Doing my bit

It's long, I'll admit. And it's depressing. It was written by concerned Danes, which goes to show that there are people here who decent human beings who will continue to fight for the rights of everyone and that the expats who point out the rising racism in Denmark are not a bunch of whining wankers.



Spread the word!

Another reason for my husband to look at me askance

I found a random note in one of the travel guides my husband checked out of the library for our trip.

"Apologies for the delay, Kirsten, your email got a little lost in all the

others!!

Where to go:

Jacobite steam railway (Harry Potter)

Jacobite Cruises on Loch Ness (can book those from here)

Glen Coe

Culloden

Mallaig

And more places that you can shake a stick at.

If you are into geology and stuff like that then Natural Treasures in

Corpach near here is a good place to spend a little time

Mountain biking on the hills and trails

Quad bikes at Fersit

Ice Wall at Kinloch Leven

Hows that for starters?"

(I typed that verbatim, do not pester me with spelling, grammar, or punctuation errors.)

These sorts of things mystify, bother, and entertain me all at once. Who wrote it? Why? What's the story? Did it all work out in the end?? Did Kirsten have a good time? Or she still wandering the mountains around Scotland? Did the writer really mean that Kirsten can shake a stick at these sights or is that a typo? I envision Kirsten, a little old woman with a cane, who loves Harry Potter, climbing the mountains around Glencoe so she can shake her stick at the sheep.

I can amuse myself for hours on end filling in the blanks and then because it's only fun if you can share these ideas, I babble at my husband, who would much rather find somewhere to live while he's in Holland for a semester abroad (he leaves in two weeks and may have to sleep in the car if he doesn't find something soon) than listen to me spin yarns about people I don't know and will never meet. (Note: normally he loves to listen to me yammer, but he's a little stressed, you know.)

Anyone else find these notes and wonder about who wrote them? I'm particularly fond of things written inside the covers of used books. Things like: "Dear Bitty, Thanks for all the peaches!" Who the heck is Bitty? Peaches?? Why would you write that in a book?

Then there was the death notice in the Ærø newspaper. Translated from Danish it reads:

"Our dear Annette has suddenly died."

That's it. No dates. Nothing. Some names of whoever placed the obit came after, but no last names and no relationships mentioned. For all I know, Annette was the beloved family fish!

Ah, it doesn't take much to entertain me, does it?

The rest of the England trip... it's a rather long post

***Note: the layout of this post changes with the width of internet page or "window" you are using to view this post. I've tried, I've really tried to make it pretty, sane, orderly, and readable. I give up.***

So the Brits have this new idea, charge people VAST sums for internet access.

Blow that, I'd rather have a good meal.

So this post comes to you rather late and is a bit condensed for time and space.

Tuesday, July 28th
We got up early and made it to the Roman Museum in Canterbury where I spent some time yakking with the docent in charge of the children's activities. I got to make a Roman coin. It was a fabulous museum for children and childlike Archaeogoddesses because you get to touch EVERYTHING. There are clothes and shoes to try on and different wefts of fabric to feel and ceramics to play with and catapults to aim and fire. I am very interested in how museums present the past and ways in which they create a link between the general public and archaeology. Especially in regards to children. The various places we went were all very children friendly and had plenty of things for them to do that would interest them in the past. It was GLORIOUS! I think the museum in Canterbury was the best for kids, though. It was the most hands-on. Bath was a close second, but it was mainly for older people. But I get ahead of myself!

From Canterbury we headed over to Dover. Here we joined English Heritage, an organization that oversees numerous historical sites in England. They have special memberships for all kinds of people, including oversees nut-jobs who are only staying for a week. It gets you into places for free, you get a HUGE book about all the different sites they manage and you are contributing to maintaining historical sites. End of plug. :-)

This is what remains of the oldest Roman building in Britain, a lighthouse. It was built around 50 CE, after the Claudian invasion when Romans began traveling to and from England with greater frequency. There used to be two lighthouses on either side of the port, but only one survived. There was a massive castle also on the site, but it was closed for renovation. We also went to a small museum that held the remains of a Roman inn. The museum hadn't been updated since it opened in the 70's, at which time it was cutting edge in regards to children's activities and other stuff. The head archaeologist is still in charge of the museum and you can tell this is his site and his baby and no you are not going to take pictures if they can be used for personal gain.

From there we went on to Pevensey, to see the Roman fort within a ruined castle.Unfortunately, due to the traffic in Hastings (if only William the Conqueror had had this problem, Harold would have easily won the battle, having gotten to the battle site in Battle with PLENTY of time to spare) we got there just after it closed. It looked very lovely though. I again took some purple shots and, over the course of this vacation, discovered that sometimes my camera does this for no apparent reason. It does seem to happen when the battery begins to run low, but before the low battery light appears. Hm. ANYWAY.

We then went on to Brighton. Brighton is somewhere I'd like to see more of. Especially since Jamie Oliver has a restaurant there and we didn't discover it until AFTER we'd eaten. My husband, for whatever reason, ordered Spaghetti Bolognese. He knows he likes my bolognese best, so what was he thinking? Me, I had this duck in plum sauce over penne. *Kiss* Smashing! I have a duck breast in the freezer and I think I now know what I'm going to do with it! Walking about a bit in Brighton, we decided it was not entirely unlike San Francisco. Seaside town, tones of restaurants, happening gay scene (the parade was in a few days and the town was getting it's rainbow on, very festive, I'd have love to stayed to watch), and overall relaxed feeling.

Wednesday, July 29th
The next day we got on the road to check out the Downs. We climed Cissbury Ring, which is a ring fort now populated by cows with very large horns. The weather was gorgeous and the view was spectacular. It was the kind of place that makes one want to take up being a naturalist and sit in a field and count flowers.

We then went to

Chanctonbury. Um. Someone should have told me it was SO tall. And the walk was going to be s

o long. We didn't make it to the top. We went part of the way, and it was GORGEOUS. I mean, look at this tree!! It was also very slippery. We passed a woman who'd fallen and possibly broken her collarbone (don't worry, she was being attended by a paramedic). I actually slipped and fell myself, right next to the EMT, which, had I hurt myself, would have probably pissed him off, since he already had one injured person to remove. I carried a bit of the South Downs on my bottom for the rest of the day. Some of it is still in my coat.

