Research, the Beach, and the fruitless search for hair cream

It's been a few days, but I've been researching. Not really much to write about on that front.

Although, what is with moldy books?? Are libraries furious with me for not following in my mother's footsteps (she's a librarian) or for abandoning research for the joys of fieldwork? Of all the molds I'm allergic to, the mold that grows in British Museum catalogues is possibly the worst. Right up there with back-filled squares of molding hay, if nothing else.

But what can you do?

'Round these parts a hermetically sealed library is a great idea, but impractical. The cost of trying to suck the humidity out of the air would put you in the poor house. I was in a humidity controlled room the other day and the SOUND the machine made when it came on was incredible. The intake vent could have sucked my head right into it if I hadn't made sure to stand well clear. But at least the humidity was at 18%. I've spent longer periods of time in a dryer storage facility and my knuckles cracked and my lips bled afterwards. Ugh, who knew you needed to bring lip balm and hand lotion when viewing old stuff??

Anyway, I'm getting side-tracked. I was pouring over books and sneezing wildly for a few days. Then found everything else I needed on the internet. I then confirmed my findings with a known professional, always a good plan. Finally, I am spending some time doing the odds and ends that one has to do when doing research. Like turn notes that say "see M for #388, BMC??" into English. And delete all the "WHAT THE F(*#&$ IS THIS S#*$U???" which often turns up in my drafts.

Is the excitement wearing you out? You look tired.... oh, no, that's just boredom, my mistake.

Anyway, I'm flying out on Sunday, back to Denmark, where I will decompress and then once again shift brain gears. At the moment I can't even think about the things I have to do when I get back, as I'm too busy thinking about the things I need to do here.

I did, however, get in a trip to the beach. Woot! I put on a bathing suit, but didn't go in. I'm not really one for getting into the water. I much prefer to play in the sand. And people watch. Here's the beach, with ancient ruins (the whole hill there is a ruin, it's a tel site, one of those places where superimposed cities create a hill over time) and modern power plant, and some beach folk who thought it was a good idea to pitch tents on a windy beach. They must be well staked (THE TENTS you weirdos!), because those tents didn't move an inch over the hours we were there. Nor did the wind die down. (We were behind a wave breaker further up and so didn't have the gale these guys did.)

It was a good break before the last push to get stuff done. Tonight we feast! Tomorrow I do more meet-and-compare-notes and then I pack up and leave the hot. Back to the cold. Back to pork and cheese-and-meat and my beloved Dane, who will not be getting his favorite brand of hair cream, which I have lovingly brought back for him for years now, because it cannot be found in all the places I have looked and I am out of time to look in other places.

My favorite moment in the hair cream search: talking to a lovely young scarfed pharmacist if she carried this cream. "Why not this cream?" she said, holding up the bottle. "No," I said, "I'm buying this for my husband and he was most specific." She gave me the most knowing nod EVER. Husbands, the impossible species.

Anyone know a good hair cream in Denmark for short VERY thick, wavy hair that seems to be a tad on the dry side?

It's a little funny

It's a little funny how fast my body is adjusting to not digging. We finished on Thursday and my hands are already peeling.

Whut?

The calluses that I get on my hands from picking and scooping up dirt and carrying it here and there in buckets and wheelbarrows are peeling off, leaving soft pink skin behind.

It's only been two days since I swung a pick!

I didn't loose my calluses last weekend, when I didn't dig for two days.

How did they know it was time to go?

I am currently considering the following theory: Beer repels calluses.

Normally on the dig I'm drinking G&T's or something and somethings, not much beer. Although I do also have a beer from time to time, it's less beer and more tasty mixed beverages with hard alcohol. But the hard liquor has gone and we have a lot of beer left. So we are drinking more beer than usual.

If you are perhaps wondering if this theory lacks anything resembling logic... remember where I am and what I've been doing for the last four weeks. Moving vast amounts of dirt from one place to another in Israel in summer without shade could also be interpreted as lacking logic. Or even sanity.

