I began my first blog post with the confession that I’m not very good at processing change, and that up until the last minute, doing archaeology in Turkey felt entirely unreal—something that was going to happen to some other Catherine, not me. But for some reason, leaving feels different. As we were closing our trenches yesterday and doing one last tour of the acropolis, I swear that the only reason I wasn’t in tears was because I had already sweated everything I could out. I know I’m going to miss the acropolis and Turkey so much, and I’m so glad that my family in Pennsylvania did so much to lead me to Turkey.
I don’t think they would believe it, but my parents have actually had a substantial influence on my thoughts and actions. I am convinced that listening to A Prairie Home Companion since I was in the womb led me to eschew my native east coast schools for St. Olaf, and I similarly believe that growing up wearing Istanbul t-shirts and evil eye necklaces—entrapments of their fascination with Turkey and Turkish culture—led me to going on this adventure. I actually realized their influence right before leaving, and to be perfectly honest, it freaked me out. Was I leaving the country for a month to do hard physical labor for myself, or for them? Would I actually enjoy myself, or would I just tell myself that so this course wouldn’t be a total waste of time and money?
Luckily, all my worrying was for naught. It is true that I am not the ideal candidate for this course (a Classics major who isn’t afraid of the weight room and is also an expert landscaper, with skin impervious to the perils of roots and rocks), but I still managed to enjoy myself and learn a lot all the same. The one quality that carried me through this project was my sense of adventure. If you don’t mind travelling to a new country without knowing a word of the language, or eating something that may or may not be beef, or thinking analytically while also doing hard labor in forty degree heat (Celsius, of course), then this course is for you. Although I now know that I won’t be doing archaeological excavations as a career (I honestly don’t think my bones could handle it), I have definitely gained from this trip a greater appreciation for what archaeologists do, and I could see myself pursuing this as a hobby. I mean, this wasn’t a bad way to spend the summer—I’d be more than willing to do something like this again. Even if you don’t have a special interest in the classical world, or in history in general, I can guarantee that at least one moment in Turkey will resonate with you—even if it’s just one where you’re bonding with your fellow Oles over a bewildering trip on a “discotheque” boat, or experiencing awe at touching a really nice piece of fineware during pottery washing, or just looking at the amazing view from the acropolis. If you’re at all curious about archaeology or Turkey, or if you just want to do something a little different next summer, apply for this program.
As for the practical side of things, I have a few suggestions. Bring twice as many “normal” clothes as the packing list suggests—you’ll change into them every day after the dig, and if you’re anything like me, you’ll sweat through them just by sitting in un-air-conditioned rooms. But since they don’t become encrusted in soil after a day’s use, they will never be a laundry priority, no matter how funky they end up smelling. I also suggest making a few trips to the weight room before boarding the plane. I came to Turkey with the belief that archaeology would make me stronger (which it has—my arms have progressed from being Super Limp Noodles to now being only Regular Limp Noodles), but it also helps to have some muscle mass before you try to toss rocks and buckets that seem to weigh almost as much as you off a mountain. It also wouldn’t hurt to download all the readings and at least some of your music before coming to the dig house. The Wi-Fi here is about as reliable as rain in southern California, and having music you like and reading you need on hand makes this experience much more enjoyable. Finally, leave enough room in your suitcase for Turkish pants—they’re the best thing since flush toilets.
I hope that the next recruits for this program have as great of a time in Turkey as I did, and that the fear of blood, sweat, and tears won’t scare them away from a truly incredible adventure. Elveda, Turkey.
