The Great Migration

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Roses are Red, Tulips are Expensive

If you were a man or woman of refined tastes in Holland in 1636, you needed some blinged-out, multicolor tulips, or you were little better than a peasant with their pathetic solid-color tulips.  After the tulip had arrived from the Ottoman Empire several decades earlier, it had quickly become a status symbol for the new wealth of the merchant class.  As new cultivars of different colors were developed, interest centered on those which had streaks of color across their petals (it would later be discovered that this is caused by infection of the bulb by a virus).

As the Dutch East Indian company brought huge profits into the country, the people of Holland had more money than they knew what to do with.  As a result, people started dumping more and more of it into tulip bulbs.  Because bulbs take a long time to mature into flowering plants, people started trading in futures contracts, which were promises to purchase bulbs at a later date (so as to allow the market to proceed without waiting for the actual bulbs to be ready).

Once speculators got involved, things began to go a little crazy.  People were paying increasingly ludicrous amounts of money for stamped pieces of paper which promised a tulip bulb come Spring.  They would then turn around and sell that piece of paper to someone else later that same day.  Meanwhile, growers began marketing their diseased tulips under names like Admirael van der Eijck, Viceroy or Semper Augustus (because who wouldn't trade their life savings for something with "Augustus" in the name?)

By the Winter of 1636-1637, single bulbs of disease-ridden tulips were selling for hundreds or thousands of florins.  By comparison, a skilled laborer's yearly wage might be only 150 florins in total.  Bulb exchanges were set up in the major Dutch cities where people could make and lose fortunes on tulip futures.  Then, suddenly, in February, everyone came to their senses.  Sellers couldn't find any more buyers willing to sell their first-born child for a flower, and the prices collapsed.  People were left holding now-worthless bulbs that they had days before paid several years' worth of income for.

Buddha and Hercules Were BFFs

The city of Bagram in Afghanistan is famous as the home of a major US military base, but its history stretches back for millennia.  The city was originally known as Alexandria on the Caucasus because the area was conquered around 320 BC by Alexander the Great, and he named anything he could after himself (thus the "on the Caucasus" to distinguish it from the all the other Alexandrias he'd left in his wake).  Alexander built up a fortress and town, and stationed thousands of Macedonian troops there.

After Alexander's death, the Greek presence in the area didn't simply disappear.  Instead, his generals and other influential members of his army claimed sections of his empire for their own, and established a series of kingdoms stretching from Greece to Pakistan.  Bagram was initially part of the large Seleucid Empire (led by General Seleucus), but was soon traded to the bordering Maruyan Empire of India.

After about a century and a half of Indian rule, the city was retaken by the Greeks under Demetrius I of Bactria.  By this time, the surrounding Indian culture had exerted itself on the descendants of Alexander's army.  Buddhism was the official religion of Demetrius' kingdom, and he struck coins depicting Hercules standing guard over a meditating Buddha.

This Greco-Bactrian kingdom, and its successor the Indo-Greek Kingdom persisted until 10AD, which means that when Jesus was born, Afghanistan was ruled by Greek guys named things like Apollophanes or Strato who built statues of toga-wearing Buddhas and told stories of the Trojan Horse and Hercules.  You can't make this stuff up.

Can't Handle This

Oklahoma's a pretty boring state - the only things to see are tornadoes, virulent homophobia, the shattered dreams of Native Americans, and a panhandle.  While the first three are tragic, the panhandle at least makes for a moderately aesthetically pleasing geographic feature.  However, the panhandle wasn't always part of Oklahoma.

Originally, the strip of land was part of Mexico, along with all of Texas and rest of the modern Southwest.  When Texas seceded from Mexico and joined the US in 1850, they brought the strip with them.  However, they ran into a little issue with the Missouri Compromise.  The Compromise prohibited slavery in states North of 36°30′, and Texas wanted some slaves.  They were more than happy to give up the empty strip of land at their Northern tip in exchange for getting in on the whole owning human being shindig the rest of the South seemed to be enjoying so much.

