Food for Thought

Tonight, Professor Glowacki took me and the other two Aggies to a traditional restaurant out in the country, to discuss what we learned throughout our first week on the site and introduce us to a little more authentic Greek culture. After stooping to enter the low door to the ancient house, a boisterous Greek man with customary Cretan handlebar moustache chattered off a list of what he and his wife had cooking in the brick oven for the evening. My professor ordered half the menu, and we can all mark this on our calendars as the day I actually ate vegetables. Probably more than I’ve eaten in the past year combined. First came fresh bread with mashed up chickpeas (so delicious I nonchalantly ate half of it before anyone else had a chance to try it), twice-baked bread with tomatoes and olives (similar to Italian bruschetta), spinach and feta soufflé, zucchini flowers (rice wrapped in the un-ripe blossom of a zucchini plant), and then came potatoes cooked in olive oil. And then the chicken cooked in wine. Then the meatballs, then the wine, then the goat cheese bread with honey, and then for dessert, Greek yogurt (almost as thick as sour cream) with diced oranges and dates.

Food coma anyone?

Good thing this is a no-calorie trip. I’m pretty sure I lost two pounds today from swinging a pick-ax and hauling buckets of dirt back and forth for 8 hours. It’s like a get-out-of-jail-free card.

It was good to think as we ate about what this week has meant. I’ve realized that classes don’t mean much until you apply them, and that real life experience is the best teacher. A class can’t teach you the feeling under your trowel when the soil changes consistency from crumbly to hard-packed. How to mold the soil like a sculptor, to handle it with intense care and precision, instead of merely scraping off layers of dirt like you’re working in a garden. How variations in soil color mean you’ve stumbled upon something new, something important, like a wall you didn’t know existed, a plaster floor that redefines the purpose of the now non-existent building, or evidence of a natural disaster that brought about its demise. I’ve learned how to separate dirt from one locus from the dirt of another, to label pottery accordingly and to keep mental track of which locus is yielding the most reward, and what that means for the location and purpose of the site.

 Classes can’t teach you that time is money, and that archaeologists don’t have money, hence the atmosphere of pressure and high expectations. Work harder. Get things done faster. Do your job well, but be aware of your time limit. Even a five minute water break is looked upon with suspicion. I’ve learned to work with a team, something I normally hate because I’d rather do the job myself. And I’ve learned to respect the value of my own work. Archaeologists are as protective of their trenches as wild animals are of their young. Today some German tourists thought it would be just fine and dandy to walk over our ropes to inspect our vulnerable burial trenches and a hopping mad, bushy-bearded, bandana-wearing hippie archaeologist yelled at them at the top of his voice to get their filthy feet off the poor deceased’s bones and his goddamn dirt thank you very much (further expletives excluded). If you want to visit someone else’s work space, you ask permission to step inside their ropes. It’s etiquette, and to do otherwise is a huge offense.

And I’ve learned you earn your spot at the table. To be welcomed to dinner by a professional is an honor, one you don’t pass up or take lightly. You ask a lot of questions, admit your own shortcomings, and work harder than you ever thought possible in order to earn their respect. I’ve been gently and not-so gently corrected several times this week. It’s humbling, but boy howdy do I know a whole lot more about archaeology today than I did a week ago.

And, if your profs are super cool, they buy you dinner. From a Greek fisherman who lives on the side of a mountain overlooking hills of olives rolling down towards the sea.

I’m not going to need to eat for a week…