So...long weekend. The dig gave us the day off, and no ranting until the end of the program. Yes, bureaucracy rules, even over the pond. I don't want to get anybody in trouble, so suffice to say we hit some red tape. A week's worth of it. Yeah. A week. But they caved and gave us Friday off.
I went to the Vatican. It can be summed up as: Epic.
Then we stopped for lunch at a little pizzeria. I ordered a desert whose only title/description was "torta delle nonna" or "the cake of your grandmother." I didn't have a clue what it was, but ordered it anyway. And it was amazing.
Saturday I went to Assisi, hometown of St. Francis. I loved it there. Expect a long, rambling, overly thoughtful, and pointlessly insightful post sometime soon. But I loved it. Including the uphill 4 KM hike I chose to do. Because it ended in a monastery and a beautiful forest. Fantastic.
Also: trains. The only way to travel. Very civilized.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Weekend of the Empty and Ancient and the Full and Bustling
July 12th 2009 (Sunday)
Much to say…it has been a busy busy weekend.
Yesterday we took an “optional fieldtrip” out to the Villa dei Quintili and the Appian Road towards the edge of Rome. I think about half the people from our program ended up going, and I have to admit I was a bit apprehensive that we would be repeating one of the hellishly fast and hot tours of the first week. I was pleased to find I was wrong!
The trip was headed up by the trench leaders Chris and Jeff, and one of the interns Matt (who had dug on a site off the Appian road so knew the area pretty well). They gave us interesting bits of information and plenty of time and space to wander around the Villa.
Little history here: the Quintili brothers were very wealthy, popular, and favored under Marcus Aurelius. They built this HUUUUGE villa on the Appian Way, a major road leading to Rome on which many grand villas were located. They had a massive bath complex as well as an extensive residential area. The villa has been an amazing thing for archaeologists, parts are breathtakingly well preserved, there has been some serious restoration done on other parts, and most of it has yet to be uncovered. Amazing. The main heated pool of the baths is almost fully intact, the arched windows go up well over two stories, and while the arched ceiling is gone, you can see it must have been immense.
We exited out the modern back of the complex, but it was probably the front in ancient times. We had to pass through the Nymphaeum (spelling is probably wrong, sorry), which was an open feature that most grand villas had. All it was was to display waterfalls, massive cascades of water, splashing fountains, spouts and streams, all open to display for anyone passing or entering the villa. It was a way to display culture, art, and keep an area cool.
Side note: the Quintili brothers were known for hosting some badass parties. Enter through a waterfall courtyard, up a long series of rooms and banquet chambers, one dining hall for winter, one for summer, and into the baths. The last pool, described above, was basically like the biggest hot-tub ever. Picture a tubbing part with enough room for nearly 100 tipsy people. “Wine, women, and ancient drugs” kind of party, as described by Matt.
We exited on to the Roman Road, Via Appia. We walked down in for about 45 minutes, following it towards Rome, and a little Café where Matt knew the owners. On the way you pass all sorts of tombs to important ancient Romans, walk on some of the original stones of the road that have grooves from carts and chariots still embedded in them, and some of the fanciest villas anywhere in the world. Only the VERY rich live along here, but walking past the perfectly manicured entryways, lined in flowers or statues, peeking through the majorly intense security gates…hardcore. With my first billion I’ll buy a house there.
We also passed an adorable group of small children selling fresh vegetables outside a field. They were none of them above about eight years old, had adorable British accents, and were running our equivalent of a lemonade stand. So. Friggin. Cute. They patiently explained that two of them lived there, and the rest were there “on holiday,” that they had been selling for two days and would be back tomorrow, that they had to go home Tuesday, and that carrots were three cents each. Then they allowed us to take pictures. I bought some carrots that still had dirt on them, was assured they were picked yesterday, and, may I say, were very good carrots.
Wandering down the road continues. We stopped for lunch at Matt’s café, which was quite good, and the owner was very friendly.
Then! I got to go to my catacombs! The Catacombs of San Sebastian were maybe another 10 minute walk, so most of us figured “why not?” We got to go in, but you have to go with a guide, who leads you through the lighted pathways under the ground. We went only a bit over 12 meters under, the lowest was 24 meters down. We didn’t see any remains and very few funerary remnants, but some sarcophagi were still down there, and just walking through the small tunnels was intense. Probably another post in and of itself…the rooms are tiny, the burial shelves smaller, everything is damp and dripping. But the maze that it is didn’t quite scare me…maybe because I knew there was light and a guide…but there was an ambiance. Not quite sad, not haunted, just that there was much life in here, so much emotion, all packed into these small halls and low doorways.