Unfortunately for Texas, slavery only lasted another 13 years, so they barely had time to make the most of it.  Even so, they weren't allowed to have it back after the Civil War.  Instead, it remained an unincorporated no-man's land until 1886, when the Secretary of the Interior suggested that those who settled on it would be granted squatters' rights, and could keep whatever land they claimed.

You don't have to say "squatters' rights" twice to 19th century homesteaders, so settlers flocked in by the thousands, and by the end of the year they had set up a temporary government for what they named the Cimarron Territory.  Efforts to join the new territory to Kansas got all the way through the House and Senate, but the bill was never signed by President Cleveland.

Instead, the settlers dispatched a delegation to Washington lead by their elected President, Owen Chase to seek recognition as an official territory in their own right.  A second delegation consisting of those opposed to Chase's presidency followed soon after.  Congress wasn't about to lower themselves to speaking with the leader of a bunch of squatters from some remote rectangle of prairie, and neither delegation was granted an audience.  In 1890, the strip was finally joined to the newly created Oklahoma Territory, ending its 40-year run as a no-man's land in the middle of America.

But I Don't Want To Be Pope!

As it became clear that Pope Paul I was nearing his death in 767, the various political factions of Rome began maneuvering to get their preferred successor elected to replace him.  A powerful noble family from nearby Nepi, lead by a man named Toto and his brother Constantine, sought to stage a military overthrow of the Papal government, naming Toto the Duke of Rome, and forcing the consecration of Constantine as the new Pope.

After Paul's death, the Nepi family set their plans in motion.  They invaded the city, and forced the local clergy to ordain Constantine as a monk, then a subdeacon, then a deacon and finally as the Bishop of Rome, all within the span of a few days (it's amazing how quickly a sword pointed at some select throats can cut through the church's bureaucratic red tape).  Meanwhile, Toto assumed military governorship of the city, and trapped his rivals, Christophorus and his son Sergius, both high-ranking officers of the church, within the Lateran Palace.

Christophorus and Sergius begged Toto to allow them to leave peacefully so that they could retire to exile in a monastery.  Once they receive his permission, however, they instead went to the Lombard king Desiderius, and requested his help in restoring ecclesiastical authority.  Desiderius, hoping to acquire a loyal ally on the Papal throne, agreed, and sent a contingent of troops, led by his priest Waldipert (apparently anything passed for a real name back then) to drive out Toto and Constantine.

The Lombard army defeated Toto's forces, and he was killed in battle.  Soon after, Constantine was arrested and imprisoned.  Waldipert then sought to elevate someone loyal to Desiderius to the Papacy, rather than restore the authority of Christophorus and Sergius.  To this end, he entered the nearby  monastery of St. Vitus, picked out a random lowly priest named Philip, and declared that God and Saint Peter had anointed Philip as the new Pope.  After dressing Philip in the Papal regalia, and having him lead a traditional ceremony they declared him Pope Philip I.

Unfortunately for the Lombards, the people of Rome weren't going to accept a second sham consecration, and Philip's Papacy received little support.  By the end of the day, he was forced to leave the Lateran Palace, and return to his monastery, never to be heard from again.  Christophorus and Sergius returned to power and oversaw the election of Pope Stephen III, who is viewed as the legitimate successor to Paul I.

Antipope Philip, as he is now known, never had any ambitions to the Papacy, and was merely chosen as a candidate of convenience by Waldipert.  He certainly didn't wake up that morning expecting to be Pope, and went to bed that evening Pope no longer.

Nice Island, I'll Take It!

In 818, Emir Al-Hakam I of Cordoba faced a revolt from al-Ribad, one of the large suburbs of the city (at the time, Cordoba was one of the biggest cities in the world, having nearly half a million people).  The people were upset by Hakam's harsh tax policies, which he had enacted after the last revolt in 805, hoping to keep the people poor and helpless.

