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WINDING VALLEYS

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The River Vikna passing through a rocky ridge in Northeastern Narozalica.

[Kylaris]

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About Us

The Oyster is a leading travel blog serving the Estmerish-speaking community. We feature stories from all over the world, from the everyday traditions of the Phuli housewife to the roaring foodie culture on the streets of Alikianos. No matter your interests, the Oyster has a story for everyone.

Our Contributors

Sean Anthony - Site Contributor

Tired of the known locations in the world, Sean is here for the hidden gems swept aside. His dream turned reality is uncovering how nations, people and the daily lives of countries often ignored in tourism truly are. Sean is all about the true, raw experience. Forget the advertisements and the mainstream. From Chervolesia to Xiaodong, Sean goes where most wouldn’t dare.

Join him in his monthly series, where he goes and meets the true reality of nations often skipped in your vacations.

Sam Hudson - Site Contributor

Sam Hudson graduated from the University of Ashcombe with a Master's Degree in Architectural History. Writing his thesis on the development of vernacular architecture in pre-colonial Satria, he has an interest in writing about architectural landmarks across the world and the cultures they belong to. Online, he is known for starting a YouTube series on an architectural conservation effort for the cathedral in his hometown of Rushford, Estmere.

Adrien Auvray - Site Contributor

Adrien, a young Gaullican man of 27, graduated from the University of Saint Francis, Lavelle, with a joint-honours degree in history and media studies. Adrien’s passions include writing about historical sites from around the globe, but particularly those in Euclea, and cuisine. He considers himself a ‘rediscoverer of the unknown’, primarily writing about quaint towns, historic quarters and old buildings. Adrien’s interests also include the culture of these places, usually exemplified through tasting the traditional food of the area he writes about. One of his most popular series that he writes for the Oyster is called ‘In the Footsteps of Giants’, where he will mirror the path of a particularly exemplary historical figure (usually voted on by his audience) and retrace their steps across Euclea, providing a narrative of where they stayed, what they ate, etc.

Mark Jonssun-Leclercq - Site Contributor

A 25-year-old Azmaran-Gaullican traveller, Jonssun-Leclercq holds a Master’s Degree in Archaeology from the University of Aalmsted. His main interests lie in visiting prehistoric sites and natural landmarks and blogs about the visiting experience of them. He has also done a series visiting the prehistoric sites of Djedet known as The Forbidden Kingdom.

Anita Lefeuvre - Site Contributor

A passionate and adventurous traveller, Anita Lefeuvre is a 26 year old Cassien journalist hailing from Andade, Beaumont. Known for her presence on social media and for her blog “Paths less Treaded” detailing her exploration of the world’s national parks and wildlife reserves, Anita’s experiences in the outdoors has made her an incredibly popular influencer among Gaullican speakers. A vocal conservationist animal rights advocate, her activities in promoting environmental awareness and sustainable living practices has expanded her following greatly.

Maria Chavunduka - Site Contributor and Site Photographer

Chavunduka was born in Mambiza, Garambura, in 1990. She began to study travel and leisure at Ntendeka University in Tabora but dropped out in 2001, deciding to pursue her dream career in global travel. Bouncing around from outlet to outlet, Chavunduka eventually became self-employed in 2012, starting her own blog before publishing her writings to a larger audience at Oyster, and has written for the blog ever since. Chavunduka is a fluent speaker of Estmerish, Gaullican, and veRwizi, and her language fluency allows her to write in-depth articles on her travels around Bahia. Chavunduka mainly travels throughout Coius and the Asterias.

Kohatuwaoa - Site Contributor

Born in a small Sublustrian town in 1990, Pilimumu, or Red Lizard, took a deep interest in travel from a young age. He apprenticed with wayfinders at the age of 15, but the world was just starting to open up to him, and he’d go farther than any of his masters had before. First bacpacking across Euclea in 2013, he wrote a blog about how different it was from his point of view. He adopted the name Kohatuwaoa, recalling the legendary warrior who was the first Sublustrian to set foot on Euclea, and now spends his time traveling and writing with a focus on native cultures and ecotourism, recalling his deep roots in Sublustrian tradition. Besides his articles for the Oyster, he has a separate series he calls his Odyssey, where he explores traditional paths and navigation from roads of pilgrimage to discreet natural walkways. It’s about the journey, not the destination; though, the destination is pretty cool too.

[Eskaeba]

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The Vikna: Where the present meets the past
By Maria Chavunduka | 14 February, 2020

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The Vikna passing through the Gaspar Valley around 50 miles north of the city of Syrnitsa, Narozalica.

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It is not often that I look upon my world map on the wall, full of pins, and think, "Today I am going to travel to Euclea."

But that is exactly what happened as soon as I basked my eyes upon the beauty of the Gaspar Valley in Narozalica.

The natural formation blends a stunning rocky, foggy, wintery landscape with the crystal clear waters and diverse aquatic wildlife of the River Vikna, in eastern Narozalica. The Gaspar Valley lies some 50 miles north of the city of Syrnitsa, the nearest significant settlement, and is fairly isolated, save for some minor farming villages.

The rivers of Narozalica are a natural beauty in and of themselves, but the Vikna, I think, possesses its own unique natural beauty that makes it one of the most mesmerising natural places in Euclea and even the world.

Now I am no stranger to the great rivers of the world. I have dined with rural Garamburan tribes on the Gonda and met the Bedouin of the Faras in my time as a traveller, but the cold atmosphere emanates an almost dream-like landscape, one that you will struggle to find more than one of in your travels.

However, the Vikna has been plagued by its biggest enemy - time. The Vikna is suffering from increasing amounts of aquatic waste and water pollution from the factories in the many cities that are settled along its banks. Other causes like damming for hydroelectric energy have also caused the flow of the Vikna to diminish over time, and this reduction in flow can be seen in many different locations along the river.

But the Gaspar Valley remains one of the few where the river can be experienced in all its natural glory, unimpeded by the bustling sectors of modern cities and a modern country. A place where one can imagine to themselves whether or not this was what it felt like before the advent of industry that has wreaked havoc on many great environments in our time.