Another walk and a crowded bus ride and we were back at our apartment. Some confusion and continuing social dramas later, we didn’t go out as had been a possible plan. But the day was long, relaxing, and lots and lots of fun!
Today (Sunday, the day after the above) my roommate Cindy and I had decided to use as a shopping day. Sundays there is a huge flea market that I had instructions how to find, and there is a massive sale on in all of Rome this weekend that I wanted to take advantage of. I have done no shopping…and thought maybe I could do some indulging…
Well…after waiting for other roommates, finally getting out the door, finding our tram, realizing that the other two roommates that had come along had thought we were doing something totally else, finding the tents as the tram drove past them (something we later found, we shouldn’t have worried about), getting off the tram, and walking back to the tents, I was entering “grumpy Lucy land”. But the flea market totally turned me around.
Picture tents and booths as far as you can see, people loudly busking their wares and the deal of the moment, people haggling, digging through mounds of clothes piled on fold-out tables, booths of jewelry, used clothes, outlet clothes, socks, hats, bags, tee-shirts, CD-s, DVDs, converters, computer drives, kitchen wares (from butcher knives, to pans, aprons, towels, whisks, cutting boards, whatever), food, shoes, kids clothes, a pet shop, bras and underwear, toys, antiques, postcards, paintings, and people, people, people, and you might start to get the picture. It was crowded, bustling, and fantastic!
I didn’t feel like a tourist, just like a girl shopping for deals. Haggling is permitted, nobody cares if you paw through a pile of clothes for 30 minutes, there is nothing like a place to try on clothes, so you either pull it on over what you are wearing or take pot-luck. The people in charge of the booths still mostly had a smattering of English, but didn’t feel that anyone was trying to give me “tourist prices.” If a booth proprietor didn’t speak English, everyone was so cheerful and friendly and willing to make it work that it didn’t matter at all. I had SUCH a good time. I love second hand shopping, and my mom would have been proud at my digging through tables like a pro. She taught me well. (Added bonus of some clothes, light shirts to combat the heat! Yay. Plus two that will be interesting, a striped one with no back, and an orange one that doesn’t fit right, but I may be able to alter so that it does.)
By the time Cindy and I found our way out again…we just kept walking trying to find the end….honestly it just kept going…we decided just to walk for home and skip the normal shopping. My internal bargain hunter is conflicted: Rapture over getting a deal of 3 shirts for 10 euro, and tragedy over missing the sales in the stores I oogle on the way to the grocery store every day. But tired feet won out.
We walked home along the Tiber, crossed a busy street in search of a landmark, found a miniature park between two branches of a major road, came across a Hindi wedding in a church, had to detour around the square with the Trevi fountain (it was cordoned off…apparently some guy had been climbing on it with what may or may not have been blood all over his chest. The brit we got the scoop from seemed skeptical), got cheap pizza from the kebab shop on our street (where we were briefly annoyed by a tourist lady who was pursuing the stereotype of “I didn’t get what I ordered (even though I ordered wrong) but it can be fixed by simple saying the same words over and over in a louder voice”), and came home.
Marvelous!
For those who care: the dig this week was full of dirt, rocks, and some minor scholastic disappointment. I did get to work finds, cleaning and measuring marble with our finds expert Sara (pronounce Sal-ah, very soft letters) who is FREAKING ADORABLE and taught me oodles about marble and the things we find on site. I also used my knowledge of the periodic table of elements to help her translate a word from Italian to English, points to someone who gets the word. More on all that as the week goes on I’m sure.
Expect also a rant on air-conditioning + evil apartment managers, dig organization, and why people can’t all get along.
Oh! And: Guess who might be going to Sweden!?!?
Much to say…it has been a busy busy weekend.
Yesterday we took an “optional fieldtrip” out to the Villa dei Quintili and the Appian Road towards the edge of Rome. I think about half the people from our program ended up going, and I have to admit I was a bit apprehensive that we would be repeating one of the hellishly fast and hot tours of the first week. I was pleased to find I was wrong!
