the last bit of it...I BET NO ONE EVEN CHECKS THIS BLOG ANYMORE! :(

ugh no one writes in this but me!

8.6.09
“She says, ‘You’re a masochist for falling for me, so roll up your sleeves.’”
Is it bad that I can relate to this song?
But it’s such a good song! Download it! Masochist by Ingrid Michaelson. She’s been my best friend (besides Prof. Meskell, and Scott [and here, I giggle], and Emmy…and everyone else I claimed to be my best friend…haha, I’m such a best friend harlot…Vina, you may have caught something from me…) on this trip—through thick and thin, through shells and figurines, through databases and maps, through 14-hour train rides and 14-hour bus rides, through monotony and exhilaration, through reflection and inspiration…
I listened to her on my 5-6 hour bus ride to Anatolya and since I was alone, I, naturally, busted out a mirror. No, not the sort of mirror Tien Tran XX would bust out. So no, not the sort of mirror that lets you reflect on Tien’s ever-so-radiating-so-much-so-that-my-eyes-want-to-gouge-THEMSELVES-out beauty, but on those thoughts-that-crosses-your-mind-but-you-didn’t-have-time-or-maybe-didn’t-want-to-mull-over. I know! I’m like Oprah.
There I was, staring out the window of my plush bus (it was a Mercedes-Benz bus…what?! Those exist?!) listening to Ingrid…and guess what I saw!
An ancient amphitheatre!
Okay. ☹ It wasn’t an ancient amphitheatre…but it sure did look like one.
But besides that exciting faux-amphitheatre, I noticed a house, two-stories high with a serene-white porch. The azure that once danced vibrantly across the entire house was now fading from harboring generations of life sketches. Worn down to a pale hue, the house surprisingly still didn’t lose its charm. To me, it no longer radiated with fresh youth, but it radiated with something much more enigmatic and alluring.
It was a lone house nestled among plains endless and gorgeous like cascading flaxen locks. A lone house, but it seemed not to sulk in solitary or gloat in independence. It seemed to be…comfortable…comfortable with the life it lived, the life it was living, and the lives that lived in it.
A comfort that I yearned for and was only slowly attaining.
This is when I realized my new perception of beauty. I found this house, this scene, stunning. I could easily have viewed it as a broken-down house with inhabitants who knew or cared very little about hygiene and were probably bored out of their minds from living so far away from everything. But, I didn’t. I viewed it as the scene I etched up there. As a woman emerged from resting on the porch, my eyes drifted behind her only to discover that I find the sight of her hanging her clothes on a line rather soothing. The image of the clothes gliding in the wind was simple and comforting enough, but it was set among a backdrop of towering mountains, layering and painting dim silhouettes on each other, with billowy clouds adorning their summits like celestial crowns.
A year ago, I would’ve passed this scene and proceeded to…fall asleep. But now, I’ve developed an appreciation for individuality; not in the sense of “expressing oneself,” but in the sense of the diverse ways of just living. I’m considering looking into the branches of archaeology that concerns local communities as well as global ones—ones that concern more of the people now. Professor Meskell’s expertise is right down that lane…I suppose she might have something to do with this sudden change. Haha. Might go into more of the Anthropology side…just maybe.
Anyway, sorry for the lack of writing, but I’ve bed-ridden with the stomach bug. It’s a wicked one too! ☹ Not wicked like surfer dude nor the musical, but wicked like IT HURTS! ☹ I had it since Saturday, it went dormant on Sunday, it came back like the Terminator (with what seemed like a similar purpose, except I was the target!) on Monday, cooled down Tuesday, veni vidi vici on Wednesday, and is almost completely gone today. Oy! Everyone else only had it for 24 hours. I thought I had something GRAVE for a while there.
Well, I’ll continue to write about my Antalya days tomorrow. It’s getting late and I’m unbelievably tired from today’s excavation.
Cheers.
8.7.09 & 8.15.09 & 8.22.09 (I got lazy in between!)
Springs, we have a problem.
Hehe, only Diana got that one. I hope you DID get it, Diana…
So, I thought about it, and if I narrated my past WEEKS like I normally do, it would take me AGES to do so and I’ve already forgotten many details. ☹
Thus, the answer to my problem is that I will have a brief (MY version of brief, haha) summary of events from each day.