I began my journey around the Gaspar with a relaxing walk down the sides of the valley, where there are little artificial boundaries separating me from nature. The Gaspar is by no means a mainstream tourist destination outside of Narozalica, but within its borders it is one of the most prevalent natural icons of the country. If you can stomach an early rise and a frighteningly cold start to the day, it makes for an excellent atmosphere that really shows what the winters of Narozalica have to offer.

After a 30-minute stroll down the banks of the Vikna, I had booked a helicopter ride over the Vikna and the valley to see one of the most spectacular views I had ever seen (and also where I took this article's picture), with the graceful waterfall crashing seamlessly into the flowing river, all while encompassed by grand natural rock formations likened to that of the canyons of the Asterias.

After landing from the helicopter, I took one last look at the valley to really take in the sheer beauty of it, and as my breath steamed out in front of me, I wondered what this valley would have looked like if it were more mainstream? Perhaps its secrecy is a positive for the avid and curious tourist. Who knows.

Osyter, 2020

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Maria Chavunduka was born in Mambiza, Garambura, in 1990. She began to study travel and leisure at Ntendeka University in Tabora but dropped out in 2001, deciding to pursue her dream career in global travel. Bouncing around from outlet to outlet, Chavunduka eventually became self-employed in 2012, starting her own blog before publishing her writings to a larger audience at Oyster, and has written for the blog ever since. Chavunduka is a fluent speaker of Estmerish, Gaullican, and veRwizi, and her language fluency allows her to write in-depth articles on her travels around Bahia. Chavunduka mainly travels throughout Coius and the Asterias.

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[Liecthenbourg]

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In the Footsteps of Giants: Saint Chloé | Part 1
By Adrien Auvray | 14 February, 2020

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A stained glass window of Saint Chloé in Croan Cathedral

The town of Croan is a strange place. Home to roughly 40,000 people, far larger historically, it is nestled near the Aventines on the Amathian-Gaullican border. And everyone here speaks Gaullican.

The most famous individual to come from this town happened to have been born over 1,100 years ago: Saint Chloé, the 'Heroine of Sortianity.' She, of course as all my readers know, won the most recent poll on who I should follow next in 'The Footsteps of Giants'. That brings me here, to Croan, in Amathia.

My retracing of historical footsteps takes me outside the city centre, even beyond the suburbs. Beyond most of the houses, almost forgotten to time, is a house that was likely once bright white, now relegated to a stained yellow, with an immensely slanted roof. The house is more like a trapezoid than a cube. There were few people roaming around its grounds and a well-dressed man stood at the entrance of the door. Beside him a black plaque had been hammered into this early medieval building with both Gaullican and Amathian text saying the same thing:

'The Birthplace of Saint Chloé (1st January 860 - 19th November 901)
'Heroine of Sotirianity'

No Photography!

Unfortunately I was unable to photograph the wondrous things in this building preserved to time. The guides and plaques all confirmed that upon her family's relocation to the Ile de Fleur, the church had come into control of her former house and her dedicated it as a shrine to the woman who would become a Saint in 913. It was as if looking into history manifest. Many of you might remember my journey to the monastery in Roa, Florena, and how I described it like walking into 1000 AD. The bed looked untouched, sealed away, though I'm unsure if its real or a replica. The dining room was laid out, as if in preparation for a meal. Frescoes and icons adorned the walls of the house, detailing the Saint and important aspects of her life.

It was a unique experience to wander around the home of someone who lived so long ago as if it was still arranged like it was supposed to be lived in from that time. A roaring flame would have warmed that home. Unfortunately, the cellar was being repaired for maintenance. I was however able to see the study of her father, Josse, and was astounded by his literacy and knowledge: he was no working class man and his ledgers and records, sprawled open in preserved paper, indicated he had a keen mathematics mind. This led me, and many of the other people on the tour, to conclude that Chloé was -- at the very least -- literate and well spoken!

The tour of her home lasted a good hour and a half and already I felt more connected to this woman than I had before arriving. As I retraced her footsteps around her home I could imagine her and her family living a very rustic and traditional life of the times. I left her home with a greater understand of what it might mean to be a Saint and the normalcy, truly, that precedes it.

The journey back into Croan proper was uneventful. Searching through my phone, I found a restaurant called 'The Pilgrim's Plight'. It was quaint and homely, like an old tavern. The lighting was good and the hospitality was greater. The people here speak an accented Gaullican unlike any I've ever heard. Their words flow more fluidly, if you can understand my train of thought. It wasn't unpleasant in any sense of the word. Merely different.

The facade of Croan Cathedral

As you all know, I am a 'foodie.' I ordered a healthy portion of different things, now that I could try them. This part of Amathia is renowned for its pork and I began my meal with what is known as: cârnați, a beautiful selection of smoked garlicky pork-sausage. My main dish, however, was tochitură, in 'the Gaullican style', which took the traditional tomato and pork based stew of the Amathians and added red wine, alongside it being served with bread rather yellow porridge. As always, pictures and recipes will be included in links below.

My day was coming to a close and I was quite tired, but there was one thing I wanted to see in Croan before the day was over. Croan Cathedral. Nestled in the old quarter, down two streets still labelled as 'rue', the Solarian Catholic Cathedral is an old, solarian/verlois-esque style building. Much like a lot of the tourism and history in this city, it seems to revolve and emanate around their very own patron saint.

I was able to score a lucky few negotiations with the parish and they permitted me to photograph some of the stained glass windows from the inside. I was also permitted to take a shot down the pew and towards the altar, which captured this lovely scene typical of older churches: brown-orange brick work cascaded in the light of a thousand colours from the stained glass. To make him feel more included, I offered to photograph the priest and his wife -- but they both modestly declined.

