Every day is like Sunday

One of the Seven thankfully rescued us from total submergence into work and, generally, crushing tedium today: we went for coffee together, caught up with each other, read our papers and learned about happenings in the following weeks. She even brought us a gift for our place. Then we went for a drive together, looking for some public installations, part of an art project. One of the Seven’s car is old and without air conditioning, just like ours. The weather looking like this, it ended up somehow uncomfortable.


Nevertheless, we reached the area near the old Armenian cemetery, and the installations. Curiously, one of them had gone missing, because (as another visitor told us) it was obstructing free movement, but it wasn’t something the cops guarding the area knew about. We also saw this, which we found peculiar.

peace garden

I say ‘this’ because I don’t know what to call it. It certainly is not a ‘garden’. The erased (to keep up with the ‘nor reveals’ bit here) inscriptions are in FOL and SOL, and read the same as the English one. In the Principality, all proper public inscriptions are trilingual (like that of the middle Cross in Golgotha).

What until a month ago or so used to be the Armenian cemetery was now a construction site, remains were exhumed weeks ago using heavy duty equipment. The Armenian bishop, leader of the local community, had approved and was all very comfortable about this. We knew that much from the news. Now, the actual sight itself of the dug up cemetery was today one of the sorriest sights in the Outpost (next to the fenced dead city, on which I will write some other time). I could not bear taking any pictures; only a couple of somehow more grandiose tombs were spared, maybe due to their historical value.

Nearby, I discovered the headquarters of the Department for the Repair of Public Works.


I am not sure this is the exact title of the particular government service, since I was too stupefied by the cubist / arte povera aspect of the building itself. To their credit, most public works in the Outpost look much better than this headquarters would suggest.

Finally, going back to the car, we saw this.

car keys

Come hither and procreate, your children will grow up in a crime-free society.

2 thoughts on “Every day is like Sunday

  1. Pingback: Nothing grows here « “… neither reveals nor conceals”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s