The trip was headed up by the trench leaders Chris and Jeff, and one of the interns Matt (who had dug on a site off the Appian road so knew the area pretty well). They gave us interesting bits of information and plenty of time and space to wander around the Villa.
Little history here: the Quintili brothers were very wealthy, popular, and favored under Marcus Aurelius. They built this HUUUUGE villa on the Appian Way, a major road leading to Rome on which many grand villas were located. They had a massive bath complex as well as an extensive residential area. The villa has been an amazing thing for archaeologists, parts are breathtakingly well preserved, there has been some serious restoration done on other parts, and most of it has yet to be uncovered. Amazing. The main heated pool of the baths is almost fully intact, the arched windows go up well over two stories, and while the arched ceiling is gone, you can see it must have been immense.
We exited out the modern back of the complex, but it was probably the front in ancient times. We had to pass through the Nymphaeum (spelling is probably wrong, sorry), which was an open feature that most grand villas had. All it was was to display waterfalls, massive cascades of water, splashing fountains, spouts and streams, all open to display for anyone passing or entering the villa. It was a way to display culture, art, and keep an area cool.
Side note: the Quintili brothers were known for hosting some badass parties. Enter through a waterfall courtyard, up a long series of rooms and banquet chambers, one dining hall for winter, one for summer, and into the baths. The last pool, described above, was basically like the biggest hot-tub ever. Picture a tubbing part with enough room for nearly 100 tipsy people. “Wine, women, and ancient drugs” kind of party, as described by Matt.
We exited on to the Roman Road, Via Appia. We walked down in for about 45 minutes, following it towards Rome, and a little Café where Matt knew the owners. On the way you pass all sorts of tombs to important ancient Romans, walk on some of the original stones of the road that have grooves from carts and chariots still embedded in them, and some of the fanciest villas anywhere in the world. Only the VERY rich live along here, but walking past the perfectly manicured entryways, lined in flowers or statues, peeking through the majorly intense security gates…hardcore. With my first billion I’ll buy a house there.
We also passed an adorable group of small children selling fresh vegetables outside a field. They were none of them above about eight years old, had adorable British accents, and were running our equivalent of a lemonade stand. So. Friggin. Cute. They patiently explained that two of them lived there, and the rest were there “on holiday,” that they had been selling for two days and would be back tomorrow, that they had to go home Tuesday, and that carrots were three cents each. Then they allowed us to take pictures. I bought some carrots that still had dirt on them, was assured they were picked yesterday, and, may I say, were very good carrots.
Wandering down the road continues. We stopped for lunch at Matt’s café, which was quite good, and the owner was very friendly.
Then! I got to go to my catacombs! The Catacombs of San Sebastian were maybe another 10 minute walk, so most of us figured “why not?” We got to go in, but you have to go with a guide, who leads you through the lighted pathways under the ground. We went only a bit over 12 meters under, the lowest was 24 meters down. We didn’t see any remains and very few funerary remnants, but some sarcophagi were still down there, and just walking through the small tunnels was intense. Probably another post in and of itself…the rooms are tiny, the burial shelves smaller, everything is damp and dripping. But the maze that it is didn’t quite scare me…maybe because I knew there was light and a guide…but there was an ambiance. Not quite sad, not haunted, just that there was much life in here, so much emotion, all packed into these small halls and low doorways.
Another walk and a crowded bus ride and we were back at our apartment. Some confusion and continuing social dramas later, we didn’t go out as had been a possible plan. But the day was long, relaxing, and lots and lots of fun!
Today (Sunday, the day after the above) my roommate Cindy and I had decided to use as a shopping day. Sundays there is a huge flea market that I had instructions how to find, and there is a massive sale on in all of Rome this weekend that I wanted to take advantage of. I have done no shopping…and thought maybe I could do some indulging…
Well…after waiting for other roommates, finally getting out the door, finding our tram, realizing that the other two roommates that had come along had thought we were doing something totally else, finding the tents as the tram drove past them (something we later found, we shouldn’t have worried about), getting off the tram, and walking back to the tents, I was entering “grumpy Lucy land”. But the flea market totally turned me around.