I am not a very religious man. I find myself pondering about God's existence very little and I don't feel especially strongly one way or the other. However, the majesty of the building is undoubtably something important. I can appreciate them as works of history, art, architecture and culture. And indeed, when dealing with a figure like Saint Chloé religion and female empowerment often come hand in hand.

Much of the artwork in Croan Cathedral that is not wholly dedicated and worshipping God, is in veneration to Croan's own heroine.

The priest told me that, according to the stories, Chloé was baptised on the Monday following her birth and was such a hassle she 'wished to remain in the font.' Unfortunately for the denizens of the city, many remain a level of sadness about her not being buried in her city. Many are also disappointed in the moving away of her family and are quick to remind visitors that she was born 'here' and not in Verlois. She was, after all, a peasant from the far-flung corners of the Solarian Empire.

My next update will see us visiting the last few parts of Croan we can verify she frequented: a nunnery and a special spot that I'll save for later. Part II will also feature the beginning of our trek (I'm not walking, but not taking a plane either) towards Verlois. A lot of this route will be revisiting older places, but that's fine. Not everyone's footsteps lead them far-and-wide!

Osyter, 2020

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Adrien Auvray was born in Verlois, Gaullica, in 1990. He graduated from the University of Saint Francois, Lavelle, with a joint-honours degree in history and media studies. Originally employed as a journalist for Le Monde, Auvray viewed the work as 'too restrictive' and 'constrained' and left the paper in 2011. He then joined the 'Oyster' after going on a 'soul-searching' venture around Florena, where he wrote about his travels. Auvray is a fluent speaker of Gaullican and Estmerish, with 'conversation grade' levels in other Euclean languages such as Weranian and Etrurian. His main areas of travel are Euclea and northern Coius, but has wrote about Valentir and the Asterias.

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[The Kingdom of Glitter]

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Uisceard: Caldia's Refugee for Migrating Birds and Senior Holidaymakers Alike
By Anita Lefeuvre | 10 March, 2020

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Holiday cabins located in Uisceard Nature Reserve, frequented by much of Caldia's aging population.

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The duality of Uisceard was not something I had anticipated. While my visit to one of Caldia's most prominent nature reserves was both tranquil and enjoyable, I was somewhat disappointed I did not get to see that duality in motion. Uisceard Nature Reserve is a unique place, one where migrating birds cross paths with holidaymakers looking for a quiet escape from urban and suburban life.

This time of year, the reserve was devoid of both birds and seniors alike. My visit to Uisceard was marked by observations not of migrating birds, but of wonderings about the park looks like during its various busy seasons.

As I wandered throughout the nature reserve, I could not help but notice the small piers, the tiny, uniform cabins, or the observation towers. During the warmer months, these sites are typically bustling. Not with birds, but with holidaymakers that tend to be drawn from Caldia's aging population of senior citizens.

Thousands of seniors and their families flock to Uisceard each year to enjoy the amenities it has to offer. Located along Caldia's eastern coastline, the park provides a more tranquil alternative to the busy, crowded beaches on the islands of Holyhead. Those who enjoy the company of nature are also drawn to the part, pitching their tents and parking their RVs.

The County Taois government is responsible for the upkeep of the nature reserve and funds improvements through camping licenses issued.

While at the park, I was able to speak to a ranger who jokingly told me that he has "come to see more [seniors] here than I do birds".

"They are the ideal visitors in many ways, they always clean up after themselves and frequent the park often. We've seen a steady uptick in the number of elderly holidaymakers, and I expect that to continue".

Caldia has an aging population, with seniors coming to make up more and more of the overall population. As they retire, they have more time on their hands.

Pensioners are a common site at Uisceard. During my journey there, I saw well over a baker's dozen in a largely empty park. Those who are interested in looking for different breeds of birds could have just as much luck looking for different types of seniors.

Other national parks, county parks, and nature reserves in Caldia have experienced a similar boom in senior attendance, as more and more seniors retire and look for different ways to spend their golden years.

Uisceard has already seen that boom and has become just as important to Caldish pensioners as it has migrating birds.

Osyter, 2020

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Anita Lefeuvre is a 26 year old Cassien journalist hailing from Andade, Beaumont. Known for her presence on social media and for her blog “Paths less Treaded” detailing her exploration of the world’s national parks and wildlife reserves, Anita’s experiences in the outdoors has made her an incredibly popular influencer among Gaullican speakers. A vocal conservationist animal rights advocate, her activities in promoting environmental awareness and sustainable living practices has expanded her following greatly.

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[Liecthenbourg]

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In the Footsteps of Giants: Saint Chloé | Part 2
By Adrien Auvray | 13 March, 2020

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A statue of Saint Chloé,
opposite the Mausoleum of Heroes.

I can already see the criticism: "Verlois isn't off the beaten-track" and "Verlois doesn't really count as a location". To those nay-sayers and detractors I say, well, 'La Reine' has a lot more to offer that not many people know about! So sit back and read the wondrous things we will uncover in the Footsteps of Giants, as we explore the areas that Saint Chloé visited.

As the story goes, Chloé was able to convince most people of authority at Croan -- where the first part of this adventure began, almost a month ago (sorry, I'm fairly busy between these!) -- that her visions were prophetic. She claimed she saw the manifestations of the evil, characterised in the terminology of the Four Horsemen (Death, Famine, War and Pestilence), descending on the city of Solaria. She claimed to have been contacted by Saints, urging her to intervene with her God-given compassion, love and understanding. Fortunately for Sotiriandom, Philippe Ennecus, the garrison commander of the city of Croan, was convinced by her and escorted her towards Verlois.

She arrived on the 7th of May, 876 through the Porta Fidelis. She navigated through the series of walls and defences that stretched around the city (much of the historic walls have been absorbed into the expanding city, but the walls that separate the Ile from the rest of Gaullica are still mostly standing), before entering it properly and spending the night at an inn. This inn, known by many at the time as the 'Way Stop', hasn't existed since around 1601, but on its site now is a post-office. Unfortunately, there seems to be little left at the location bar a plaque on the outside that marks this a place of historic importance.

