G'day folks,

This ancient Irish landscape boasts hundreds of legendary ruins. 

Rathcroghan, or Cruachan Aí, is an archaeologist’s dream. Found in the center of County Roscommon, it contains about 240 identified archaeological sites packed within an area of about 2.5 square miles.

This landscape confidently bears witness to nearly 5,500 years of continuous settlement. The earliest known monument is a small court tomb from the early Neolithic Period. Bronze and Iron Age burial mounds dot the earth. You’ll also find traces of massive feats of late Iron Age architecture such as the Rathcroghan Mound and the Mucklaghs earthworks as well as early historic settlement sites and religious foundations. The later medieval period sees Rathcroghan divided into a large matrix of field systems, evidence of the pastoral farming practice common to this region from prehistory up to the present day.


This area, perhaps unsurprisingly, is also one of the key theaters of Ireland’s impressive collection of intoxicating mythology and literature. It boasts the mythological gateway into the Irish Otherworld: the cave of Oweynagat. Uaimh na gCat (Gaelic for “Cave of the Cats”) is the origin place of the pre-Christian seasonal celebration of Samhain, the Celtic precursor to modern Halloween.

Rathcroghan is the starting point for a whole series of Iron Age heroic cattle raiding tales, known as na Tána. Indeed, the central tale of the Ulster Cycle of Irish mythology, an Táin Bó Cúailnge, Ireland’s greatest epic, rises out of Rathcroghan, at the behest of the famous Iron Age Warrior Queen Medb (Maeve) of Connacht. Medb is a vital part of this landscape, and of the West more generally, and her capitol and palace are reputed to be located on the Rathcroghan landscape. These stories record the deeds of Ireland’s heroes, such as Cú Chulainn, Fráoch, the Morrigan, Conor Mac Nessa, Ferdia, and Medb herself.

Many of these archaeological sites retain links to these heroic tales through their names, among them Reilig na Rí (the Cemetery of Kings), Caiseal Mhanannán (the stone fort of Manannán mac Lír, god of the sea), Rath na dtarbh (the fort of the bulls), Daithí’s Stone, and more. Hearing these stories, told on this earthen canvas, is the perfect way to understand the previous generations who walked this sacred landscape.






G'day folks,

Welcome to the secret wartime bunker built on the platforms of an abandoned Tube station. 

The Down Street Underground Station was practically doomed from the start to a short operational life. The residents of the wealthy Mayfair area where it was to be built were not keen on having a Tube station on their doorsteps, believing it would entice “undesirables” into visiting the posher parts of the city.

The Great Northern, Piccadilly, and Brompton Railway had tried to purchase land so that all their stations along the Piccadilly route had entrances on the main road, but no one was willing to let them buy such a prime site around Down Street. Instead, they had to make do with building on a side street, necessitating construction of longer subterranean passageways to bring passengers from the lifts to the Underground platforms.

When the station opened on March 15, 1907, it immediately suffered from low passenger numbers. The residents of Mayfair could afford other methods of transport, the location made the station harder to spot, and it was close to other, more convenient stations on the same line. By 1932, Down Street was closed for service.


This was not the end of the station’s use though. In 1939 it was repurposed as an underground bunker to be used by the Railway Executive Committee, the organization in charge of keeping Britain’s railways running during the Second World War. The long tunnels and platforms were converted into offices, dining rooms, bathrooms, and dormitories. A popular story has it that the dimensions of the corridors running along the outside of the offices were planned to be just wide enough for a tea trolley to roll along.

The executives could arrive at the bunker at street level, entering through the old building. But when it came to leave, they could choose a different route. There was still a short section of accessible platform, and if an executive left a red lamp there, the next train would stop so they could board the driver’s cab—the drivers were instructed to ask no questions. The other passengers of the train would be unaware of the cause of the stop, as the platform was only long enough for the front of the locomotive.

The Down Street bunker was secure and “comfortable” enough that it was also used by Winston Churchill and other members of the government before the completion of the Cabinet War Rooms. Churchill affectionately called the bunker “The Barn.”

After the war, the station was given back to London Transport for engineering access and to use as an emergency exit point. Many of the offices in the tunnels were removed, though those on the platforms remain. London Transport Museum now operates tours of Down Street, showing visitors down the dusty spiral stairs to the darkened and dilapidated corridors, where Piccadilly Line trains rush past just behind metal gates.






G'day folks,

The sinister ruins of one of the worst dam failures of the 20th century lie in this astonishing alpine setting. 

In a growing modern nation craving for energy, as Italy was at the beginning of the 20th century, hydroelectric power was a synonym of progress, representing a victory of humankind over nature. Yet in the mountains of Bergamo province in Lombardy, that attempted feat would take a tragic turn. 


Construction of a hydroelectric dam to exploit the river Gleno in the the Valle di Scalve (Scalve valley) began in 1916, but the project was immediately cursed by poor materials and poor workmanship. On top of that, due to funding problems, the plan changed from the original idea of a gravity dam to a multiple-arch dam while the work was still in progress, resulting in a mixed-type dam.


Just after its completion, heavy rains filled the reservoir, and several leaks caused concern among the inhabitants of the valley below.

Sure enough on December 1, 1923, at 7:15 in the morning, the tragedy happened. The central section collapsed, causing a mass of 4.5 million cubic meters of water to pour into the villages in the Scalve valley. The official death toll counted 356 lives lost as a result of the flood, as well as massive damage to roads, bridges and buildings.

What remains of the dam is a 160-foot-high concrete barrage with a huge, chilling laceration in its central section. The sinister ruins are a stark and surreal contrast with the stunning alpine surroundings.