Well, here, where I am, logic need not apply.

Thus, I think beer might turn out to be an excellent callus repellant. Methinks I should have some more to see if I can do something about my callused feet! It is an experiment! I'm drinking more beer in the name of science!

Shopping in Israel

Because last year's food was so dreadful - rice and cabbage and potatoes EVERY FREAKIN' NIGHT! - we decided we'd buy our own.  It was bound to be better and cheaper than what we were getting.  This requires us to go into town to shop at the local supermarket every few days.  We have a rotation, so no one gets stuck doing it too often.  

Shopping in Denmark is tricky enough because of the language barrier, but in Israel, a lot of the items are in Hebrew.  They use a WHOLE different alphabet.  Of which I know only a few letters.  None of which make up words, by the way.  I imagine that this is how illiterate people shop, by pictures.  This works out okay... so far I haven't bought something completely awful.  And I can compare the shapes of the letters to the price tags to figure out what is what price. But I am definitely buying "salads" by color: white, pink, or red.

Dining by the sea

On Saturday we went to Akko for lunch.  It was sort of a long drive for lunch, but what else was there to do?  There was the excitement of going left when we should have gone right because when you are driving south it is PARAMOUNT that you realize the map is now "upside down."

We ate in a little restaurant by the sea, where the local youths leap off the wall into the water.  They quickly realized we were all sitting there waiting for them to jump so we could take pictures and would you believe, not a single one jumped for me??  Eventually my arm got tired of holding the camera out, so I just took this picture and you'll just have to believe me when I say they leap into the water.

The first field trip or "if it's Tuesday this must be Bet She'an"

So yesterday was our first field trip. We offer students the option of going to certain sites in the area. Some of these come with "tours" led by "leading scholars," by which we mean that some of us know some stuff about certain sites and we'll pontificate about them if you so desire.

The first trip is always Bet She'an (of which there are MANY spellings). As it is a Roman city and I am a Romanist and I once gave a paper on the Decapolis (means "ten cities" Bet She'an is one of them), I am the tour guide. I have given this tour I don't know how many times. I do, however, often forget to take pictures.

But this time I did nab a few.

Bet Shean is a multi-phase site, most of the remains visible are Roman and Byzantine, but there was an earthquake in 749 AD that knocked a lot of the city down. Building on top of the fallen ruins is therefor a later period (because the columns had to fall down first, you see) and looks darned cool to an archaeologist.

Behind these buildings, in the distance, you can see the columns of the main street, or Cardo, as it is usually called.

This photo, taken last year by someone else, shows the tel. A tel is a hill made up of a series of superimposed occupational layers. This one is mighty tall and dates from 6,000 BC (at least) to the medieval period (but very little, as most people moved into the valley around abouts 300 BC ish). The Roman city was built on one side of the tel and stuck a few temples on top of the tel, but otherwise kept itself to the valley.

This photo shows more of the earthquake damage. We don't know why no one moved the stones after the earthquake, because the buildings in the first picture shows us that people did live there (there's other evidence, but you don't really want to hear about ceramics do you?), so why did they leave these stones in place? They are freaking big.

Anyway, that was the first tour. My legs were killing me and I'd gotten what turned out to be a rather nasty sunburn on my shoulders and arms. I looked at my sunscreen a bit more carefully when I got back. It says on the front: sweat-proof! Water-proof! Then on the back in small letters: sweat and water-proof for up to 80 minutes.

EIGHTY MINUTES?? I'm digging from 5 to 12! That's 420 minutes! I have to reapply this stuff 5 times a day?? Ugh. When the small shop opens tomorrow I am going and getting a better sunscreen.

I do not usually get this sunburned, but I was just that pale and my sunscreen that bad that I guess there was just no hope. So after a full day of work, sore legs and arms, a hike around a rather large archaeological park - we climbed that tel, by the way - I was beat and ready for bed. It was an early night. (Which is why this blog post is a day late.)

It's not the destination, it's the journey...