Picture tents and booths as far as you can see, people loudly busking their wares and the deal of the moment, people haggling, digging through mounds of clothes piled on fold-out tables, booths of jewelry, used clothes, outlet clothes, socks, hats, bags, tee-shirts, CD-s, DVDs, converters, computer drives, kitchen wares (from butcher knives, to pans, aprons, towels, whisks, cutting boards, whatever), food, shoes, kids clothes, a pet shop, bras and underwear, toys, antiques, postcards, paintings, and people, people, people, and you might start to get the picture. It was crowded, bustling, and fantastic!
I didn’t feel like a tourist, just like a girl shopping for deals. Haggling is permitted, nobody cares if you paw through a pile of clothes for 30 minutes, there is nothing like a place to try on clothes, so you either pull it on over what you are wearing or take pot-luck. The people in charge of the booths still mostly had a smattering of English, but didn’t feel that anyone was trying to give me “tourist prices.” If a booth proprietor didn’t speak English, everyone was so cheerful and friendly and willing to make it work that it didn’t matter at all. I had SUCH a good time. I love second hand shopping, and my mom would have been proud at my digging through tables like a pro. She taught me well. (Added bonus of some clothes, light shirts to combat the heat! Yay. Plus two that will be interesting, a striped one with no back, and an orange one that doesn’t fit right, but I may be able to alter so that it does.)
By the time Cindy and I found our way out again…we just kept walking trying to find the end….honestly it just kept going…we decided just to walk for home and skip the normal shopping. My internal bargain hunter is conflicted: Rapture over getting a deal of 3 shirts for 10 euro, and tragedy over missing the sales in the stores I oogle on the way to the grocery store every day. But tired feet won out.
We walked home along the Tiber, crossed a busy street in search of a landmark, found a miniature park between two branches of a major road, came across a Hindi wedding in a church, had to detour around the square with the Trevi fountain (it was cordoned off…apparently some guy had been climbing on it with what may or may not have been blood all over his chest. The brit we got the scoop from seemed skeptical), got cheap pizza from the kebab shop on our street (where we were briefly annoyed by a tourist lady who was pursuing the stereotype of “I didn’t get what I ordered (even though I ordered wrong) but it can be fixed by simple saying the same words over and over in a louder voice”), and came home.
Marvelous!
For those who care: the dig this week was full of dirt, rocks, and some minor scholastic disappointment. I did get to work finds, cleaning and measuring marble with our finds expert Sara (pronounce Sal-ah, very soft letters) who is FREAKING ADORABLE and taught me oodles about marble and the things we find on site. I also used my knowledge of the periodic table of elements to help her translate a word from Italian to English, points to someone who gets the word. More on all that as the week goes on I’m sure.
Expect also a rant on air-conditioning + evil apartment managers, dig organization, and why people can’t all get along.
Oh! And: Guess who might be going to Sweden!?!?
Sunday, July 5, 2009
The Arrival (Rome)
You ask and I deliver!
Arriving in Rome. I flew out of PDX, via Lufhansa to Frankfurt. A long flight, on which I sat, watched Bolt and Transporter 3, failed to sleep, and ate airplane food. I sat next to an elderly Indian man who seemed nice, but not chatty. The view was quite incredible. Flying over the glaciers everthing was so blue, that the few clouds that I could see looked like perfect cotton balls that someone had simple dropped from above.
I arrived in Frankfurt…managed to find the right terminal for my flight to Rome. Yay go me. They did take the waterbottle I had bought in PDX…no water containers over 3oz, never mind if you got them in a bloody airport, AFTER the security check. But other than that it was easy.
The flight to Rome was short, and uneventful. I didn’t have anyone in the seat next to me so I actually dozed a bit. But arriving in Rome…whoa…
I didn’t actually have to go through customs or anything…which was odd. I did wait for literally 45 minutes to get my luggage. I was definitely freaked, thinking it was lost, I was at the wrong terminal, AND that I was going to miss the taxi that had been arranged to meet me and the 4 other people in my program that were arriving at similar times.
Well my things finally came through. My huge suitcase was one of the last things to come out. So that was a relief. Then it got worse.
I walked out of the baggage claim area, through the customs area and into chaos. I was told that there would be someone holding a sign with my program name on it, and that would be my taxi that would take me to my apartment. Well. There were MASSES of people with signs, more masses of people milling about, and the most incredible din. There was no space anywhere, I had two checked bags and two carry-ons. Nervs went through the roof.