However, fortunately for all of us at this point of her journey Chloé had begun writing down her experiences. From the bits we have recovered and translated, we do have a picture of the place she arrived in. Obviously, links to the accessible PDF (as part of the Saint Chloé Historical Foundation) will be provided below.

"I did not expect 'La Reine' to be this... imposing. When we crossed onto what they call the Ile de la Fleur, we passed through these giant walls. They are taller than any hill or mountain I've ever seen, imposing and white, with towers as far as the eye could see. The guardsmen looked like ants to me, and I imagine I looked like specs of dirt to them.

And when we arrived in Verlois, it was like a corridor of walls and towers. I had felt watched. I should have felt safe, but I was left with the lingering feeling of why the Emperor lived in such seclusion. And then when the final gate was opened in its majesty, I realised it was not he who lived in seclusion but all of the empire outside of these walls. It was as if I had entered another world. A world of majesty, with countless sites and smells and sounds and scenes.

Ennecus took us from the gate to find us lodgings at what he said was a famed little inn called 'The Way Station.' It was, I was told, quaint by the standards of places within La Reine. Yet it was more grandiose in its quaitness than anything in my home of Croan. They spoke the language with every word music to the ears, in such a way that it came across as intellectual and refined and made me conscious about my accent and how I spoke.

We were asked why we were here and they assumed Ennecus to be my husband and I his wife. I shuddered at the thought. The captain of the garrison was a nice man in truth but he was fairly unpleasant in the longevity of his company. Nor do I feel that I am in need of a husband, for I am married to my duty and to my Lord as of right now.

Ennecus told a half-truth and the man behind the counter laughed when we said we had business with the Emperor. He continued to laugh for a while, referred to us as our 'Highnesses' and then gave us our lodgings and some food: salted fish, the first I had ever had, along with the famed garum of the capital. I would happily eat this again and again.

Tomorrow, I look forward to seeing the Emperor and discussing...-"

Her life in Verlois was drawn out by successive nobles entertaining her claims before she was permitted to see the Emperor. It is known she was permitted to speak to the Arch Bishop of the city after the request of many of the priests and their families in the city. Unlike poor Chloe, we wont spend much time wandering and drifting throughout the city. But I did visit important sites we know her to have visited: particularly what is now Notre Dame de Verlois. It was here during confession that she told the clergymen of her visions. So moved were they, the stories say, that they all ventured with her to deliver her account to the Emperor.

Opposite the Cathedral, rather, on the other side of the river, is the famed Mausoleum of Heroes. Countless people that we will inevitably cover are buried there, but so is Chloe. I don't wish to venture to it now, for this is where our tale ends. But I could not get so close without taking a memorable photo of such an important statue that tells us so much about the woman should would become.

In our next instalment you're all in for a treat, but I wont tell you what it is just yet. Just be informed that I had to pull a lot of strings (and pay a fair bit of money) for this experience!

If you're interested in the brief cuisine mentioned in this part, the link below for a simple dish made using salt fish in the style of medieval cuisine has been linked. It may be a bit hard to find genuine salt-fish, but its fairly easy (albeit slow) to make salted cod.

Osyter, 2020

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Adrien Auvray was born in Verlois, Gaullica, in 1990. He graduated from the University of Saint Francois, Lavelle, with a joint-honours degree in history and media studies. Originally employed as a journalist for Le Monde, Auvray viewed the work as 'too restrictive' and 'constrained' and left the paper in 2011. He then joined the 'Oyster' after going on a 'soul-searching' venture around Florena, where he wrote about his travels. Auvray is a fluent speaker of Gaullican and Estmerish, with 'conversation grade' levels in other Euclean languages such as Weranian and Etrurian. His main areas of travel are Euclea and northern Coius, but has wrote about Valentir and the Asterias.

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[The Ik Ka Ek Akai]

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Yo Bro, It's Jyoho, Ya Know?
By Kohatuwaoa | 24 April, 2020

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A shaman of the Jyoho tradition

Deep in the mountains of Phula, some Shalego Shamans roost in their old shrines and shine on their sheep. Although long ignored in favor of its big brother, Satyism, the Jyoho tradition is alive and well in southern Phula, and remains a strong cultural force today. Most people might know some bits of it from Satyism, there's a lot of crossover. A lot of it, though? People don't know it so much, at least outside of Phula they don't. That's why I'm here, to tell you fine folks just what's going on down, across the world, in some lonely village, showing off these shamans for you all to see.

So, Jyoho. Its history is way old. It's actually the native religion in these parts, sort of. The south of Phula is mostly people related to Tinza, and to a lesser extent Xiaodong, but the north is very Satric. The people here wouldn't tell you that, though. No, the people here don't think of themselves like that. They see themselves as one of three groups: Daksina, Antarita, and Avanidhara, and the Avanidhara are the Satric dudes. Even then, they consider this difference mostly regional, maybe political. The culture crosses this way and that like a squirrel on a busy highway, and at this point you might be hard pressed to even call the Avanidhara as Satric, you might think they were from Tinza just looking at them, but you'd be hard pressed to consider them not Satric in a lot of ways too. This story isn't about them, though. I'm writing this from Daksina, the heart of modern Jyoho.

So, Jyoho was actually bigger in Antarita. Not bigger, but Antarita was the big kingdom for it. They had these dope warrior monks and conquered all the other people, but they converted to Satyism. Because that was kinda a top-down thing, Daksina is actually where most Jyoho people live now. You can still find em in Antarita, hell you can find them in Avanidhara, but the guys over there really put the Satric in Satricize. Some people think it's closer to Bashurat, but here on the ground, sounds like bull-shurit to me. The overlap is there, they use a lot of the same names too, but the differences aren't subtle either.

Anyway, Daksina is pretty cold. It's actually some of the coldest places in Phula, with flatter and lower terrain than most of the country, but it's also the farthest south you get around here. Yeah, around here, the equator is north, so south is cold. Where I grew up, it was a lot like that too...though, we had islands. They weren't cold. Anyway, if you wanna see some sick shamans, Daksina's got you covered. While only about 8% of Phula's population follows Jyoho, it's about a third of all Daksinis.