We then hurried off to Bignor Roman villa, because we were now a bit late and damn it all, I was going to get to Fishbourne Palace if it killed me. Bignor is a very overlooked farm villa. Probably because you can only get to it if you have a car. Speaking of which, British roads, once you are off of the main highways, are all one lane. It gets very tricky when you meet a car going the other way, but all of the drivers were so nice about getting over or backing up (we also got over and backed up when needed) and there was much waving and smiling. We had to do this in Denmark last week as well, but there was far less smiling and waving. Cultural differences. (By the way, that photo is upside down, don't ask me why, it's complicated. It's also one of the few photos I have since the camera started acting up. It "fixed" itself by Fishbourne.)

Fishbourne was fantastic! It's HUGE! It also has a rather amusing children's section, where you learn to sort ceramics, find rim diameters and examine soil samples. Possibly not for every child, but great if you want to practice your ceramic sorting while on vacation. *grin* I also got ridiculously excited when I saw rabbits and used up the rest of my camera battery trying to get a good shot.We got to Salisbury just in time to NOT see the inside of the Cathedral.

Thursday, July 30th
We started the day with the fastest tour of the Salisbury Cathedral as one can. (Did you know that William Golding, who wrote "Lord of the Flies" lived in Salisbury? Neither did I, but then we saw the school where he taught. There was a helpful sign.) We saw the Magna Carta. My husband was really impressed once he realized what it was and got to read the translation. (Notable points in the MC: the beginning of what would become "Habeas Corpus," making unlawful imprisonment unlawful.) He was also impressed that I could read some of the original text. We then booked it up to Old Sarum, where we got a face-full of English weather. Thankfully it had mostly cleared by the time we got up to Stonehenge.

My god the crowds of people!!I have better pictures but I thought you should see the crowds. It also has the LONGEST free audio tour on the planet. It tells you wonderful things like "Stonehenge is made of stone." And "some people think ALIENS made Stonehenge." Thankfully, there are benches where you can set your butt down while you wait for the voice to say something interesting.

We were much happier tourists when we got to Avebury. Here my husband tries to avoid stepping in sheep droppings while taking a picture of one of the standing stones. As you can see, you can just walk up and touch them... the rocks. Maybe the sheep too, but they looked a bit... well... like they wouldn't put up with that kind of nonsense, let's just say. We also began stopping at other random Neolithic sites because the area around here was simply covered with them.

There was Silbury Hill and West Kennet Long Barrow and a crop circle....

Wait, whut? Crop circles aren't Neolithic!!

The mythology of crop circles was not known to my husband, obviously a part of his education that he's missed out on. I filled him in and he was amused and impressed. But not as much as I was. I've seen a real live CROP CIRCLE!! (No, I do not believe they are made by aliens, I've seen the documentary on one of the groups who have done them and I believe in highly organized groups of pranksters far more than aliens who come to earth just to leave patterns in the wheat fields.)

All in all, I think this was one of my favorite days because there were so many more things to see than I'd ever known were there. It's nice to be surprised while on a very well planned vacation.

Because of all the driving and climbing about, we didn't get to Bath until ridiculously late. But we did finally get to eat Indian food.

Friday July 31st
Took my husband to see the Roman Bath in Bath. See the obligatory Bath picture? We then drove to Chedworth Roman villa in the Cotswolds. We were running rather late because we needed to be in Cambridge at 6 and so some things got dropped. No Cirencester. No Cotswold rambling. My camera acted up once we left Bath and so there are no more pictures taken by me (but don't worry, I'll steal some off the internets). We only drove through two villages, neither of which were on the plan, but both were lovely. We decided that we will obviously come back here at some other date. We were ridiculously late to the barbeque, but thankfully there was beer and friends to make the evening fun.

Saturday, August 1st
Got to the wedding in time. It was lovely. The Anglican ceremony (meaning I had to explain to some of my Danish friends and husband that, yes, this is what a normal wedding looks like to me) took place in the 12th c. chapel at Jesus College. We were asked not to take photos during the service itself, but the bride was radiant and the groom very dashing. The bride was a Danish friend of ours (my husband met her WAY back when) and also a Byzantine scholar. Her new husband is Australian and also a Late Antique scholar and many of the guests were also Byzantine/Late Antique scholars so there was a lot of networking and discussing research, making it half wedding, half conference. Great fun for me!

Dinner and reception were held at Trinity College. First we had champagne in Neville's court, in the Wren Portico. Then we ate in the Great Hall (yes, that is a picture of Henry VIII on the wall) and drank and danced in the college bar until it closed at midnight. We then stumbled off to a dance club. I managed to keep my shoes on the entire time, but never did get to dance on a table.

Sunday August 2nd
We had a full English breakfast for brunch the next day with the wedding party and guests, but this still isn't the longest wedding I've ever been to. The wedding we went to two years ago in Israel was longer, there were more events and even tours of Israel arranged for the guests! I highly recommend being a guest at a destination wedding. They are great fun and you are more likely to get to talk to the bride and/or groom. However, planning one is a pain in the butt.

Speaking of our friends who threw the longest wedding, they now live in England and so we went and visited. They have a lovely house that they've done quite a bit of work on and it was delightful to visit and catch up. Funnily enough, of all the places we stayed while on this mad trip, they had the most comfortable bed in the quietest area and a really good shower. They're also great cooks and I got my cardamon fix for the month. Sigh, I really need to get out and buy a big bag of cardamon seeds, the ground stuff just does not cut it.

Monday August 3rd
Got up and breakfasted with our friends. Walked the town. Got in the car and waved goodbye (made a bit harder because I was frantically trying to change the GPS from "pedestrian" to "driving" before we ended up going the wrong way down a street) and drove to Stansted.