I wandered around, made about 8 circuts of the entry area looking for the man with the AIRC sign. Didn’t find him. So I hauled out my Italian cell phone (orderd in advance as per the suggestion of my program), figured out how to turn it on and unlock it, and called our “emergency number.” The guy who answered offered the singularly unhelpful suggestion of “keep looking” and “try by the information booth” (which I was standing about 10 feet from). He said he’d call back in ten minutes to see if I found it.
Curbing utter panic and dispair I did another circuit. To my shock, relief, and utter amazement there it was! It was a short man in a striped shirt, chatting aimiably to another man in a suit with a sign for a hotel shuttle. He was very helpfully holding the AIRC sign in the “highly visible” area that was his navel. If I hadn’t been at the right angle, or standing straight in front of him I never would have found it.
I go rushing up in relief, point to my name on his list and am told to stand and wait…by the information booth…ha. Apparently I was first to arrive. But shortly after I was joined by a girl from New York, two guys from Ohio, and a boy from London. The brit had had just as much trouble as I had, and been told the same thing by the man at the other end of the emergency number (who I later worked out might have been our program directior Dar…). He had gone to a different information booth.
So. We all pick all our stuff back up, and tote it off to the taxi. It was about a half-hour, forty minute drive into the city. We dropped all the boys off first, then us two girls got dropped on our street. She lives in an apartment building right next to mine. We were met there by our program coordinator Lynda. She let us in, gave us keys, maps, and was generally amazing. The other apartment, the other girls were all in, so we left my taxi-friend with her new roommates.
I was the last to arrive for my apartment, so I go the last bed. A double yes, but it’s a fold out couch…in the dining/living room. Sigh. All of my roomies were out and about, so Lynda took me to a bank-o-mat (atm), showed me how to get to the institute where we were all meeting for dinner in a few hours, and headed off. I went and bought a sandwich, tried not to fall asleep, and started to unpack.
The roomies came back, we all got acquainted (there are four of ‘em, two from Oregon…quite shocking actually…one from Maryland, and one from Milan), and headed off to the welcome dinner. Which was nice, but went on too long for a poor jet-lagged Lucy. Thus endeth the arrival.
I don’t know how my other arrival will go. The study abroad in France one, we are supposed to be met at the station by a program leader, who will take us to wherever we will be staying for the week of orientation. It will be a train station rather than an international airport, it will be a smaller city, and I will speak some of the language, so I’m hoping for slightly less trauma. But…we shall see.
…is this what you were looking for? Or shall I have another go?
OH: and if you want to read about the dig, another new post is just below. Two in one day. Will wonders never cease?
Arriving in Rome. I flew out of PDX, via Lufhansa to Frankfurt. A long flight, on which I sat, watched Bolt and Transporter 3, failed to sleep, and ate airplane food. I sat next to an elderly Indian man who seemed nice, but not chatty. The view was quite incredible. Flying over the glaciers everthing was so blue, that the few clouds that I could see looked like perfect cotton balls that someone had simple dropped from above.
I arrived in Frankfurt…managed to find the right terminal for my flight to Rome. Yay go me. They did take the waterbottle I had bought in PDX…no water containers over 3oz, never mind if you got them in a bloody airport, AFTER the security check. But other than that it was easy.
The flight to Rome was short, and uneventful. I didn’t have anyone in the seat next to me so I actually dozed a bit. But arriving in Rome…whoa…
I didn’t actually have to go through customs or anything…which was odd. I did wait for literally 45 minutes to get my luggage. I was definitely freaked, thinking it was lost, I was at the wrong terminal, AND that I was going to miss the taxi that had been arranged to meet me and the 4 other people in my program that were arriving at similar times.
Well my things finally came through. My huge suitcase was one of the last things to come out. So that was a relief. Then it got worse.
I walked out of the baggage claim area, through the customs area and into chaos. I was told that there would be someone holding a sign with my program name on it, and that would be my taxi that would take me to my apartment. Well. There were MASSES of people with signs, more masses of people milling about, and the most incredible din. There was no space anywhere, I had two checked bags and two carry-ons. Nervs went through the roof.
I wandered around, made about 8 circuts of the entry area looking for the man with the AIRC sign. Didn’t find him. So I hauled out my Italian cell phone (orderd in advance as per the suggestion of my program), figured out how to turn it on and unlock it, and called our “emergency number.” The guy who answered offered the singularly unhelpful suggestion of “keep looking” and “try by the information booth” (which I was standing about 10 feet from). He said he’d call back in ten minutes to see if I found it.