A Jyoho shrine, overlooking a cliff

So, Jyoho usually doesn't do big temples. You're not gonna get any basilicas or bishops outta them, but they do a lot, and I mean a lot, of shrines. These things are everywhere. People keep them in their homes, they're built at pretty much every fork in the road, each village usually has at least one bigger one for everyone to share, and it's a real pain in the brain trying to keep track of them all. A lot of villages are actually named after their shrines, or at least that's what they told me. The villages are named after whatever god or spirit the shrine is made to, or whatever the landscape is like around it. So, you know, one is Mama's Hills, one might be Demon Lake, that sorta stuff. The word they like to use, Rakshasa and Rakshasi in Phuli, technically means 'Demon', but this is one of those big differences I talked about earlier. It's not really pulled from the Bhumi meaning of the word, it's just kinda slapped on - these guys aren't really all that bad. They're not that good, either. Pinning them in an alignment chart is basically impossible, they're all chawful goovel as far as anyone is concerned. The way they work, it's just not how people work. Different scales, brother.

So, if they're not good, why does anyone bother with them? Easy, because they still do things. Bad rains? Pray, make a sacrifice, or get a shaman and talk to them! Most Euclean religions don't appreciate the wonder of talking straight to your gods, and having them talk back. Well, they're not gods. They're spirits, they control nature in super subtle ways, pushing the cosmic energies of the universe to one direction or another, so things line up in favor of those who use them well. I know, right?

Jyoho does have gods, though, and they're probably familiar to any of you Satyists out there. Ever hear of Sammang? She started here, folks. The dismembered goddess, got totally vored by the earth itself. Some people say she's the first martyr, which is about as deep as all the holes people keep digging in her. A lot of different places across Phula, and really across the Shalegho, are supposed to be parts of her. The Adhikari, the chief Satyist, her Satyaness, Satyist of Satyists, Sat on Six Sick Sheep, she actually visited what's supposed to be her eye like a day or two ago. The eye is a big hill in the middle of a lake, for the record. They built a temple near it, a Satyist temple, but also a Jyoho temple. It does double duty.

So, that's a good point, actually. Satyism and Jyoho don't really consider each other to be different denominations, they kinda call themselves types of the other. It's ironic, since Adripathi, the first Satyist, was Avanidhari, but that's none of my business. Most Jyoho rituals are compatible with Satyism, and most Satyist rituals are compatible with Jyoho. They really work on basically the same theology, the same underlying assumptions, they just take some different paths going about it. Satyism is really about chilling out, mellowing out, getting a sort of enlightenment from total nothing. Jyoho isn't really like that, but it's not too far away either.

You see, Jyoho doesn't get too deep about enlightenment, it cares a bit more about things like spirit possession. But, I hear you ask, those aren't anything alike! WRONG! Enlightenment in Satyism is basically talking to your own soul, because reincarnation is just your soul clinging desperately to our world because it's too attached to everything. What Satyism wants from enlightenment is for you to become one with those cosmic energies they mentioned earlier, and to show your soul that nature and cosmic energies totally trump things like getting drunk and peeing on strangers. Jyoho also totally agrees with that, where the average person wants to get more in touch with nature and cosmic energies and the spirits and stuff.

A Jyoho guardian shrine invoking ancestors and guardian spirits to defend the village

Here's where it gets messy. Satyism says it wants you to get more in touch with the world, and find enlightenment in having nothing and becoming one with the universe. Jyoho...doesn't. Satyism builds temples and shrines in holy places and for holy artifacts, Jyoho builds shrines and temples in holy places, yeah, but mostly in their own houses, or at the gate of their village, places where they kinda go every day anyway. Satyism is about removing yourself from society to soothe your soul and become one with the cosmic energies and spirits, but Jyoho is about bringing those cosmic energies and spirits straight to your doorstep like a grease-dripping-down-the-chin fast food burgeriffic delivery service. Now, both encourage pilgrimage, it's not like Jyoho is asking you to take the easy route, but this is kinda one of the big differences between them.

Jyoho is defined by its presence, you could say. Satyism is defined by the lack thereof. Jyoho doesn't ask people to size down and keep it humble, not as much anyway, but it does ask you to share what you got. Gods and spirits get sacrifices during festivals, and they give bigger sacrifices for personal prayers to try to get the cosmic energies to sway in their favor. I guess you could say the big philosophy between them is that Satyism is very "go with the flow" while Jyoho is very intervention-y. They're both more orthoprax than orthodox though, which means they focus more on rituals than on doctrines. Satyist rituals tend to revolve around humility, degrading oneself, and making sacrifices. Jyoho rituals tend to revolve around appealing to spirits, trying to influence fate, and making sacrifices for different reasons. Like I said, they are kinda both valid to one another, it's more like a difference of philosophy than of actual religious distinction, though Jyoho emphasizes the gods and spirits a lot more while Satyism emphasizes a particular lifestyle a lot more. I really do think if you defined these guys by Orthodoxy instead of Orthopraxy, you'd probably think they were the same thing. Maybe that's fair, but maybe it's not.

Jyoho is older than Satyism, by a lot. Some of its earliest texts were three or four hundred years before Adripathi lived at all, and it's probably older than its first texts. Some people say Satyism is a reformed version of Jyoho, others say it's actually a layer slapped on top. That's not the worst interpretation out there, since so many people seem to practice both at the same time, at least in degrees. Satyist rituals and philosophy is very concerned with humanity and the relationship of humanity to the natural world and other forms of life, while Jyoho is very focused on the supernatural. Satyism is very focused on personal and interpersonal relationships, while Jyoho is more about contracts, communities, and clans. The biggest differences in belief between Jyoho and Satyism are things that Satyism simply left out, a lot of menial stories about this totem or that animal ancestor, this water spirit or that cloud from 80,000 years ago that rained once, but many people in Phula are both Satyist and Jyoho and believe these - although a lot of Satyists just outright have no comment on any of it and, as Satyists, are not obligated to believe any of it. In a sense, Jyoho has a much more expansive and complex mythology than Satyism, but Satyism arguably has a more developed ritology.