Ready?! It’s been eventful these past weeks! And we’re going to speed right through them in a matter of hours. Haha, just kidding! Minutes, in a matter of minutes! ☺
Thursday: Hopped on a posh bus, fully equipped with an on-road attendant walking up and down the aisle serving ice cream and other lovely snacks. After about 5-6 hours, we arrived at Antalya, an urban beach town infested with tourists from across the world. It was around 11 o’ clock by the time we arrived, but we still went exploring around the town for a bit—you know, the usual wandering around ancient fortresses, gazing off into the Mediterranean harbor, spiraling down narrow stone-paved passageways. We finally settled at a quaint little café with a live 3-man band. This is where I realized that I absolutely adore Turkish music! The sitar is one sexy instrument. Hahaha, okay, maybe not sexy, but undeniably fun! :D It really inspired me to learn how to do the Turkish dance. You know, the one where your arms are outstretched and you jive with your shoulders while doing the two-step. Hahahahaha. See, so much fun!
Oh, and I forgot to mention that our hotel was more of a sweet little cottage than a luxurious hotel. But I preferred it that way because we had prime location! ☺ No, it wasn’t next to the beach or a major shopping center, but it was in an adorable little neighborhood that looked so ancient I could kiss it! PLUS! Down the street was Hadrian’s Gate! AHH!
Friday: Guess where we went in the beach town? Yeah, we went hiking in the mountains!
And by that, I mean we went to the beach! ☺ I love Mediterranean beaches! It’s just so…CLEAN. I’ve never seen such clear beach water! And the sapphire that illuminated from the water—oh, I don’t even need to doll it up with fancy descriptions. I tried to take epic pictures of it, but pictures just don’t do it justice. You should definitely go to a Mediterranean beach before YOU DIE. Yes.
We rented a beach umbrella and a reclining chair so naturally, I wanted to be cute and have a margarita but, oh my baby Jesus, the margaritas were 20 liras! 20?!?!?!?! I’m no Vina, but 20 is just beyond ridiculous! ☺
Speaking of Vina, I had quite an experience in her honor. After the beach, after we were either soaked from the sea or from our own sweat, our bellies grumbled for some grub and our mouth whined for some water. We hopped back on the tram in search of food, but got off moments later at a bazaar. And guess what I did!
I bargained!
Are you proud of me?! I’ve always hated bargaining because 1) money is such an awkward situation and 2) I always feel like I can spare some money for those salespeople who need it more than I do and 3) my mom always handles it for me. But I did it this time! And, I was successful! Now that I think about it, why didn’t I bargain for everything else I bought?
Well anyway, I was browsing around for some gifts, and one especially reeled me in: it was a belly dancing outfit! Guess for who? Vina! Since I was buying a gift for Vina, I felt like I should do so with Vina in mind. So, of course, I heard her in my head coaxing me to negotiate and to never give in. The asking price was 60 TL, but I sternly asserted that I would only pay 20 TL. After loads of walking away and shaking of the head, the salesman finally agreed to 25 TL. Isn’t that great?! Heheheheh. Oh, but the man was a bit of a, oh what do you call ‘em, oh—pervert. He kept wrapping his arms around me and adorning me with different belly dancing outfits! I didn’t even ask for them! Nor did I ask to try them on! And then at the end of our transaction, he gave me a pin with “the eye” on it and said, “For you, pretty lady.” He also thusly took the initiative to pin it on my shirt himself, which is awfully nice of him, but did he have to pin it right where my ladies are?
After that little triumph, we wandered around and found a cheap place to eat with a great view of the ocean. What was the catch? The floors were made of mud…Well, I suppose it originally was meant to be sand and was meant to evoke a sense of truly being at the beach, but mix in water and you’ve got nothing but MUD. M. U. D. Mud. Nonetheless, we were too tired, too poor, too hot, and too hungry to care about the mud. Fortunately for us though, the food was surprisingly delicious. Or we were just too hungry. Same thing. ToMAYto, toMAHto.