I have to say, I was not so impressed with RyanAir this time. Probably because we had real luggage. We could have fit everything in one suitcase, but because the weight limit was 15 kg per bag, we ended up taking TWO suitcases. Seems like a stupid rule. It should be a weight of 15 kg per person, not bag, so we could have used one 25 kg bag instead of two. I guess it made it easier to get the bags up stairs, but it would have been easier to have ONE bag because hotel rooms in England are TINY. Whatever. We very much enjoyed our car from Enterprise. It was a small car without much oomph, but easy to drive and the service was lovely. I forgot how friendly and chatty Brits can be.

All in all, it was a good trip. We had a lovely time and saw so much. There is plenty more to see, we'd really like to do some more walking in the countryside, and if my husband is REALLY nice to me I may plan another trip someday.

Canterbury!!

So we made it and so far so good!

Here's our car... note the steering wheel is on the wrong side. This has led my husband to say, whilst driving, "This is sooooooo weird!" We're glad to have the GPS, so that we aren't entirely relying on my navigation skills (normally excellent but I keep staring at stuff and then shout, "hey, did that sign just say exit 8??!!??"). We also had a toll bridge to cross that had my husband a bit worried (his wallet with British pounds was in the back) until I whipped out my little wallet of foreign coins (in this case UK/EU) and handed him £2. He asked, "Do you just keep wallets of foreign currency?" And I replied, "Why, yes. Yes I do. I have one for Israel, one for Jordan, one for the US and one for the UK and the EU." "How often do we go to England that you need a wallet for it?!" He was amazed and, I think, quite a bit pleased that I am prepared for ALL kinds of things.

We were last in England in March 2008. I think the trip before was in 2005 or 06. That's often enough for me to keep my spare change. Besides, you never know when you might have a trip somewhere else that might go through London.

We saw the cathedral... which I couldn't get all into one shot. I'll go through my husband's photos later, but you get the idea... It was VERY big and VERY cool. It's surrounded by ruins because stupid Henry VIII went and knocked the abby and surrounding buildings down when he broke away from the Catholic Church. I will admit, it does make for some very lovely gardens and pictures.

I am not the photographer my husband is. But I did take this one fantastic (in my mind) photo through sheer not-understanding-basic-photography-101: I took a picture INTO the sun.

It's purple... and ghosty. Whoooo!!!! Anyone else feel the ghost of St. Thomas Becket lurking behind them? BOO!

Right, time to run off and get in a museum before we head to Dover, where I will endevor NOT to fall off the White Cliffs.

Some more on Islam and Denmark and then I'll find something else to write about....

I take the following from the article I found through the Wikipedia site Sigurt (a commenter on the post below) suggested... and I happen to know one of the authors. :-)

LINK to article

Some quotes:

"Currently, although more than twenty informal mosques exist in Copenhagen, in classrooms and basements spread throughout the city, there is no single gathering place for Muslims in Denmark. On Eid and other important holidays that necessitate large groups of Muslims worshipping together, they must resort to renting out conference halls or stadiums, Walliat Khan of the Copenhagen City Council explained in “Amager Bladet” on April 3, 2001."

(The only purpose built mosque is Nusrat Djahan, built in 1967. As Wikipedia states: "Other mosques exist but are not built for the explicit purpose. It is not forbidden to build mosques or any other religious buildings in Denmark but there are very strict zoning laws. ")

“The Constitution guarantees freedom of religion, but not religious equality,” writes Jørgen Bæk Simonsen (Simonsen 2001: 3).

“There should be freedom of religion but not equality of religion. Denmark is first and foremost a Christian country, and we should support our religion,” he [Peter Skaarup, DF member] says.

Jørgen Bæk Simonsen of the Carsten Niebuhr Institute of Near Eastern Studies at the University of Copenhagen sees the lack of a mosque in Denmark as an embarrassment for Danes. “There definitely should be a mosque – it’s depressing that we’ve had Muslims for thirty years and we’re still denying them this basic respect,” he says.

---

The article also details the ongoing problems the Danish Muslim community has - lack of unity, for one. This makes sense if you think about the various different Islams that make up Greater Islam, in the same way that there are many Christianities that make up Greater Christendom. Example: I am NOT a Lutheran. Don't expect me to Lutheranize and don't expect me to frequent a Lutheran church. I've opted out of participating in church taxes, every fiber of my being cries out for separation of church and state, but it does rankle a bit that were I to decide to take part in organized religion, I would have a heck of a time getting to the one and only Anglican Church, which is in Copenhagen (but hey, 8 times a year the priest comes to Århus!).

Now I'm pretty laid back about churchy things. I was married by a Lutheran minister in a Lutheran church because the options were very limited (my father-in-law is a Lutheran minister, ponder that for a moment). But not everyone is and so trying to get various factions of Islam to work together is like asking the Irish Protestants and Catholics to build ONE church that will satisfy BOTH their needs.

A little crazy, if you ask me.

So what is the solution? I'd say the big one is changing what "integration" means in Danish. I'll wait until you all stop laughing. I can tell you what won't work: maintaining the status quo. The way we're headed will only continue to polarize the two sides and driver deeper divisions between nye Dansker and, for lack of a better term (and I approve the irony of my new term) gammel Dansker.

It's time we all became nye Dansker: Amerikaner-Dansker, Englænder-Dansker, Pakistaner-Dansker, etc.

Join me Danes, be part of New Denmark!

Ah the humor of it all...

So in order to understand why this is so funny, you must first be aware of Denmark's newest brilliant move to counter extreme Islam.

Take away the passports of Muslim children so they can't be sent back for "reeducation." Best line: "I think it’s strange for these people to have chosen to come to Denmark and then, when their child becomes too Danish, they send them back to be re-educated in the parents’ culture, religion and traditions." Henrik Dam Kristensen, Social Democrats' spokesman on integration.

Because, you know, god forbid that muslim children learn about their parents' culture.