Back during the First Empire, the Jyoho monks fought for honor and glory in defense of their homes, they were guardians of the Light and of their people's traditions. The First Empire then converted to Satyism, then their monks wore masks to remind them of the inhumanity of war, to deliver mercy upon their allies and enemies so that they wouldn't see their friends die and their enemies as actual people, respectively. It was a mercy because you couldn't really look a warrior in the eye and identify with him as a fellow human, so their enemies were absolved of the guilt of killing them. It kept them aware of how dehumanizing war is, and it stopped them from claiming any personal glory or honor by hiding their faces. The Satyist warriors wore prayer beads and simple clothes of very cheap dyes. That's really the difference between the two religions said best: the Jyoho warriors fought to defend the pure light, their traditions, and their homes, for glory and honor; the Satyist warriors fought anonymously wearing demon masks, so that their enemies wouldn't feel guilty about killing them, and so their allies wouldn't feel guilty about their deaths, and so that they could see war as bloody and demonic instead of glorious and honorable.

Look, it's hard to describe. There's so much overlap, you can see why a lot of people say they're the same religion with just different philosophies. It's almost impossible to talk about one without bringing up the other. For my part, I'll tell you all that Jyoho is a unique practice all about shifting the universe to your side, talking to supernatural dudes, and conducting proper traditions and rituals with proper legends and myths. I haven't named many because, honestly, it's impossible to pick just one to talk about. From the start of the new year, to feasts of ancestors, there's just too much ground to cover and none of them are deemed as being The Most Important one. It's not as big into humility and one-ness as Satyism is, but it does believe in charity and goodness just like its big brother. Satyism thinks it's more of a basic human responsibility to be charitable and good, while Jyoho considers it more contractual. That's another of the biggest differences, probably, but it ties back to the same root.

Jyoho is based in traditions, rituals, and community. Its views of behavior tend to be contractual, and it seeks to stake its claim in the cosmos through magic. It's got a lot of mythology regarding clans and tribes and spirits and totems, a lot of localized stuff too, that Satyism just doesn't have. Satyism is very ritualistic, but runs against the stream by running with it. While Satyism preaches to free the soul from the mortal coil through detaching oneself from the earth, Jyoho is all about getting advantages and making the best of your mortal coil. Satyism acknowledges that people can find happiness and joy in many things, but thinks it is the only way to true, unfiltered, and unconditional happiness, while Jyoho is happy to be all too conditional. In Satyism, you make a sacrifice or a prayer out of respect. In Jyoho, you do it because you want something. What else can I say?


Osyter, 2020

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Born in a small Sublustrian town in 1990, Pilimumu, or Red Lizard, took a deep interest in travel from a young age. He apprenticed with wayfinders at the age of 15, but the world was just starting to open up to him, and he’d go farther than any of his masters had before. First bacpacking across Euclea in 2013, he wrote a blog about how different it was from his point of view. He adopted the name Kohatuwaoa, recalling the legendary warrior who was the first Sublustrian to set foot on Euclea, and now spends his time traveling and writing with a focus on native cultures and ecotourism, recalling his deep roots in Sublustrian tradition. Besides his articles for the Oyster, he has a separate series he calls his Odyssey, where he explores traditional paths and navigation from roads of pilgrimage to discreet natural walkways. It’s about the journey, not the destination; though, the destination is pretty cool too.

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[Lemovicia]

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The hidden heart of Euclea
By Sean Anthony | 1 May, 2020

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Village of Goharri

Euclea is a place home to numerous tourist destinations: Ashcombe, Poveglia, Samistopol, Spálgleann, and Verlois, just to name a few; all of them drawing in tourists like vultures to a corpse. Yet, there are pockets of Euclea that are ignored by tourists, for whatever reason. One of these pockets is situated near the centre of Euclea: Lemovicia.

If there is anything Lemovicia is known for, it would be for their devastating civil war that broke out shortly after it seceded from Narozalica: this civil war, which began in March 1980, killed hundreds of thousands of people, destroyed the nation's economy, and led to the abandonment of settlements and neighbourhoods as Lemovicians sought a better life. Although nowadays, the ruins of neighbourhoods are popular among the few tourists who visit the country, particular in the city of Loiola, there is far more that Lemovicia has to offer than the ruins of their civil war, or the cosmopolitan splendour of Sechia as it tries to catch up with their eastern Euclean counterparts.

Thus, after catching a train from Sechia, while for the first hour or so, the landscape was relatively flat, after leaving Topagunea, I could see the outline of the Lemovician highlands from the window. Two hours go by, and by the time I reached the city of Goikoetxea, I was well into the Lemovician highlands.

From there, I took a bus to my destination, the village of Goharri. As of 2017, it only has 317 people living within its borders, of which only 32 are under the age of 40. An agricultural community, Goharri never played an important role in Lemovician history. Yet, Goharri is one of a kind: as soon as I arrived, I was warmly welcomed by the locals, who take the concept of abegi, or hospitality, quite seriously: even though I do not speak a single word of Lemovician, and even though I doubt they would know even the faintest Gaullican, they still treated me very well, and a family allowed me to stay the night with them.

The following morning, I had an authentic Lemovician breakfast, as they had gazta gogorra (breaded cheese) and xerra (or schnitzels), which was by far the most delicious meal I ever encountered in my Euclean travels. This was followed by some patxaran, which may as well be the national alcoholic beverage of the Lemovician people. Following this, I helped out my hosts prepare for a cultural event, where all in Goharri would partake.

Soon enough, with everything all set up, they began playing traditional sports. Some, like pelota and sokatira (tug-of-war), are somewhat familiar to me, but some, like the harri-jasotzaileak, where you lift up a heavy stone and place it on your shoulder, are unfamiliar to me. While I partook in the sokatira and tried my hand at pelota, the fact that I am horrible at sports placed me at a significant disadvantage, and for the harri-jasotzaileak, I watched from the sidelines.