Unfortunately for the rebels, their attempt to storm the palace was easily defeated, and many of the mob were slaughtered in the streets.  After torturing and executing the ringleaders, Hakam took the extreme measure of rounding up and exiling every resident of al-Ribad, about 60,000 people.  Hakam was not one to put up with that kind of shit, apparently.  Most of the exiles moved to Morocco, but a large number, perhaps as many as 10,000, took up Mediterranean piracy.

Led by Abu Hafs, this pirate band, along with their families and their former neighbors, invaded and occupied the Egyptian city of Alexandria, intending to make it their new home.  The rulers of Egypt, of course, were not on board with this plan.  You can't just sail up to one of the most famous and important cities in the world and declare yourselves the new owners.

The Egyptians quickly marshaled their forces and besieged the city, reclaiming it about a year later.  So, the Cordobans set out again looking for a new home, and arrived at the island of Crete, then part of the Byzantine Empire.  After defeating the local garrisons, they set up shop on the island, and built the fortress of Chandax as their new capital.

Although the Byzantines sent several military expeditions to reclaim the island, the Cordobans successfully defended their new home for well over 100 years.  During that time, they launched raids across the Aegean sea, and occupied several smaller islands nearby.  It wasn't until 961 that Nikephoros II Phokas, one of the great generals of Byzantine history, and later a Byzantine Emperor, was able to retake Crete and drive the Cordobans out for good.  Today, over 1,000 years after their defeat, Chandax (now called Heraklion) remains the capital of the island.

You Don't Wanna Steppe To This

In the early 1600s, the Dzungar tribe of Western Mongolia sought to unify the neighboring tribal kingdoms under their rule.  The nearby Torghut and Dörbet, however, felt that to be "totally uncool, bro" and "a bit of a dick move," so they followed the example of other steppe nomads, and migrated.  Specifically, they headed all the way across Central Asia, and arrived at a patch of grazing land along the Volga River, just North of the Caspian.  Once there, they formed the Kalmyk Khanate.

The land that they settled was nominally under the control the Russian Empire.  The Kalmyks, who were Buddhists, were seen as a buffer against neighboring Muslim states, so the Russians were quite happy to let them stay - under nominal Russian authority, of course.  They even established trade agreements, and recruited Kalmyk horsemen for the Russian military.

As time went on, however, the Russians wanted to make that authority a little less nominal, and began chipping away at the Kalmyk autonomy.  By 1770, the head of Kalmyks, Ubashi Khan, decided that he was sick of Russia's crap, and said "Screw you guys, I'm going home".  After sending an emissary to Tibet to consult the Dalai Lama for approval and selection of an auspicious date of departure, Ubashi Khan set out in January 1771 with 200,000 of his countrymen (and an estimated 6 million herd animals) on a long walk back to Mongolia.  It was intended to bring the entire tribe, but an early melting of the Volga left some groups stranded on the Western side of the river.

Those left behind were probably fortunate, as the journey was not an easy one.  The Kalmyks had made enemies among the tribes across the steppe, and the Russians were not pleased with the departure.  Over half of the population was lost along the way, either to skirmishes with these enemies, or to starvation and exposure in the Siberian winter.

Those who remained in Russia lost their autonomy, but maintained many of their traditions, including Tibetan Buddhism and much of their nomadic lifestyle.  Neither of these sat well with Soviet authorities after the Russian revolution, and the Kalmyks saw their temples destroyed and their monks attacked.  Because of this harsh treatment, when the Nazis occupied Kalmykia during World War II, they found many willing to fight against the Soviets.  When the Soviets retook the area in 1943, they decided to forcibly deport the entire Kalmyk population, over 100,000 people, to Siberia as punishment.  Over half of those deported died in Siberia before being allowed to return in 1957.  Luckily, the Kalmyk people have experience with deadly migrations, forced or otherwise, and persevered.  Today, the Republic of Kalmykia within the Russian Federation is the only region of Europe in which Buddhism is the dominant religion.