Okay, I'll bite. There are those who are sent back for intensive Islamic training and there are those who are sent back to get married. But can someone tell me how many children visit the "old country" every year? If there are 14 cases of re-education, how many are completely banal? You know, meet the family, see the sights, learn to speak Arabic without that stupid Danish accent, etc. Is that worth stripping the right to freedom of movement for an entire section of society? Many of these children are Danish citizens for crying out loud! Is Denmark saying, yeah, they're citizens, but only second class, so they don't get to have the rights *real* Danish citizens enjoy.

And now the irony: read about what happened at the international summer school in Funen?

See, a bunch of Danish parents, living abroad, sent their children TO DENMARK, AND I QUOTE, "to learn more about their heritage." (And they now might have swine flu. But that's not the purpose of this story.)

So, it's okay for Danish parents to send their child for Danish re-education because it's about learning about their heritage. But GOD FORBID that immigrants to Denmark do the same, because they've chosen to come to Denmark and so should be dropping all things related to their past, including culture, religion, and traditions (ie HERITAGE).

The comment at the bottom of the second article had me in hysterics. Seasonticket, you make me laugh my ass off.

Here's an idea for you, Denmark. Let your muslim minorities open some damn mosques and schools HERE. Then children wouldn't have to leave the country to learn about their heritage and you could, theoretically, keep a watch over what they are learning. Maybe, *GASP* some of you could even go and learn something about the culture that lives alongside of yours! Stop forcing us all the pretend that we had no culture or heritage before we washed up on the shores of this cold misbegotten country. (Oh, I'm an American and so I don't have culture or heritage? Well, let me strip those Levi's and Nike's off you, take your hot dogs, potatoes [yes, you idiot, they come from the Americas and if you deny the US culture and heritage, you are denying the rest of the Americas too, seeing how we were all settled at the same time by a bunch of loser immigrants from Europe], tomatoes [sorry, that too], and leave. Oh, and shut down your movie theaters, because we invented the motion picture industry and even your damn Lars von Trier would have been stuck depressed and alone if it wasn't for Kodak [American!!].)

Sometimes the hypocrisy of it all really stings.

Procrastination

I have to go up to the library and get two books. I've put it off for days. In fact I've put it off for so long that if I don't go and get the books, they'll put them BACK and I'll have to do the whole rigamarole of ordering the books all over again.

I SHOULD have gone yesterday, when my husband was in the throws of computer insanity and rather touchy and therefore not much fun, and the SUN was out. The current blackness of the clouds means my lights are on.

MY LIGHTS ARE ON IN DENMARK AT 4pm IN THE SUMMER!!

Horrors they are black looming clouds.

So it's going to rain.

Well, I don't really want to walk up and back to the library in the rain. My excuse is that the books will get wet, but mostly I just don't want to walk 20 minutes there and 20 minutes back in the warm and wet. Yes, to make things worse, it's rather warm. Have I mentioned that the University is UPHILL?? So I'll be hot and wet and SWEATY??

Therefore.... I think I'm going to take the bus.

*full body shiver*

I'm terrified. What if I get on the wrong bus? What if I get on the bus going the WRONG WAY??

This has happened. Quite a lot, in fact. I'd go so far as to say that I've spent more time on the WRONG buses than I have on the RIGHT busses.

I've checked the rejseplannen twice. And they make less sense than ever. I can't seem to get a simple map showing me what busses go where and the rejseplanner wants me to walk half way across town to catch a bus that may go right next to my home... but the map provided seems to indicate that the bus will FLY through parts of down town. Have the folks at rejseplanner been reading too much Harry Potter?

Gone onto the midttrafik web-site, and they want me to take completely different busses. However, as they have proper maps and I can see that I can take either of two busses from RIGHT next to my home that will drop me off RIGHT next to the University... I think. I will go with this option.

All I have to do is find my bus tickets.

Can you tell I am procrastinating? I really don't want to take the bus. I REALLY REALLY am afraid of busses.

Oh geez.... here I go.

***UPDATE: I did it!! I took the bus there and back again! Without help from my husband, so I feel quite triumphant. I bought clip card from the supermarket (the only one I had was for Copenhagen, not so helpful here) without any trouble. I knew I needed a two zone card and I had just enough money. I did stand at the wrong bus stop for 5 minutes (the construction in downtown Århus is a NIGHTMARE) but noticed the "Obs" sign (Danish for "hey, you, stupid, notice THIS") and since it contained words I do not know I grabbed the first passing Dane who looked between 20 and 30 years old (more like to speak English and be comfortable with it) and I grabbed the right one. Not only did he tell me I was at the wrong stop, he gave me directions to find the right stop for the bus I was trying to take (I don't know all the street names so this was INCREDIBLY helpful). Caught the bus. Got off at the correct stop. Had a bit of a problem finding the bus stop for the way home, but after a bit of looking, I found it. No Danes had to be accosted. Got on the right bus. Got off at the right stop. YES!! And instead of two books waiting for me, I had 6, so I'm glad I took the bus. Why must I keep ordering such hefty books?? I still ended up sweaty because it is very humid and I was terribly stressed. My knees are still shaking!! But I did it!!***

Drug seeking

Ah, those allergies. Just when you think you've got the balance of drugs to tissue right, something will change.

It's been raining here in Denmark. Rain normally minimizes the allergies. You know, smashes the pollen into the ground. But not this year. This year I think my allergies have decided to be proactive and behave as if I'm always being subjected to pollen, just to save time.

What is it with my immune system? Why does it hate pollen so? It's not like pollen is out lurking behind some bush getting ready to leap out, steal my purse and knife me in the bargain. Why can't we get along?

I've tried having a stern talk with my immune system. But it keeps insisting that the pollen is a virus attempting to invade my body. It says that I'll be glad for it overreacting when the body snatchers come and only those with overactive immune systems will be prepared and only the sneezers will survive.

I think it's being a little over dramatic. And having a stuffy head already makes me feel like a pod person.

But I must say I am getting very good at getting allergy medication in different countries. It helps if you have the box with the drug in question written on the side. Because no everyone can say "pseudoephedrine hydrochloride" let alone SPELL it.