As the festivities concluded, I cannot help but feel that this is far more authentic than what I would have gotten in Sechia or Topagunea: while the cynics may say they are putting on a show for tourists like me, this does not feel as though they are putting on a show for tourists, but rather, I came at just the right time. I hope that one day, you will visit the highlands of Lemovicia.

Osyter, 2020

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Tired of the known locations in the world, Sean is here for the hidden gems swept aside. His dream turned reality is uncovering how nations, people and the daily lives of countries often ignored in tourism truly are. Sean is all about the true, raw experience. Forget the advertisements and the mainstream. From Chistovodia to Xiaodong, Sean goes where most wouldn’t dare.

Join him in his monthly series, where he goes and meets the true reality of nations often skipped in your vacations.

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[Eskaeba]

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In a country divided, it's important we remember unity through sound
By Maria Chavunduka | 14 May, 2020

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The L'Orbe is named as such for its unique spherical interior.

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In a trip I took a year ago, I recap the importance of unity during troubling times by taking a dive into the history behind the 1970s punk scene of Mambiza.

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Now, to clear things up off the bat, I visited the L'Orbe around a year ago, and initially this was a trip and article I had relegated to the eternal abyss of the drafts. However, with recent events, I think that my journey into the heart of the 1970s Garamburan punk scene could serve a lesson for all as to the importance of unity in volatile times.

This is not my usual style of trip. I enjoy nature, its beauty and its tranquility, and enjoy the peace that can be found within oneself when reconnecting with the natural environment, but something about Garambura's post-independence music scene has always intrigued and interested me. To begin, it's important we get a little backstory into the music I am talking about.

Garambura in the 1970s was a rapidly developing society. With a post-independence economic boom spurred on by Takakunda Kuda Kani and his administration, Garambura was quickly elevated to Bahia's most prosperous country and its fastest-growing economy. While on the surface, this sounds great, and on paper it certainly was, many in Mambiza were subject to continual poverty-stricken lives as society around them advanced. Affluent Chennois districts of Mambiza contrasted with the derelict and poor East Side. While the colonial days were long gone, the influence of the white demographic in Garambura certainly remained.

Of this inequality spawned an underground, gritty and violent left-wing punk scene. Known at the time as "Club Mambiza" but now classified as Bahiopunk, the Garamburan punk scene exploded onto the musical map as its famed underground clubs housed some of the genre's most innovative, passionate and raw punk acts of the 70s. Among them, and certainly its most famed and influential figure, was Mowonema-born guitarist and vocalist Chloe Kolisi. Kolisi's take on punk, which included distinct vocal performances utilising low, raspy tones as well as rapid, fierce and thrashy guitar, saw her gain an immediate cult following within Mambiza's underground punk scene. Her take on punk included noticable aspects of early Djeli pop, with Kolisi regularly citing Mabifian singer-songwriter Honorine Uwineza, considered by some to be the first true Djeli pop artist, as an influence for her music.

While perhaps Kolisi's intensity could be rivalled by some of her Mambizan contemporaries, her popularity worldwide was certainly a unique aspect of her. Playing her first act abroad in an underground club in Verlois in 1975, Euclean critics commended Kolisi's anger and ferocity as she soon became one of Djeli pop's first international success stories. Essentially a world icon by the mid-70s, Gaullican music magazine Rythme published their 1977 edition of the magazine with Kolisi on the cover, starring perhaps her most well-known photo, showing her lying on a bed blowing cigarette smoke from her nostrils. Kolisi also acted as one of the first mainstream voices against racial inequality against the Bahian diaspora in eastern Euclea. Banned from Estmere in 1977 for "attempting to incite national divide", her music saw a plethora of controversies emerge in eastern Euclea, but her music remained popular against the left-wing demographic, gaining a particularly loyal following in Swetania as well as Gaullica. Kolisi had a brief but explosive few years in the limelight before her premature death in 1981, aged only 30.

This brings me to my trip to Mambiza. In August last year, I was lucky enough to be granted exclusive access to some of the remnants of Mambiza's 1970s underground clubs, many of which have lied derelict since the 1990s. It was almost fitting to tie the run-down atmospheres of the clubs to the genre. However, Kolisi's first ever gig in 1973 was played at the L'Orbe, an underground club in Mutasa Village in central Mambiza. Known as "The Orb" for its distinctively spherical interior and exterior, it became a stalwart symbol of 1970s Garamburan music as Kolisi grew in popularity. She famously returned to the club in 1980, which turned out to be her last show in Mambiza. Today, The Orb functions as a usual nightclub above ground, but below ground there exists a small museum as well as the empty floors that used to house hundreds of avid, young punk fans during the rebellious era.

Accompanied by John Doe, who is now in his 70s, Doe was one of many who attended underground punk shows throughout his mid-20s. He witnessed Kolisi play live many times, and offered to show me around The Orb, its underground interior as well as the museum.

"These walls used to be covered all over in graffiti, even the roof! We didn't care about safety back then, it was right at the back of our minds. We just wanted to enjoy the music, away from the burden and responsibilities of life."

"There were shows every night!", he laughed. I asked what he thought of life in the 1970s, to which he responded, "Oh, it was hectic for sure! Change was coming so quick, so fast, lots of us had led pretty dormant lives before the economic surge saw loads of changes...loads of changes. It affected us badly. I didn't like the way the country was ran, don't you know, and that's what was expressed in the music. The government...the Garamburan government, they're sneaky, they're deceitful, they're liars, they're cheats, they're rip-offs. I mean it was some sort of..uh...systematic machine that nobody could trust. They taught, they said 'Hey, we're making great progress here, guys', but really Garambura was...it was a third-world country. A sprout of wealth concealed the roots of poverty and social decay. At least that's what I think."