After we quelled our petulant tummies, we headed back to the hotel and just chilled there for a while and exploited the internet (note: exploiting internet is always necessary) until a few of us decided to go shopping. We stumbled across a long strip of shops and, well, let’s just say that walking down that street was quite an…experience. Hahahahah. Let me show you:
(enter 3 girls strolling along, unbeknownst and innocuous…oh so innocuous)
Kelly: I-HAVE-to buy a dress. Help me find one, guuyyysss…
Marloes: Why do you have to buy one?
Kelly: …Why don’t you just ask me why I breathe?!
Laura: Hey, look at this bracelet.
Kelly: WHERE?! GET OUT OF MY WAYYY! *shoves the world
Hehehehe. Okay, that last part didn’t happen. But I WOULD. Hehehehe
(enter salesman)
Salesman 1: Hello Spice GIRLS!
Kelly, Marloes, and Laura gaze around in confusion.
Salesman 1: Spice Girls! Where you come from?
Kelly: California.
Salesman 1: I love California!
They continue walking.
Salesman 1: Wait Spice Girls, come look at my shop. I have good deal for beautiful girls.
Their pace picks up.
Salesman 2: German, Spanish, and Japanese!
Salesman 3: (in a gentle voice) meow
Salesman 4: Chinese?
Kelly: NO! ALKSDJFLKAJDFLJ
Salesman 5: KOREAN! LOOK AT MY SHOP!
Laura: Let it go, Kelly. Let it go…
Salesman 6: Marry me.
Kelly: What?
Salesman 6: Yes, you. I love you. Marry me.
Kelly: Yeah, okay, no thank you…
Salesman 7: Where you from?
Salesman 8: Where you from?
Salesman 9: Where you from?
Salesman 10: SPICE GIRLS!
The girls continue walking down the bazaar. That is, until Marloes catches a glimpse of her old affair—shoes. Marloes and Laura enter the shoe shop while Kelly continues to a pashmina shop. Moments later Kelly returns to the shoe shop to check on her friends.
Kelly: What’s happening?
Salesman 11: I eat her *points to Marloes *
Kelly: …Say, say what now?
Salesman 11: I EAT her!
Marloes: Don’t say that, you don’t know what that means.
Salesman 11: Yes, I know. I eat you! Haha!
Kelly: Oh, that’s dirty.
Salesman 11: Oh, yeessss.
Kelly:…right well, carry on then.
Mmhm! But I did emerge with a nifty leather journal, a Classical-looking leather bracelet for me, a rugged-looking leather bracelet for my brother, and frustration from no one guessing that I am INDEED French! What the?! Is it that difficult?!
We met up with everyone else and headed off to dinner. I ate lamb kabob and it was alright...meh, I’ve had better. Oh! But funny note of the night: the waiter brought over a stuffed animal, a lamb, that upon pressing a button, baa’ed. And he was making the gesture of cutting off its head and feeding it to us! Way to sell your food! Hahaah!
After the dinner, we headed over to a legit hookah bar, fully equipped with scarlet sitting pillows, magenta decorative pillows, and the biggest hookah I have ever seen!
I was extremely tired after that, but then Mitchell insisted that we party. Oh, I forgot to mention that we found a club, but it was too fancy/expensive for us. We heard the music bumping from across the harbor and tracked it down via the trail of noise pollution! Eesh! Anyway, we bought alcohol earlier that day with the intention of getting drunk and just having fun that night. Also, it was Angela’s first time drinking.
Fast forward: NEVER DRINK TURKISH ALCOHOL. Holy crap! It was the MOST DISGUSTING, MOST REVULTING, MOST TOES-CURLING, BLOOD-CURTLING experience ever! UGH!!!!! I never experienced such pain in downing alcohol. I felt so bad for Angela because it was her first time drinking and it was beyond feces. ☹
Fast forward: Details will now be omitted.
Fast forward: It was an…interesting…night…
Saturday: Um, I was extremely ill. Since we had to check out of the hotel at 11 AM, and since I was throwing up and walking caused motion sickness, I had to rent another room for the day. Best 30 liras I have ever spent. The others went to the beach, while I was bed-ridden for the entire day. I finally started to get better and a few of us walked around the town again. Oh! I forgot to mention the experience with another salesman….
(enter 6 girls and 1 boy strolling along, unbeknownst and innocuous…oh so innocuous)
Salesman: Hey! * points to Marloes * Are you Nicole Kidman?