Pseudoephedrine is a fabulous drug. It clears up the sinus like nothing else and can take a barely functioning archaeogoddess dying of sinus congestion in the field to a perky alert and downright spunky archaeogoddess digging machine in just over half an hour. In the US, where they worry about these things, pseudoephedrine is a controlled substance... by controlled I mean you have to show identification and fill out a little book just to get a small packet of the damn things. I can tell you, when your head is going to fall off your shoulders and go rolling down the street, the last thing you want to do is bend over and sign a form saying that you will not make methamphedamines with said medication. Dude! You think I may waste this precious product on making something that I couldn't snort up THIS NOSE if I wanted to!?! Honestly!!

Israel was pretty nice about it. No signing anything, but I couldn't buy more than 30 pills at a go. I didn't bother to ask for more than one pack in Denmark, I was just ecstatic that I could get 24 pills for 64 dkk!!

Bless you Denmark and your generic medication!!

I really ought to go see the doctor and have a little chat about my options allergy-wise. Shots? Different medication? Holes in the head? Hypnosis?? But if they want to take blood for an allergy test it means I have to go...er... dry.... for two days. Gnugh. Why don't you just ask me to stop drinking coffee while you are at it!? Kill me, go on!!

Until then, I'll just continue to trot down to the pharmacy every month for my pill popping needs. At least until winter when I have 5 blessed months sans sneezing (except those weeks around Christmas because I am rather allergic to Christmas trees).

Marriage: a year later

Here's something I didn't expect: to be called by all and sundry to be wished a happy anniversary.

Not that I'm complaining, no one called before noon and the fact that we were still sound asleep when people did call, because my Dane worked the night shift at the taxi, is no one's fault but my own for forgetting to turn off the phone.

But how was I to know that people call and wish you a happy anniversary? We don't do that where I come from. Well, at least not in my family.

****UPDATE: My family did call to wish me a happy anniversary. Good heavens! I guess this is something one is supposed to do!! I now feel incredible guilt for not contacting friends and family to wish them happy anniversaries. To all of you out there who have an anniversary to celebrate, no matter what it is or when: HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!!****

---

The Dane is working taxi today, but has called and informed me that he's gotten us a table at my favorite Mexican restaurant, because he knows me and my stomach.

That's love.

I imagine that had we more money, he'd be taking me somewhere fancy, but we are currently holding back on spending because we are finally taking a honeymoon.

Sorta.

Is it a honeymoon when one person gets to go see a bunch of archaeological sites that interest her and the other person is along for the ride? I'm not sure. But the Dane has indicated that we should take this extended weekend vacation because we have yet to honeymoon.... so I'm thinking this may count as it.

Does that mean I should buy something sexy?? Not that he'd care, particularly. This is the man who can't figure out why I bother to shave as it is time consuming and sometimes bloody and he doesn't mind either way.

But back to the "honeymoon." We have a wedding to attend in the UK. Cambridge, no less. Yes, I move in exalted circles. Or know too many academics. And I may have mentioned before my Anglophilic tendencies. My one regret in life is that I never went to school in England. (Really, is that all I regret? Yeah, cause if I'd gone when I wanted to go I would have saved myself much heart ache and stress... but then I wouldn't be married to this lovely man.... but then I wouldn't have to be learning to speak Danish.... but then.... screw it, no regrets! I regret NOTHING!! You hear me?? NOTHING!!)

Lost my train of thought... Speaking of which, have I told you the story of the time I was on a train in England and it got lost?? Yeah, totally went down the wrong track at a switch and instead of going to Birmingham we went to Shrewsbury. (Great set of mystery novels set in medieval Shrewsbury. Brother Cadfael. Played by the delightful Sir Derek Jacobi, who was a GENIUS in "I, Claudius" and possibly the reason I decided to go into Roman archaeology.) Had I not be completely confounded by this change of events I might have wandered off to have a look at the cathedral, but I was trying to get to Wales that day. Got there eventually. But, seriously, who heard of a train getting lost??

So my darling husband, who knows that I have this small obsession, suggested we take a few days and go see some things in England that I may have always wanted to see.

Does he have any idea how many things I want to see? Yes, he does. Now. Poor thing.

He started it! He asked me if I could go to England for a week, with a car, what would I like to see? I said: Roman stuff.

Now, in a week, I suppose I could go from Dover to Hadrian's Wall, but that sounded a little intense. And there are LOADS of Roman remains spread all over England. So I opted for Roman England - South. Or as it is entitled on my itinerary: From Canterbury to Cambridge.

We'll be seeing:

• The Canterbury Roman Museum
• Canterbury Cathedral and Canterbury itself
• Dover Castle/Roman lighthouse
• Dover Roman Painted House
• Pevensey Roman Fort/Castle
• Brighton (hear they have fantastic fish and chip shops)
• Bignor Roman Villa
• Fishbourne Roman Villa
• Cissbury and Chanctonbury rings and the South Downs
• Old Sarum/Salisbury
• StonehengeandAvebury
• Bath
• Chedworth Roman Villa
• Cirencester aka Roman Corinium
• The Cotswolds
• Cambridge

It's actually a combination of Iron Age and Roman and Medieval sites, heavy British history pre-Tudors. (Sorry Laura, I am not going to any Tudor castles. Maybe some other time.)

I'm thrilled to bits and ever so excited. My passport has returned with new name and snazzy photo. Of course, now my name on my passport does not match the one on my license, so I hope they'll let me drive the car anyway. They might not on principle, I am a little too eager to get behind the wheel on the wrong side of the road!

So there it is. I've been married for a year and THIS time I don't need heavy medication or therapy. I'm going out for Mexican food tonight and I'm off to look at old piles of rock and eat mountains of fish and chips in a week! Best of all, I'm married to a man who finds all of this not only acceptable, but enjoyable and encourages my habit.

Dear Denmark... A series of open letters to the authorities

Dear Denmark,

What is with all the bugs? No, seriously. Gnats up the nose, in the eyes, down the cleavage (of which, yes, there is not so much, but still), what gives?

Love,
Archaeogoddess

---

Dear Denmark,

Would you please train your men to STOP PEEING ON EVERYTHING??

