Looking back on my whole month in Gazipaşa, there were many jokes and stories, some more honest than others, but probably one of the most memorable was during the first week, when we were still getting used to the change.
After a full day of digging and sweating in the 38 degree Celsius heat on the top of the Acropolis, all thirteen guys living in the apartment just want to get back either to nap or have a relaxing swim time. Instead, we are dropped off at the dig house and are told we are supposed to bring five full-size dressers back to the apartment, so it takes two very full truck rides to get ourselves and the dressers just to the outside of the apartment. Then we had to get them to the bottom of the stairs: not too much of a problem. Then we had to get them up five flights of stairs: big problem. Each monster of a dresser required at least four people to angle, push, and drag it up one flight. Then there was at least a one-minute break for people to catch their breath and try to wipe off the sweat that would be covering their arms and hands. Here we go again. With each maneuver, each one of us would grunt or shout words in English and Turkish (e.g. “Turn!” “Push!” “Don’t Die!” “What?” and the translated). I suppose our neighbors’ hate for us began that day. Believe it or not, we managed to finish the task with 11 barely functioning human beings not too long before we were expected to show at the dig house for pottery.
I guess I could consider this experience as a threshold to my overall experience in Turkey. For one, this was one of the first times we were communicating with the Turkish students on a project and sympathizing with them on an agonizing level. We were at least bonding on some level, since this event quickly became a joke amongst everyone in the apartment. Also personally, this was the first of a few times I had to push myself to keep working through the pain, sweat, and tears when there was not as much support available as I was used to.
On a more professional level, I also found a love for archaeology through witnessing historical material first-hand. First, a large factor of enjoyment for me was the thrill of discovery, even though Prof. Howe would often correct me. If I found material I had not seen before, I would immediately start guessing what it came from, how it got to where it was, what the original object was used for, etc… Then Howe would tell me that it was a bone of some animal. I would visibly get slightly less excited, but still interested in the anatomy of the creature. Even if what I found was not a bone but just some rock, I would still be impressed with its uniqueness. However, with the historical material I did find, I began to understand and appreciate museums much more, considering all the hours of days of years of hard work that went into finding intact, complete, or incomplete pieces of history. Being an archaeologist, the original finder of ‘lost’ history, I think is so much more interesting than reading and learning about that same history through textbooks and other documents.