Marloes: Oh no… (note: Marloes absolutely despises Nicole Kidman, so it was rather ironic that of all the celebrities, he chose her!)
Kelly: BAHAHAAHAHAAHAAHAHA!
Salesman: Are you Korean?
Kelly: *shuts up
Salesman: Where are you from?
Kelly: California (I swear, I’m too polite. I have got to stop answering them!)
Salesman: I love Manhattan.
They continue walking down to the edge of the harbor. They pass by the same salesman moments later.
Salesman: *points to Tiffany * Hey! Jennifer Lopez!
Kelly: BAHAHAAHAH!
Salesman: Japanese?
Kelly: FRENCH! IS IT THAT HARD?!?!!?!?
They continue to walk down the street. After satisfying their ice-cream cravings, they turn around and, once again, pass by the same salesman.
Salesman: Jennifer Lopez! Do you remember me?! I am Robin Williams.
The Group: What the.
Salesman: I am Robin Williams. I am rich. Marry me, Jennifer Lopez!
The group ignores the pestering salesman and waltzes pass him. But, just like a pest, the salesman scurries up to Tiffany with a flower in hand.
Salesman: For you, Jennifer Lopez.
Tiffany ignores him while the rest of us hasten their steps.
The salesman grabs Tiffany’s arm.
Tiffany: Hey! You can’t be doing that. That is NOT okay.
Salesman: What’s my name? Come on, you know my name.
Tiffany: *with an air of sheer ghettoness * No, I do not! Do not touch me again.
The fatal moment: the salesman rips apart the flower and hurdles its corpse into Tiffany’s hair.
Yes. I know. What the hell?
THAT GUY WAS NUTS! This happened the first night we were there, so for the rest of the time we were at Antalya, we evaded the likes of Robin Williams. Creepy.
I suppose I should be happy that no one called me Lucy Liu. Right?
Anyway, to continue on with my Saturday. Nothing interesting really happened because I was only able to go into town for a bit before I felt sick again, but I did encounter a most glorious encounter. Heheheheh.
FINALLY, FINA-FREAKING-LY, someone acknowledged my true ethnicity!
Man: Parlez-vous francais?
Me: *I actually did gasp* Un peu!
Man: Ah, oui? Qu’est-ce que tu connais?
Me: * internally: what the hell? How am I supposed to answer “What do you know?”
Man: Bonjour? Comment-allez vous? Comme ca? (Eng: Hello? How are you? Like that?)
Me: Oui… *internally: what the hell…no fricken shit.
Man: Et les autres? (Eng: And the others?)
Me: Non, elles ne parlent pas francais. (Eng: No, They don’t speak French) *internally: what the hell…where are they?! Ah, those fools are already walking away!
Man: *saying something in the background
Me: Desole, mais mes amies partent…(Eng: Sorry, but my friends are leaving…) *runs after them
You KNOW French is my weakness! I can’t help it! The others were like, “you’re welcome” but man they can suck it. Totally ruined my French time. ☹
Anyway, we walked blocks and blocks and blocks that night to catch a bus to take us to the bus station to catch another bus.
Sunday: After that bus, we caught another bus that took us across town in Konya to catch another bus that took us to Cumra, where we were picked up by Mustafa. Oy. What a trip! We got back around 8 AM and were forced back to work at 9:30 AM…
Monday: I fell ill and was bed-ridden all day. I was barely awake and I couldn’t drink or eat anything. Everything made me nauseous. Professor Meskell was really sweet though and would check in on me all day. ☺ She even made me the most gag-inducing electrolyte drink I have ever tasted. Ugh. Sometimes at night, I can still taste it…
Tuesday: I got better and it was the start of excavation! I got up to the mound, excavated for a few hours, got caught by Serena and was forced back down to “rest.” Good thing she did that because a few hours later, the bug returned. ☹
And good thing that I took it easy and just worked in the lab because that night, WE HAD A TURKISH PARTY!
Yay!!!! Yayyy!!!!! I’ve been waiting forever to have a Turkish party full of Turkish music and Turkish dancing! Oh, how I love the Turkish culture.