While the punk scene is nowhere near as large as it used to be in the 1970s, there are lessons that can be taken from the messages of the punk scene that could be applied then and could still be applied now. Both lessons from the music and lessons from those who witnessed it, like my good friend John Doe. The primary thought I hope to convey is the importance of unity - and it's as important now as it was then. Even through troubling and scary times, unity is important, unity is uplifting, unity gives you a sense of belonging, and most importantly, unity keeps you hopeful.

Osyter, 2020

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Maria Chavunduka was born in Mambiza, Garambura, in 1990. She began to study travel and leisure at Ntendeka University in Tabora but dropped out in 2001, deciding to pursue her dream career in global travel. Bouncing around from outlet to outlet, Chavunduka eventually became self-employed in 2012, starting her own blog before publishing her writings to a larger audience at Oyster, and has written for the blog ever since. Chavunduka is a fluent speaker of Estmerish, Gaullican, and veRwizi, and her language fluency allows her to write in-depth articles on her travels around Bahia. Chavunduka mainly travels throughout Coius and the Asterias.

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[Gapolania]

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What's left of the Soravian summer paradise?
By Mikolas Navečny | 7 December, 2020

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Not many kraplankas survived the fall of the UPSR

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Once a highlight of the coast of lake Min, now most of them are left abandoned - I took a tour of the resort towns in western Bistravia.

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There are places that even the locals have forgotten about. Maybe, if you ask an elder lady selling fish by the beach, she would tell you that a huge wooden mansion you can see atop of a hill was once a wealthy scientist's summer residence. "I'd known mister Prikhyanko well", she would begin, staring at the calm, greyish waters of the lake. "His daughters would come to me and me papa's store to buy fruits. We had the best apples in the town. But they left, in 1984. Or 1985. No one came after, and he had 5 children!".

A dozen, no more than twenty - a chain of small towns set up in the late 19th century lies by lake Min in Bistravia spread from Vorný to Lanovec, the largest one inhabited by around 2 thousand people. They were once a highlight of Bistravia - advertised far and wide throughout the Soravian empire first and the All-Soravian Union later. A perfect place to come to during the summer - cars and trains from Miensk, Syrnitsa, Velike Vishnavaya and Samistopol had been arriving numerously once the vacation had started and leaving as quick as they came. The coast bloomed following the Great War, when the dreams of space became real. Western Bistravia became one of the major aerospace hubs in the UPSR. Factories, research centers, sky-tall skyscrapers and apartament buildings grew in the cities like Miensk or Kraljovice. Soon, concrete covered once green trails while smoke swallowed blue sky, forcing these people - and their families, to search for a refuge. They didn't have to go far.

I reached the town of Syanovka in late September - just around when Martin Voják had done so in 1879. A young painter and sculptor saw something in these hills rolling lazily by the lake and decided to stay there. He had had his fair share of travels before - Samistopol in 1972, Miersa in 1974 just to finish east in the Neeves by 1976. Inspired by the Soravian cottages and the Kirenian mountain shelters, he built a house made solely of pinewood, something that would later be nicknamed as kraplanka by its neighbours. Characterized by its gabled roofs, bay windows and verandas, over a hundred more would be raised in the upcoming decade, soon becoming symbols of a few lakeside towns in western Bistravia. As I walk through the settlement, I stop by one of these houses and notice a dusty sign, barely held by rusty nails. "It was a cafe, the best in town", mutters a woman, plastic bags in her hands. "Closed in 2007, sadly. 'Tis the last one in Syanovka. Now you have to make coffee yourself. I've never learned to do it well", she shrugs, leaving me wondering how many cafes like that were once bustling.

Creaking wood and whistling wind dominate yards and boulevards once full of families.

Going south, I had to take a marshrutka - a small bus on a verge of ruin. 10 orols for a 20 km trip to Štredina, around 2 euclos. The driver, Nikita, told me he's been driving between the towns for more than 30 years. "Year by year, there was less and less passengers. Out of seven drivers only I work out of season. Or Sebastian, if I'm ill or need to take a break", he says in a barely happy tone. "But people still come here when it's nice and warm - if your granny lives here, then you've got yourself a free holidays. Who needs to travel abroad?". As we pass by a small village, I notice a few empty kraplankas by the road. "Oy, yeah, ol' woodcutters' houses. There's way too many pines around so why not make yourself a nice home, aye?", Nikita explains. There's not a single soul there.

Štredina is smaller than Syanovka but it preserved its charm much better. An apothecary and a fruit market in a pretty kraplanka with blue window frames overlooks the center of the village. Štredina was famous for having the highest physicists per square kilometre density - indeed, during 1950s and 1960s the settlement - then town - was the summer destination for the nearby nuclear research facilities. Kids and wives on the beach, husbands in the bar or a small casino made in a basement - truly everything a real Bistravian needed. Homemade quality was part of the UPSR propaganda and young, ambitious generations were its perfect target - thousands of zolotas went into the development of seasonal infrastructure in the region - and once the UPSR was gone, so was the money and its recipients. The people that had been coming here every year escaped, mostly to Soravia, leaving Bistravia to its slow, yet inevitable end.

Before I continue my journey to the abandoned nuclear plant in Ostrovéc, I spend the evening by the lake. There are four fishing boats, all of them rotten and leaky. Something that probably was once a pier is now just a few loose planks stuck in a hole between yellowish sand and dark waters. A woman walking her dog, a fat dachshund, appears on the horizon - there's no one else. It's hard to imagine what the placed looked like 50 years ago but I believe it could be a kind of a paradise. Now, I'm stuck here with ghosts and people that apathetically watch as the memories are being washed away by the forces of nature.

Osyter, 2021

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Mikolas Navečny was born in Kraljovice and raised in Samistopol, where he studied Anthropology. Fascinated by the times gone, he feels a strange addiction towards the post-Great War history, people and culture. West Euclea is not only his home but also the center of his studies - visiting places that once had been, he learns about the ways of how ordinary people once lived - and aims to preserve their heritage.

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