfalls and wildlife, clapboard houses perched on the side of the water with painted little boats bobbing in the waves.  Picturesque, but also rugged.
You feel that you could close your eyes and open them to see a Viking longship sailing toward you.

The Pantheon -- Paris
 You can taste the particles of history in the air here. And feel them on your skin as the oooooold ceiling crumbles occasionally.
My mother took me here.  As a French teacher, she is always going on about Saint Genevieve, the patron saint of Paris.  The Pantheon was build to house her relics and later became the burial place of many a famous figure.  It was modeled after the Pantheon of Rome and its crypt holds the bones of Victor Hugo, Marie Curie, Zola, Voltaire, and Rousseau, to name a few.  It is a jackpot.

Our hotel was just down the hill and around the corner, so we hiked up up up to get to it.
The inside has the most marvelous murals portraying St. Genevieve (a great story, you should look into it!!) and those soaring ceilings and columns that make you want to don a toga and lie on the old marble and gaze upward for the rest of forever.

I was impressed. I was awed.
And that was before we took these worn stone steps downstairs, into the old musky smell that you instinctively associate with adventure.

You feel like you've entered an ancient Egyptian tomb.  You become instantly reverent and silent as you peer down each hallway that holds the remains of so many magnificent people.

I was drawn to the tomb of Victor Hugo, which he shares with Zola and Dumas.  I touched my hand to the cold stone and cried.
I cried for how France treated him as a traitor, I cried for his exile, I remembered how he had to eat animals from the Paris Zoo during the Prussian Siege. I remembered his last words, from his will: "I leave 50 000 francs to the poor. I want to be buried in their hearse. I refuse [funeral] orations of all churches. I beg a prayer to all souls. I believe in God."
Then I smacked the stone and exclaimed "how COULD you Victor?! How COULD you??"
This pertains to my issue with him and Les Miserables. 
I read it once (right before this trip) and never got over it.  It did something to me.  To say it upset me is to say an amputation is a scratch.
I never read it again. I never saw it on the stage or watched a film adaptation or listened to the music.
I've been girding my loins--I want to re-read it and see the new film out. We'll see.
Seeing the other tombs were all moving in their own regard.  It was incredible.
And so lonely down there! There was no one else down there and I thought of how important these people were to the world, and now they lie there turning to dust with only one another for company.

Sorrento -- Italy
This place is a real doozy.  On the Italian coastline, its name is derived from the Odyssey, as they believe this is where the sirens (or mermaids, as locals call them) dwelled.
Where limoncello was invented, and where Dickens, Nietzsche, and Goethe vacationed (the latter probably due to the former  :) ), this city perched along the sea is truly unique.
It smells like lemons and salt water there, and everyone waves or calls out "ciao!" with a smile as you pass.
We only stopped here for a night, but it was a definitive moment for me.
Once I'd dumped my stuff at the hotel, I threw on my bikini and ran down the winding roads to the water.  There is a small sliver of beach below the towering cliffs and I only stopped jogging when I hit the sand.

Then I dove.  The water wasn't too cold and I must have stayed in for five hours.
I skipped afternoon tea and floated until the sun began to set.
I had brought my goggles, and diving down, I realized that the beach used to be much further out, and there must have been some kind of cotillion patio, restaurant, or dock road now covered by ten feet of water, because there are the most beautiful handmade patterned tiles under that water.
Apparently there are all kind of dives off the coast here, and entire villas and archaeological masterpieces that have been found under the water.

As I dove down, I recovered tiles and old shards of pottery.  It blew my mind.
As a history nerd obsessed with the ocean, this was a merging of two worlds that before this moment had been completely separate in my mind.

I snatched giant hermit crabs off the bottom and let them crawl in my hand as I bicycled in the waves, treading water, before diving back down and placing them back on the floor.
When I had exhausted myself from diving, I floated on my back, looking up at the cliffs and colorful villas, the sun bathing everything in bright brilliance, and I thought this is the most perfect moment of my life.
I only got out of the water as the sun set, and wandered slowly back up to the hotel in my bikini, dripping wet, freckled from the sun, my goggles dangling at my side and my pockets bulging with the ocean tiles I had collected (I still have them).  When I got back to my room I threw on a sundress and drank a cold glass of white wine on the patio, trying to comprehend the revelation I had experienced in the bay.
 I cannot wait to return and share that miracle of a place with my husband and make new memories.



So that's it.  Those are my personal favorite places in Europe. I experienced something special in each place that I will never forget.   Isn't it fascinating the way places factor into memories?

Boston

I'd rather entrust the government of the United States to the first 400 people listed in the Boston telephone directory than to the faculty of Harvard University.
-William F. Buckley, Jr.

Well, terrorism strikes again.
And there is no better word for it.
I am at work with my headphones in, listening to live feeds, and as the bombs go off and you can hear the screams, my insides twist and the hairs everywhere on my body stand up and I am filled with terror.
"Terrorism" may be a simple term that has spawned stereotypes, but it does not get much more descriptive: that is their goal. 
Sitting here at my computer working on documents in safe Salt Lake City, I am filled with terror just hearing and imagining what is going on there, on the other side of the country.

I cannot fathom what the actual witnesses and citizens of Boston are feeling right now, but I am sending as many good vibes as I can muster their way.



Boston is an old city.  It is a stronghold. It is the City on a Hill.
It was the site of a massacre and the famous ride of one Paul Revere. Not to mention the world's biggest Tea Party in the harbor.
It is the home of Fenway Park, Hawthorne, Longfellow, and Adams. And the Kennedys, of course.

Bolyston Street, the site of the explosions, has archaeological sites of Native Americans that inhabited the peninsula more than 7,000 years ago.

It has survived worse, and it will survive this.

We can all survive the inhumanity of the world.

Live feed I have been listening to: http://www.cbsnews.com/liveFeed/widget.shtml

Typed live feed: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/northamerica/usa/9996363/Boston-Marathon-bombing-live.html

Photos: http://www.theatlantic.com/infocus/2013/04/photos-of-the-boston-marathon-bombing/100495/

And I will say this, offensive and brash as it may be...

If you've ever met a Bostonian, you know that 

YOU DO NOT FUCK WITH BOSTON.

Boston hits back.  With baseball bats.

And that's all I have to say about that.