The mayor organized a night of music and dancing as a means to celebrate the start of excavation. So, we all congregated on the terrace and waited for the musicians to begin with happiness in our hearts and beer in our bellies. I didn’t partake in any alcoholic activities, of course. My belly was still unhappy.
The night began with a toast from the mayor and a thank you speech from Ian Hodder…in Turkish! That man knows everything! I really wish I knew Turkish. All I can say is hello, good morning, thank you, water, beer, 1, 2, 3, and ice cream. -__- Really sums up my time in Turkey, hahaha. Actually, if I could have any power, I’d choose to be able to communicate in any language. Hmm, actually, I’d rather be able to teleport anywhere. Hmm, maybe healing? No, screw healing. What are doctors for?! I’m gonna teleport. And I’ll just learn the languages. After all, I’m going to know Greek, Latin, French, Italian, German along with Vietnamese and English by the time I’m done with my PhD. :D I’m almost there! Man, I love my life.
Oh, back to the night. After the little speech, the music began and we just sat and mingled….that is until a surprise swooped in! Not only did we get music, we also got a show! A man painted in black fully adorned in jester attire pranced in with his flock, which consisted of a man dressed up as an aged hunchback and two other men masquerading as women. With archaeologists outlining the terrace, laughing and clapping, the caravan of dancers scuttled around and boogied to the Turkish music. At first I thought they were going to tell us a story, like a musical or something, but no, the costumes were just in good fun. Following their intro dance, they (and here I start to hyperventilate from excitement) grabbed the mayor and Ian Hodder, who in turn grabbed Professor Meskell, and they all danced! Oh my god! Ahhhh! I couldn’t stop screaming! I wish I had my camera with me, but I didn’t know there’d be a show! Let me just say, Ian Hodder can get down, but Professor Meskell, she had some fancy hip work going on. She told me that she learned how to dance in Egypt. What the. How cool and random is that?!
Well, naturally the dancers started to coax all of us to get up and dance with them, which of course we did! We were waiting all night for that to happen. It was unbelievably fun. I had trouble getting my hips of steel to work at first, but I slowly picked up the Turkish dancing. I’ll show you guys when I get back. Angela even asked me to teach her! Hey, ask me where I learned how to dance.
“Oh, I learned it in Turkey.”
Hahahaha! So cool and random!
Once the show ended we headed for the bar and chilled with British Chris. Our conversation was a knee-slapper, considering that we were trying to teach Chris American slang. Let me just state the funniest quote of that night:
[Chris was telling us how he likes to dance. He even does a little break dancing, albeit on his face since he falls so much.]
Me: Do you know what krumpin is?
Chris: *in a British accent* What? Crumpet? Like with tea? I love it!
[later on that day…we were trying to teach him the word “bombass.”]
Chris: *in a British accent* What? Bombass? It doesn’t make any sense! What if it’s so good, it explodes? Could it be boomass?
Hahaha. Boomass. Sigh. Silly British. They just use our recycled slang and completely butcher it up! :) The Queen’s English really needs to catch up.
Wednesday: I woke up, got ready to excavate, went to the bathroom…and guess what…
THE BUG IS BACK.
Ugh. My day was pretty much the same as Monday....I can’t even express how much I loathe being a vegetable. By this time, Prof. Hodder and Shahina (the co-director of Catal) got really worried about my health. I haven’t been eating or drinking much, and whenever I tried to advance myself, the repercussions were cruel. Oh so cruel. They thus put me to a diet purely of bread and potatoes.
Thursday: Well, what do you know? Bread and potatoes worked! I finally, finally got to have a full day of excavation! The beginning process of excavating is grueling and literally backbreaking. I’m glad I didn’t have to excavate during my illness because I would have probably fainted from the deadly concoction of heat and an intense workout.
One professional excavator oversaw about 2 of us, so I was assigned to work with Dan. He’s the quietest one of all the excavators, but he’s really sweet and definitely approachable. Oh, and I absolutely love the dynamics of the excavating team! Throughout the year, they travel together in packs—sort of like an archaeological caravan, if you will—and excavate at various sites. They’re a bunch of light-hearted, down-to-earth, won’t-take-any-BS British folks. My kind of people! ☺ James is the uproarious joker, Roddy is blatantly hilarious, Mike reminds me of Hagrid, Freya is stern but caring, and Lisa could probably kick all of their derrieres…at the same time, but she’s sort of docile and definitely nice. My co-student-excavator was Tiffany and together we worked on building 79, a burnt building that promised TREASURE. Loads and loads of treasure! But of course, treasure is subjective, so in prehistoric times, treasure means anything that withstood 9000 years.