I took some amazingly boring pictures of the double-decker bus that I took from Århus to the airport. I took a picture of the ferry boat wake as we sped across the sea (part of the journey from Århus to Copenhagen by bus is on a ferry boat... it's made all the more exciting in that I get seasick, so I took a seasickness pill and felt very weird for a few hours). I didn't take a picture of the airplane... because, well, it's an airplane.

But I'm not going to post those pictures because it was such a BORING trip.

The exciting part was the Nesher taxi. Which I brilliantly called a sheroot, when I meant sherut, in my last post.

I did not take this photo. I staggered out of the airport at 4:30 AM and fell into the cab. As you can see, it's a van thing. They fill it up with people going to roughly the same place. Our destination being: Jerusalem.

Something you should know about J-town. It's HUGE. Small towns next to it have been sucked in. So a Nesher full of people, 10 persons and a driver, may take you ALL over the freaking place. Except East Jerusalem. The archaeological institutes and a few rich hotels in East Jerusalem, yes, they can take you there. But they don't like it. And they'll only pick you up again from one or two really fancy hotels in EJ. Otherwise, they'll drop you on the outskirts and let you take your chances on the uneven sidewalks.

The crazy part is, the driver has no GPS. But he knows all the streets of the entire region. He remembers where all of you need to go, then drives like... well, there's no really good simile for it. He takes up both lanes (sometimes those lanes are all going in the same direction and sometimes not), he thinks speed bumps are for the weak and lights for the timid. There is no way to sleep on the Nesher taxi ride. This is where I believe most people actually find God. Not in the churches or mosques or synagogues, but right there in the cab.

This time I felt like I was on a tour of places I have previously lived while in Jerusalem. We went through Rahavia, the German Colony and the Albright (the American archaeology institute) before coming to an abrupt halt outside the Kenyon. And then had to drag my 22 kg (48.5 pounds that is!) suitcase up these stairs.

I don't know why my suitcase is so heavy. I had far less in it than last year. However, I used a smaller suitcase then and I think this suitcase is considerably heavier even when empty. There are also two flights of stairs inside the Kenyon. But that would be a really dull picture. They are stairs, okay. Grey carpet if you are curious. And there are more of then than are good for your back, your hand (remove rings before dragging suitcase: check!), and your suitcase itself.

When I opened my suitcase I could see that everything I packed so carefully was now bunched up on the left half of the suitcase (well the bottom half when standing... but you get the picture). I could have used a much smaller suitcase. Oh well. Maybe I can bring back a load of antiquities. KIDDING!!! (They search your bags on the way out of Israel, what kind of idiot sticks an antiquity in their check-in luggage?)

Slept a few hours. Basked in the heat. Almost passed out from how freakin' pale I am. Had problems walking down to get food because I haven't worn sandals since August and my toes were going, "Dude, what is this heat? Is that the sun? Is this heat the sunshine? We've heard about sunshine. Is that why you put sunscreen on us? 'Cause that tickled. How come we aren't enveloped in cotton? What is with these strap things? Can we take that rock with us? How about that rock? Oh, we like that big rock! Let's take that one home!! Please?" I managed not to walk out of my sandals, SUCCESS!! And had my first falafel in god knows how long. Oh the flavor! The spices! The hummus!!

But now I need to nap. My roommate flew in from Montana on a LONG series of flights that began on Thursday and ended in the early hours of Saturday. She's out like a light.

Tomorrow will be packing up the gear and getting it north to the site. A frantic day of packing, unpacking, moving, rearranging, organizing and collapsing awaits!

Packed

I'm packed. Well, apart from a few odds and ends... like my computer, for example.

I found my dig boots, and I will not be taking my husband's on accident. Found my sandals. Found my trowels. Did not find my hat, but then, I was planning on using my kaffiya anyway. Also couldn't find my dental picks and at least two official dig team t-shirts. Odd. Also missing some wife-beaters, my dig shirt of choice. And one sports bra.