Case in point: today one of your road workers working on the road right in the middle of Vesterport Torv decided to relieve himself on his vehicle. Presumably he was not intoxicated (although, I am noticing that many of your men often are). Presumably he could read (you pride yourself on your education system). Why did he not avail himself of the public toilet located not 10 meters from his work zone? Why did he not avail himself of the restaurant toilet that I am SURE the manager of said location would have let him use without purchase of goods? Why would you pee in the street, in front of God and Country, on your own vehicle? WHY???

No, he was not a "dirty foreigner" and I take offense at that supposition.

Love,
Archaeogoddess

---

Dear Denmark,

You tried to foil my attempts to fill out your convoluted paperwork required for all manner of bureaucratic business. You asked me to provide paperwork I did not need. You asked me to provide paperwork I did not have. You asked me to spend money to do something you ought to have let me do last year FOR FREE. You asked me to spend said money without the guarantee that this would all work out.

But I triumphed nevertheless!

You have failed this time.

Until we meet again for temporary residence permit renewal, I remain respectfully yours,
Archaeogoddess

[Expletive deleted] Rice!!

Boy is it hard to get back in the cooking saddle. I'd been enjoying not cooking for a month and then suddenly here I am, nothing to do but try to smash 3 chapters of dissertation into one, shorter, streamlined chapter, research iconography of elite art in the 2nd-3rd centuries, see if there is a class distinction between Roman cults (anyone? anyone?), find two German articles I *know* I've translated, translate some other stupid German encyclopedia entries that will only vex, write an intelligent chapter on some Roman coins, and cook. Seriously, I have OODLES of time on my hands. Look, I'm blogging!!

Whipped up a darned good curry last night, having discovered at some point in the past that one can use one's immersion blender as a food processor, even without the special "food processor" attachment. Just remember to wrap plastic wrap around the top of the bowl, 'cause that stuff flies and stings if you get it in your eyes.

And because I am SO used to making rice, I didn't need to look at the package, I just dumped 6 dl rice into 4 dl of boiling water.

Result: not quite cooked rice.

It's 4 dl of rice to 6 dl boiling water.

Oh.... darn! Darnation! Tarnation! Consternation! Antimatterization!!

Undercooked rice is chewy. And not in a good way. The curry helped. It was a little wetter than it should have been. But if the rice had been properly cooked it would have been a brilliant meal. As it was, three stars for effort.

Want to know another brilliant idea that has been less than stellar in it's realization? Changing my name. Last name. Couldn't do it when I got married because I needed a CPR number to officially change my name. And now I do. Sooooo, my passport is expiring and therefore so is my visa. I think to myself, hey, clever idea this, lets do all that paperwork NOW, seeing how you only have to leave the country again in... less than three weeks.

Yeah, I'm a flippin' genius. Husband thinks so too. Full of pride for his brilliant wife.

Anyway, you know in America, when we get married, that little piece of paper is all we need to show to change our names? (If you didn't, now you do.) Not so in Denmark. I have to fill out forms and bring 440 kr to some biddy in a church office down the road, a church mind you that I was NOT married in and do not pay taxes for and apart from one evening sneaking in to see what it looked like have never been to... Hold it, I've lost my train of thought.

Okay... blah blah blah... and take these papers there along with my money... and see if she'll let me change my name so that I can take another piece of paper and send it to the Embassy so that they can finish my passport with correct name.

And with a kick ass photo, by the way. Ought to be, I paid a fortune for it, just to make sure it was done right and I didn't have to have a discussion about it. American passport photos are different from Danish ones making life a bit more difficult when trying to find someone who can do it without making a huge issue out of it. I'm sorry, I don't make the rules. Please don't trim the photo for me. You gotta step closer, I need to be bigger that that. No, it must be in color. No, I have to face forward. No I am NOT tucking my hair behind my ears, it's a stupid thing to ask people to do, honestly, EARS? And, yes, I am going to gently smile with no teeth because this is not a mug shot, people, I have not broken any laws that you know of.

Have you seen the new American passports? Blah! Lame-o! And they feel cheap. My freedom was paid for with the blood of patriots and that guy who stood up too fast to ask his general "is it over?" I expect a little more of my official documentation. Some gravitas. And better lamination.

If you happen to be wondering why on god's green earth am I changing my name... well, I've googled myself and did you know I am also an OB/GYN, a photographer, a softball player, and married to a bald guy named Ryan? I've become an Episcopal deacon too... but that might conflict with the Ugandan mission I am on for the Mormon's. Makes sense I am a Mormon, seeing how my other husband Ed is with me in Africa. Wonder where I left Ryan?

When I google my soon to be new name... I discover I'm already mentioned in my own grandfather's obituary. Odd. Way to go Mom and Dad!

But other than that, there isn't anyone by that name. I'll be unique!!

There were other considerations, my heritage, my utter lack of publications, my evolving views of feminism, blah blah blah. But being the only person on the world wide web with my name was pretty much the kicker.

Tonight, when you are NOT BURNING YOUR RICE because you have now LEARNED FROM MY ERRORS, google yourself and see who else you are.

It's WAAAAY too much fun.

Back in Denmark

I would write about how much I hate traveling, but love arriving (especially when my Dane comes to pick me up at the airport as a SURPRISE!) except that there is a PHENOMENAL summer storm going on.

I love summer storms.

I am not so big on thunder... but for some reason, when I know I am safe and sound in my home, I can really enjoy it (although as I sit here I keep jumping at every crash and boom).

I'm not the most romantic person I know, but when I was little I used to dress in my mom's nylon nightgowns (you know, the clingy ones) and run around outside in the summer rain while flailing my arms in dramatic gestures. I'd often call out to the cats, having no "lost love" to search for. I was more into the drama than the romance, I think. And I really liked the summer mud between my toes.

I was a weird child.

Now I have the urge to go stand in the rain, barefoot, and laugh at the sky.

But I am totally going to skip the nightgown bit.

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!

How can I do paperwork under these conditions?

It's hot. Really really hot. How hot? 107 Fahrenheit or 42 Celsius.