The excavation process is even more methodological than I thought! In terms of our building, we clean the layer so we can see how we should approach it. Next, we plan the layer we’re about to take off, and this means that we measure and map out the layer. After that, we either hack away at the layer with a mattock, pickaxe, or trowel, depending on how much we want to take off. And if the layer is delicate, like if it’s close to a wall or if you’re trying to get to the crumbling plaster, then you use a leaf trowel or a brush. Today was especially tough because we’re layers and layers and layers above the room fill, so we just hacked away with the mattock for the most part. My arms are going to be ridiculously robust by the end of this trip! You know that buff lady on the back of our Girls’ League jacket? Well, I bet that fool was an archaeologist! Hahah, Tiffany kept saying that I reminded her of that woman as I was hacking away because of my plaid shirt and my soon-to-be-bursting muscles! Jesus!
Friday: By this time, I was so exhausted (what with not eating and always throwing up and cultivating muscles and all) that all I opted to go to the Dedeman instead of trekking through Konya. On Fridays, we have the choice of either going to the Dedeman, which is a hotel that actually rivals the Hilton in extravagance, and pretty much just relax and enjoy the internet or wander through Konya. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t muster up the energy for Konya, which is rather tragic because it was my last Friday at Catal. When will I ever get the chance to go to Konya again?! I didn’t do much today except do some grocery shopping. C’est tout.
Saturday-Wednesday: These last few days were the absolute best days at Catalhoyuk. Hands down! Let me just give you a sample day:


A faint piano tune whispers throughout the room. It spirals around, enfolding each girl, coaxing each girl, but no one welcomes it but a slight rustle and a few yawns. The song echoes continuously, slowly slipping into the solitary terrain of dreams, until a hand mechanically reaches out and turns off the alarm. With a slight moan, I finally flutter my eyes open, but it takes patience, a few tries, and Laura’s incessant “dude, wake up.” 6:30 AM. Far too early to function.
Outside, the other archaeologists are either rummaging for tea or smoking on the veranda. I stumble into the kitchen, wading through the coffee-starved crowd as I hunt for a clean (or at least what looks like clean) cup. With my tea in hand and a wafer in mouth, I nod a good morning to everyone who passes and continue on to join the others outside. A low murmur of chatter drapes over the veranda, but at not just an early hour, but an early hour following a night equipped with beer bottle clanking and British invasion dancing, the recurrent topic seems to be about how surprisingly chilly the weather has been. I slowly sip my tea, feeling it warm up my goose bump-inflicted body as well as my caffeine-boycotting brain. My friends and I enjoy our tea in silence, with the occasional “how are you?” and the usual grunt response, until one of us notices the archaeologists emerging from the seminar room with tools swinging from their shoulders and buckets dangling from their hands. Off we go, waddling sleepily behind the archaeologists like baby ducks behind their mother, with one hand hanging on to our water bottle and the other rubbing our eyes or covering our yawns. We are definitely not morning people, but fortunately we have something stronger than caffeine: a Turkish sunrise.
The sky is different here. I’ve mentioned this before, but the sky is never as striking as it is during my walks up to the west mound. The sun perches behind a hill, blushing a deep orange so rich that it spills into the indigo. The two colors entwine, creating a palette of spring shades that stains the entire sky. Cinnamon swirls into coral, orange fades into gold, violet pales into cerulean. In the foreground, the rolling hills seem like waves in a sea of endless yellow, paving the way to the shadowy mountains looming in the distance.
Reaching the summit, I break my gaze away from the scenery and slip into the west mound. Rays of sunlight trickle through the overhead shelter onto the 9000 year old ruins, illuminating the dusty tan of the ancient mud brick. I set down my water bottle, pull out my trowel, and hop down into my beautifully burnt building 79. Dan’s already examining the building, with his hands authoritatively on his hips and his eyebrows professionally furrowed.
“Where do you want me, Dan?”
