5:00 AM, it’s time to wake up. It’s time to get out of bed, brush teeth, put on clothes, and not wake the late sleepers. 5:35, the bus is coming. The bus is crowded, most get to sit, an unfortunate few stand. 6:10 the bus arrives at the dig-site. Breakfast is served until 6:30. After that, the walk to work begins. 6:45-10:00 dig. 10:00-10:30 break, enjoy tea and conversation. 10:30-1:00 PM continue to dig. 1:00-2:00, eat lunch and decompress. Return to our apartment, it’s time to relax. Swim in the pool, take a nap; the only two feasible options. 4:30, where did the time go? It’s time for pottery work, drawing or washing until 6:30. Wait until 7:00 to eat dinner. Eat quickly, then work on site reports. Discuss and write the official reports until they’re done. Once complete, the day is done. Go to bed, it’s time to rest. Look at the clock, 10:00PM if lucky, more likely 11:15PM. Pass out within a few minutes. Blackness. 5:00AM, it’s time to wake up.
What I’ve just described to you is the formulaic procedure which pervades over every work day we have here at Antiochia. These are the times to which we are constrained. If I were to leave it at the formulaic level, you would think life here was monotonous and unbearable. But what I haven’t filled you in on are the parts in between that turn an algorithm into an experience. The parts of a day often left unsaid are those that breathe life into monotony. I could tell you in broad terms about how I wake up to the sounds of birds chirping, roosters crowing, and how hearing the “Call to Prayer” my first morning here at 4:30 AM gave me culture shock, but even those things are not essential to the life giving properties of daily life. What matters to me–what gives me purpose and makes my days worth it–are the things that aren’t normally worth mentioning. How can I describe to you the feeling of a laugh shared with people you labor with every day? How can I describe to you the pleasure I feel when digging through soil and stone with no certain reward aside from the promise of more work? A day here is worth living because of the breeze carrying the flavor of the Mediterranean on it’s breath. It’s worth living because of the prospect that history is within arms reach, that you will awake something from it’s ancient slumber. Much like attempting to describe any profound experience, the limitations of our language become apparent. The things that matter to me, that make it all worth it, are things that I’m not conscious of. I don’t realize how good cold water feels, nor how relieving the shade is, not even am I cognizant of the symphonic roar of ocean waves. The background sounds and feelings of life here are the most special of any place I’ve visited. They fill the cracks of the daily algorithm with the essence of life.