It doesn't feel that hot when we are out there... but then we are coming back in around noon and I think the temperature hits high around 2 or 3. Which is great siesta time, let me tell you.

Otherwise, I seem to be up to my eyeballs in paperwork. We have a sheet to fill out for every locus. A locus is a feature in the square. It can be a wall or a layer of dirt, a pit (often dirt within more dirt, but different colored and deposited at a different time... yeah, it *is* the pits), a floor (plastered or cobbled or beaten earth or.... etc), just about anything you can describe that is NOT an object you can pick up and move is a locus. And each one that you have has it's own page of information that must be filled out. Archaeological law states that you will suddenly have a plethora of loci (plural of locus) during your last week of excavation. Only 4 so far? Have another 12!

But because of this record keeping, I can tell you that in the first two weeks, we moved 25 cubic meters of soil. And for those of you who can't imagine in meters... that's 883 cubic feet of soil. From one square. Then myself and my volunteers also removed the back fill from another square. Which I have to guestimate, since there were walls that we didn't remove... but it was about another 25 and a half cubic meters/900 cubic feet of soil. Finally we dug down deeper in that square... removing some of the walls... and moved about (ABOUT) another 28 cubic meters/1000 cubic feet.

If my math is right.

And do remember that I am a social science major. I deal in theoretic cultural behaviors of long dead societies. Math is not something I often need to do.

This photo was taken of the site early in the morning. Like 5:30 or some mad time. We have to shoot photos before the sun causes shadows. Each of those squares is a 5 by 5 meter square, to give you some scale. (16 feet by 16 feet... jesus people) And there are nine of them. Not all have been excavated this season, we been here every summer for the last three years, but these are not the only squares we've dug, either. We had many other squares that are now back filled.

So there you have it. Archaeology is massive dirt relocation followed by paperwork.

Progressive foot unveiling among other things...

It's been a long week. My schedule runs roughly as thus:

4:00 AM Wake up, roll into clothes, fall into bathroom.
4:15 AM Make coffee. Put on sunscreen and bug spray. Eat bread with peanut butter.
4:30 AM Fill water cubes.
4:45 AM Stagger to van and load up the dig team.
4:50 AM Drive to site.
5:00 AM Get tools, commence digging.
8:30-9:00 AM Breakfast
11:00-11:10 AM Fruit break
12:00 Clean up and go to lunch
12:45 PM Take off shoes and socks. Marvel at mud between the toes.
1:00 PM Shower
1:15 PM NAP!!!
3:30 PM Wake up confused, drink coffee
4:00 PM Pottery washing
5:30 PM Check email if I took too long of a nap earlier in the day. Be shocked because I seem to have not checked my email for a few days.
7:00 PM Dinner
7:30 PM After dinner drinks.
9:00 PM Go to bed.

On days where I have a field trip, we usually leave around 2 o'clock. From time to time I must also forgo a nap for other reasons, such as shopping, locus sheets, and blogging. Obviously, blogging has suffered from my insistence on napping during the day. However, you do manual labor for 7 and a half hours in the morning and see how much you feel like plopping down to write!

This last weekend we were in Jerusalem and I had fully intended on catching up with my blogging and my paperwork. But, you guessed it, I slept instead. Then on Saturday I think I ate something that was not so nice and ended up rather ill on Sunday. I'm still rather weak, but the nausea and cramping is past. My wound is also noticeably smaller!! It's like a really slow zipper, closing from the top down in a very slow but steady way. I'm fascinated by the daily progress.

And if you are wondering what the three pictures have to do with anything... well, they don't. It's the progressive foot unveiling that happens every day after digging. Those socks were white. So were the feet... only they've gotten a bit more tan from all the sandal wearing. And I am now borrowing a pair of Smartwool socks that are AWESOME! I still have dirty feet, but the socks are much better fitting and because they draw the sweat away from my feet, I have cooler and less smelly feet at the end of the day. Bliss, I tell you.

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.

Listed as: walking wounded

Don't go reading this post if you are squeamish. Or have issues when people describe wounds. Or if you pass out at the slightest suggestion of blood. Because I'm posting a picture here of my injury and I don't want the faint hearted to suffer a coronary just because I have been damned by the gods.

I've got the usual bumps and bruises that everyone gets. I pulled a neck muscle the other day after a particularly violent sneeze, but that's pretty much gone now. I have two bruised toe-nails, but so far neither has turned anything other than pinky-red, so I may not loose my toe-nails....

Are you still reading this?

I am still sunburning myself, but after buying a higher SPF in a brand I've used before, the only place I'm burning is where I manage to not put any on. I seem to choose a new place every day. That's fine. I can handle it.

Today I managed to repeatedly bash my hand on a rock (or actually several rocks) and finally, after a bit of bleeding, needed a band-aid. This was obviously a trial run for the much larger rock related injury I would have a few hours later.

Rocks, when not in walls and generally just hanging out in your square, need to be removed in a proper archaeological fashion. First you dig all around them - and not a hole, you have to bring the level of the entire area down to the bottom of the rock before it is "floating" and then you can pick it up and carry it or throw it to another location. The rock in question was a normal head-sized rock, with rounded edges, and didn't look particularly threatening. I picked it up and began carrying it away... as I got near the discarded rock area, the bottom section of the rock broke away.

Did you know limestone is sharp? I mean, really sharp??

A chunk of it hit my leg and left an inch long gash in my thigh.

A word on my thighs. I love my legs, I think they're hot and I've been really impressed with them ever since my thighs finally got to be thicker than my knees. Which was like 8 years ago. They are now considerably thicker than my knees and have a nice layer of fat to round them out into nicely shaped thighs. I am rather fond of them. Not as fond as I am of my calves, which for reasons that make no sense (honestly, did you expect them to?), I am really proud of.

Anyway, because of the nice layer of fat, the damage was only cosmetic. My skin opened up in a short, fat wound. There was blood running for a while, but fat doesn't bleed and skin is shockingly lacking in major arteries. Whoot to that!

So I again needed first aid, this time a bit more urgently than a scraped finger (hey, it was on my left hand, I'm left handed, how in the hell am I supposed to put a band-aid on my good hand using the one that can barely function on the best days?).

