Close encounters

It’s Friday afternoon and we’ve concluded our third work week here on the dig. I’m comfortably seated with a glass of Turkish tea, enjoying a cooling breeze after a week that saw temperatures hover in the 40’s.

The work pace is picking up. Small finds are starting to flow in and find their way to my desk by way of registration and then conservation. I have to wait a few days to see notable items while they are cleaned and notated, but the most interesting come to me for drawing eventually. That is when the object and I enjoy some serious one-on-one time.

I have the work room to myself most mornings, so I plug in to iTunes or queue up a podcast and get down to work. While enjoying the tantalizing sounds and smells of meal preparation in the dining hall adjacent, I get acquainted with the item before me. It feels like quite a privilege to be trusted with finds that are nearly three thousand years old!

Earlier this week I began listening to a BBC podcast series: “The History of the World in 100 Objects”. I’m only a few episodes in, but I’m hooked. In the second of the series, the host considers a stone tool from the Olduvai gorge in Africa – the oldest object in the British Museum shaped by humans. He describes how the axe fits easily in his hand, allowing him to imagine life in that far away time and place. I know that experience: being handed a stone tool to draw, an object that looks like nothing more than a rock selected at random, then surprisingly, the heft and contour “fit” my hand – not just usefully, but pleasingly. Instantly, it becomes easier to imagine the original user of the implement being not too different from me – like a miniature time machine.

Along with the usual small finds drawings I’m expanding my skill set some this season as we’re short-handed in the ceramic drawing department. Lucky for me, some of the most beautiful pottery we’ve seen in several seasons is showing up on my watch. I’m not only reviewing how to reproduce the contours of fragmented pots, but learning also how to depict varied finishes and record complex decorations. I’m quite excited by the loveliness of some of the vessels that are accumulating and hoping I’m up for the challenge.

Meanwhile, it’s Friday and a weekend in the village. If you’ve been following this for a while you’ll know what that means: the wedding music has begun – and all of this year’s celebrations have included fireworks. Finishing the week with a bang!

Weekend! Past…

It’s Sunday night and I am keenly aware that a blog instalment is overdue. An eleven hour work day leaves little time or energy to spare and the choice becomes: hole up in the work room alone on the computer – which is mainly how I’ve spent the day – or socialize in the fresh air enjoying the evening’s selection of refreshing beverage for what remains of the day? You can guess which option wins out most nights. My compromise tonight was to socialize and then retire to my room with the computer, sacrificing a bit of sleep time. I had a nap this afternoon – it’s a trade off I may regret.

It’s hard to believe that we’re already into our third week of excavation. The call to prayer is coming a little later. We’re rising now in the dark. Even eleven hour days drift by surprising quickly once a rhythm is established. The dig “slide” is in full effect – a state of being constantly muddled as to exactly which day of the week it actually is. On Sunday the week stretches ahead interminably – but then you wake on what feels like Tuesday morning and realize that it’s actually Thursday and nearly week’s end.

Perhaps the confusion begins on Sunday – which feels like Monday because it’s the start of the work week. We’ll go through to Thursday, then celebrate the approaching weekend with a barbecued meal in the evening – an excuse to clean up a little and indulge in additional evening beverages. Friday is a half day and we start by sleeping in – until 7 am! – and there is usually a post-breakfast tel tour. That’s “tel” as in a hill or mound, not “tell” as in reciting the week’s discoveries, but that’s what it’s about. As a group we visit the areas under excavation and catch up on each other’s progress. Back to the dig house and various duties until lunch time and then we’re free for a day and a half.

It’s not much time for extensive travel – but we can usually find enough locally to amuse ourselves. Or not. Sometimes a good book and a nap are sufficient to recharge – throw in a shower and it’s a five-star holiday. There are other attractions in the vicinity. This past weekend featured an excursion to a nearby city, so I’ll leave you with some visual illustration of how we passed the time. Now I’ll catch some sleep and try to conserve enough energy to compose something more creative for the next instalment.

Weekend breakfast

Leisurely Friday breakfast

Tel tour

Local wildlife.

…really, I just don’t know…

Lunch!

Spot the archaeologist.

Happy.Go.Lucky.

Yes, it’s appalling how long I’ve neglected this blog but my adventures are about to resume – and so the inspiration for blogging in the first place will, happily, be renewed. Tomorrow evening I’ll be winging my way to Turkey once again. I’ve done a provisional packing. Everything fits, which I’m sure means that I’ve forgotten something major but I don’t know what it is yet. Over the years I’ve stashed an awful lot of stuff at our quarters in the village – art supplies and books, bedding, clothes and sundries – so each year I take less and less with me.

Meanwhile I’ve concluded that no amount of cramming Rosetta Stone exercises will have me speaking Turkish fluently before I fly out. In spite of regular study, the language still baffles me. I’ve added considerable vocabulary, but I still have little clue how to string the words together to compose a sentence. I’m hoping that I have enough stuffed into my brain to keep Sila, my little village friend, from laughing at me. Again. I am haunted by her exasperated sighs at my past feeble attempts. Perhaps I will be speaking more at the end of the summer than now. That’s not really saying much…pun intended.

As I’ve been preparing this past week, I’ve been reflecting on a service that I attended last weekend, a memorial for the mother of a good friend here in town. Kay was a vibrant presence and the service was a celebration of a life joyously well lived. I am very mindful of two oft repeated phrases of Kay’s that her grandsons quoted: “Aren’t we the happy people?” and “Aren’t we lucky?” She seemed constantly mindful of the wonder of life, the good fortune of being surrounded by friends and family and never ceased to remind others of that.

Now, here am I about to take a plane half-way around the world. I know there will be friends waiting in the Istanbul airport, that we’ll greet each other warmly and continue our journey together. I know that at the end of a familiar road there will be yet more friends to greet and a foreign village that has become a kind of home. Yes, there will be grumbling over too early mornings and seemingly endless hot, long days of work but there will also be stories and laughter and yet more friendships shared over the summer.

Ah, my archaeological friends! Aren’t we the happy people? Aren’t we lucky?

Will you come along and share the summer with us?