I have oodles of space left in my suitcase. Not really sure why. Probably because there's a total of 4 missing shirts, one missing hat, and a small bag of dental picks gone poof. Really, I've looked everywhere. I really would have liked to have found the dental picks.

I'm preparing myself mentally for the trip. I've been trying for days, but I really need to stop thinking Danish and start thinking Insanity. Israel is like that. It's freakin' nuts. The exact polar opposite of Denmark. It's fairly dirty (this is a sore point with my husband, who points out that it gets very dirty in Århus on Sunday morning and then I point out that Denmark has people who go out and pick up the trees that fall over in the forrest) and dusty. People live like there is not going to be a tomorrow (whereas in Denmark everyone is living for the long term, putting of life until some point in the future) and drive like complete and utter lunatics. You do not have to worry about bombings in Denmark. Or shootings. Or bulldozers driving up congested streets (over the cars). The hours of business suck in Denmark, but at least they are open when they say they will be. Good luck with that in Israel. Jewish holidays make less sense than Danish holidays, in that they creep up on you and it means that things are closed from sundown to sundown, often opening up after sundown (and thus after the holiday) and this includes bookstores and bars and restaurants. Busses from West Jerusalem do not cross into East Jerusalem, so you have to get off and walk to catch the sheroots (Arab busses) that are rather run down and it's often faster to just walk than wait for the fat woman with the daily shopping to get aboard and stow her gear. Not that the driver waits, so sometimes you get to help her find her oranges under the seats.

Logic does not exist in Israel. We often refer to it as "the land that logic forgot" although it is possible that logic never arrived in Israel, having gotten lost in the desert with Moses and eaten by desperate Israelites who mistook it as bread from heaven. It is, however, a riot of fun and color. You can be about as nuts as you can be and people will just shrug and go about their lives. Very much living in the now and living out loud. Party hard, pray hard. You can get into an intense argument with someone, only to have it end in hugs and assertions of eternal devotion and friendship. You can also get spit on by religious fanatics, whom no one really likes, but they allow you to pray less hard without feeling guilty. You can get amazing shwarma from the guy around the corner. You can get great coffee at a rooftop cafe where you can see the Dome of the Rock and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and the bustling souk without turning around. You get bumped by nuns who will apologize and bless you in 5 different languages. It is utterly foreign and exotic and weird things happening are completely normal.

You can get pork (it's against Jewish and Islamic law) by going into the Russian Orthodox (Christian) quarter and asking for "white beef" and you can get a ham and cheese sandwich in the Armenian quarter if you know where to go. There's a GREAT Palestinian beer that certain bars have on tap.

Coming from Denmark is a shock. Life is faster, but everyone walks slower. Hot days, cool nights. The sound of the Imams calling Muslims to prayer wakes you up at 4 am for the first two days, but then you adapt and barely notice it until you get home and miss it.

I'm so excited. I wish I was taking my hebrew speaking husband. He makes life SO much easier. I'll just muddle through as I do. I know a handful of words, the most important being the word for hebrew and no. "Lo afrit, english?" Many people speak English or some form of it, or French, so I can get by. I know a few letters as well, and can match up patterns enough to know which bus to take if I have to get from Jerusalem to Bet Shean or Tiberias or Tel Aviv.

But I'm the driver again this year, so no busses for me. Just the joys of mad driving. I actually enjoy it. Although I scream a lot and I may be responsible for running over the dove of peace last year. I thought it was a plastic bag and it didn't move until the last minute, flying up into my grill. How was I supposed to know??

I'll probably be unable to keep up with all the blogs I read. And even if I read them I might not be able to comment so much, but I'm not ignoring you my bloggers! I am going to devote time to blogging which cuts into my reading, but I still love you all!

Think of me at 8 pm Copenhagen time, because I HATE flying and I'll be wondering how fast we get off the ground and how soon they'll start serving alcohol so I can have ONE drink before I try to pretend I am not 35,000 feet in the air with nothing under my feet but AIR and SPACE and most importantly DEPTH!! AHHHHHHH!!!

Hugs y'all!