Alcohol wipes followed. Stingy! Then temporary bandage. I was offered the chance to request stitches. But no way, I would rather have a scar than have stitches. I am not scared of needles and shots, but to be sown up like a turkey? Uh, no, thanks, I'll just take my war wound and go, thank you very much.

I mean, it's just a scar!

And they use string or something! Ugh! Argh!

I'd rather use duct tape to patch myself up than have stitches.*

As you can see, I am not a fan of the stitches. *brrrrgh*

After lunch I showered and we dressed it properly with little wound closing sticky things that are awesome. Then Neosporin and a big band-aid. Since those were the last of the wound closers, I'm going to have to wait as long as I can before I shower again. But that's cool, I can do that. And if I can't get the wound to stay closed after than, even using regular band-aids as "tape" that's okay too. I'm just rolling with it.

Anyway, before covering it up, I tried to take a picture, but it's kinda hard to do. I asked the dig director, who not only does medical treatment, but also the photography for the site, to use my dinky camera to catch the following shot (hmmm, should have used a scale... but that might have been pushing my luck):

Thankfully, since it's just a flesh wound on the upper leg, it doesn't slow me down all that much. I've just got to "cowgirl up" and go about my business, since it really isn't much of a wound. (Really, it's not much of a "cowgirl up" moment... it doesn't hurt much.) But I do wish I had someone to pamper me and tell me not to lift a finger and feed me olives while I reclined in bed.

Then again, don't we all?


*I'm not kidding about the duct tape, I would totally have used that if that was my only option other than stitches.

Drugged

Oh woe is me... I have allergies. I always bring LOADS of allergy medicine with me. It has almost always worked. I did bring allergy medicine with me, but for whatever reason, it seems to have no impact on my nose. I had a lovely few days and then today I was hit.

Hard.

I was miserable.

It was so bad, the dig director sent in our pottery specialist (who will dig in the field until we find enough to keep her busy) to find the director's Sudafed. Two of those and half an hour later I was right as rain. Actually, I was rather bouncy. No wonder they make meth out of the stuff. Those little red pills are GREAT!

They may sell this in the shop, otherwise I have to wait until I can find a pharmacy that will either sell more of it or something similar.

Speaking of things that were drugged... I know the past tense of drag is not drugged, but in archaeology land, we often invent new words or new meanings for things to entertain ourselves. It's the heat you know. So "I drug it" is a fairly acceptable humorous term for dragging an artifact from the ground with your tools. Alas, not everything that gets dragged from the ground is something you are glad to have drugged.

I did not take pictures of this, it wasn't really a photo taking opportunity.

We have a large deep open square on our site that we are currently digging adjacent to in order to open a wider area and create a series of "steps" down to the lowest point (among other things, but I'm trying to keep it simple and away from archaeological theory, which is not as interesting and has no bearing on this story.) Because the walls of this pit are exposed (the dirt walls of any archaeological square are called "baulks" - and that is your archaeological vocabulary for the day), sometimes animals will burrow into the baulks. Today we discovered that two families of birds had done so and were in the process of raising a family... which included a number of baby birds.

Can you see where I am going with this?

We excavated the nests.

We didn't mean to! I mean, we can't really help it if they burrowed in or borrowed a previously used animal burrow, they go underneath where we are digging. Many of the holes are old and abandoned or house mice that can run away. Baby birds cannot run. They can't really do much except die. But we certainly do not set out to maim and kill defenseless animals living in their small homes, no matter how damaging to an archaeological site those animals may be (they dig where we want to dig)

Four were killed out right. We think it might have been yesterday when the square supervisor was walking around the square and part of the ground sank under his feet. It's likely that was the nest collapsing. So today three dead baby birds were drug out of the nest with a large hoe. After a rather savage pick-axing. Oh dear. Then while removing a pile of collapsed rubble we found another nest. This time we only lost one baby bird and saved three more.

We were then left with an ethical dilemma. We don't really like to kill the non-poisonous things that are in our square. We routinely chase mice out. But mice can run. Baby birds will die. Should we kill them quickly or leave them to die slowly of heat, dehydration, exposure, starvation or predation? I didn't really want to do it, but as I was galvanizing myself and preparing to do the deed, our pottery specialist volunteered to find out where she could take the birds and then take them there, provided they could survive in a bucket in the shade for a few hours.

Thank god! I really was not looking forward to what I would need to do with a dustpan.

UPDATE: The baby birds have been delivered to the very nice lady who loves birds. She thinks they have a good chance. And we are all hoping that the rest of those burrows have mice and snakes and lizards and ANYTHING other than baby birds.

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.)

Cleaning

Sorry, no photos today. Today was a day of cleaning. Which means taking all of the dirt that has been kicked up by the backhoe and taking it to a location other than our site.

We use the backhoe to get rid of the flesh rending thistles and the top few inches of soil.

The result is ankle deep dust and I was not really enthusiastic of exposing my camera to the fine fine dust that we have on site. Seriously, this stuff is like flour. Once up in the air, it can get anywhere and everywhere.

So no pictures.

Not that there was much to see. It looked somewhat like a war zone and somewhat like a moonscape. At the end of the day we have cleared away where we are going to lay out our squares, 5x5 meters in size.

But let me tell you a story.

Two years ago I bought and wore lovely dig boots.

Last year I packed my husband's dig boots by mistake.

This year I packed MY dig boots.

This year I discovered that either my boots shrank or my feet grew and so my dig boots ATE my feet. Bruised toes, blisters on my heels. Ugh.

So what am I going to do? Use the Keens I wore last year.

What was the point of searching so diligently for my dig boots??

Gah!

I'm a little sore, which means tomorrow I'm going to be stiff and very sore. But I shall have GREAT muscles and a funny tan, so I'll just bully through like I always do. If you don't have some pain then you know you aren't working hard enough. I also have the required mysterious bruises and scrapes that one gets. They are badges of honor. At least that's what we tell ourselves as we compare the sizes and shapes and colors.