“Oh hey, Kelly. I’m thinking we should just finish cleaning it up a bit, then plan it and take off this layer. I think we’re almost at the top of the room,” Dan determines.
--INTERMISSION OF ABOUT 3 WEEKS—
Haha, seeing as how I seemed to have completely halted all writing upon my return, I’m going to discontinue this formal narrative and proceed with my nonsensical style.
--AND WE GO—
9/17/09
Right. So, as I was saying, I absolutely loved Catalhoyuk! Almost every day started with James’ rendition of “ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone,” perverting it until it mutates to “anal sunshine when she’s gone”—which, technically, still made sense, if not even more sense. When James wasn’t singing, either Tiffany and I were belching our heart out to nostalgic 80s/90s music or someone was poking fun at someone else in a rather mature tone, if you will. Our high spirits really did alleviate the strenuous work.
Other highlights of the excavation season were, but not limited to:
-Dan assigned me to remove the collapsed wall, leaving me no further instructions than “Just get rid of all of that, Kelly. Oh, and be careful of the pillar that is somewhere there.” What?! How am I supposed to know when I hit the pillar? “Oh, you’ll know. You’ll know,” was the only advice tucked under my belt. And, I did know. I did.
With my trusty trowel in hand, I meticulously removed the wall brick by brick, plaster by plaster, what-the-heck-is-this by what-the-heck-was-that. Good thing I was so cautious too because I dugged my trowel into the side of the wall and BAM!
Blood.
Blood red.
Yes, I found…
RED PAINT!
Ah! I found the pillar! I screeched for Dan to come over and he proudly exclaimed, “You’ve found the pillar!” It was the most amazing feeling ever! I can’t even ascribe it to any particular emotion or even emotions! It was 9,000-year-old paint or goodness’ sake! The fact that it survived for that long is overwhelming enough, but to imagine that these Neolithic people were complex enough to build pillars?! Oh, I might as well have struck oil.
-Later on that day, Dan found a the top of a human skull in one of the corners of the building. What was it doing there?! Typically, human skeletons are buried beneath the floors of these houses, specifically underneath the beds, but this one was in the corner of the house and we hadn’t even reached the floors yet! Why it was there, I simply do not know. We couldn’t dig it out yet because we still had to stick to our methodological layer-by-layer routine.
-On the last Thursday that we were there, they finally had a themed party—VIKINGS! The excavators all worked together to construct a genuinely no-words-can-describe-it-fully-except-BADASS ship! They built it from scratch! It even had a sail! The Chris’ also worked together to build something, but their puny chariot was no match to The Ship. Hahahah. The rest of the people were also bustling about, snatching materials to add to their costumes for the party, while the Stanford team sat on the sidelines, weeping about how we’re going to miss a most epic night. ☹
-I hugged Professor Meskell. *giggle
-I wish I hugged Professor Hodder. We just shook hands.
-I have yet to wash that hand.
-I was always afraid that I’d be too, oh what’s the word…PANSY to be an archaeologist. I’ve always been a “neat freak,” a “germaphobe,” a “whatever-else-that-is-the-opposite-of-an-archaeologist.” But once I put on those khaki pants, once I grabbed that trowel, once I knelt down and got dirt in the nooks and crannies that I didn’t even know existed on my body, I realized that my 5th grade self was right. I do want to become an archaeologist. The dirt, the strenuous workout, the tedious routines—they all did not bother me in the least bit. In fact, I felt quite the opposite: I loved every step of the archaeological process. I feel truly lucky to have been able to participate in this excavation and I’m glad I chose to go here instead of Binchester. I ironically chose to go to Catalhoyuk because it was not in my field of interest. I wanted to explore other branches of archaeology, especially prehistory, the branch I’ve always shied away from, before I finally committed myself to classics. I’ve always been a tolerant person, but this experience has opened me up to a different side of tolerance that I never even considered. I’ve emerged even more fervent about archaeology, even more certain about classics, and, of course, an even more cultured person. What more can I ask for? It’s made me realize a lot about my interests and a lot more about myself. I’ll miss Catalhoyuk and I’ll definitely miss the people. I hope I’ll be able to return again one day. For now, you can still catch me in the Mediterranean, but a few thousand years later.