Curbing utter panic and dispair I did another circuit. To my shock, relief, and utter amazement there it was! It was a short man in a striped shirt, chatting aimiably to another man in a suit with a sign for a hotel shuttle. He was very helpfully holding the AIRC sign in the “highly visible” area that was his navel. If I hadn’t been at the right angle, or standing straight in front of him I never would have found it.
I go rushing up in relief, point to my name on his list and am told to stand and wait…by the information booth…ha. Apparently I was first to arrive. But shortly after I was joined by a girl from New York, two guys from Ohio, and a boy from London. The brit had had just as much trouble as I had, and been told the same thing by the man at the other end of the emergency number (who I later worked out might have been our program directior Dar…). He had gone to a different information booth.
So. We all pick all our stuff back up, and tote it off to the taxi. It was about a half-hour, forty minute drive into the city. We dropped all the boys off first, then us two girls got dropped on our street. She lives in an apartment building right next to mine. We were met there by our program coordinator Lynda. She let us in, gave us keys, maps, and was generally amazing. The other apartment, the other girls were all in, so we left my taxi-friend with her new roommates.
I was the last to arrive for my apartment, so I go the last bed. A double yes, but it’s a fold out couch…in the dining/living room. Sigh. All of my roomies were out and about, so Lynda took me to a bank-o-mat (atm), showed me how to get to the institute where we were all meeting for dinner in a few hours, and headed off. I went and bought a sandwich, tried not to fall asleep, and started to unpack.
The roomies came back, we all got acquainted (there are four of ‘em, two from Oregon…quite shocking actually…one from Maryland, and one from Milan), and headed off to the welcome dinner. Which was nice, but went on too long for a poor jet-lagged Lucy. Thus endeth the arrival.
I don’t know how my other arrival will go. The study abroad in France one, we are supposed to be met at the station by a program leader, who will take us to wherever we will be staying for the week of orientation. It will be a train station rather than an international airport, it will be a smaller city, and I will speak some of the language, so I’m hoping for slightly less trauma. But…we shall see.
…is this what you were looking for? Or shall I have another go?
OH: and if you want to read about the dig, another new post is just below. Two in one day. Will wonders never cease?
Reflections on "the dig: week one"
July 5th 2009
Tomorrow begins week two of digging. My week last week was full of moving rocks and dirt. Lots of rock and dirt. We have to clean everything out of our trench before the actual excavation can be. Unlike traditional digs my trench was first cleaned out, down to the floor level, using a backhoe. They did this, rather than the usual careful removing of each stratigraphic layer of dirt, because the area was greatly compromised as it was used as a dump heap in the 1960s. Also there are massive collapses from the baths themselves making things difficult. Thus we actually have quite a lot that you can see…but that also means lots of things like rooms that are still FILLED with debris. The backhoe couldn’t excavate everything, as some of the rooms have delicate arches, or unstable collapses that have to be cleaned and excavated by hand. So we move lots of dirt. Goody.
I spent a day clearing out a room that is filled with collapse debris. By filled I mean…to the TOP of a tall arched ceiling filled. Probably several meters. In the course of one day 4 of us managed to remove a full 1.10 meters of a room measuring 2.75 meters in length! Yes we are that good. And this was dirt, small rocks, and small boulders as well. Debris from the collapsed ceiling, plaster, etc. We exposed the tops of two archways that lead into other rooms, one that is blocked by a collapse, but the second arch you can actually see the other side of it in another room. We also found tiling and marbling to indicate the ceiling and walls were heavily decorated and mosaic-ed. But they won’t let us dig to floor level. Very sad. It would be to time-consuming and labor-intensive apparently, even though we would probably find a decorated floor and some interesting things in-situ. Tragedy abounds.
We also had to stop working there because one of the arched columns wasn’t stable enough. They will be putting in metal support beams tomorrow, so we can go back in the hole to take measurements, clean, and draw, but not to dig out further. It’s a bit sad. Ah well.
Beyond that, I didn’t do much of great interest. I moved more rock and dirt. Spent a full day cleaning a wall…meaning I used an excavators trowel and a small brush to remove lots of dirt, dust, and small grit from a wall. Oh yes. Then I had to use my trowel to scrape plaster (that had been used to hold marble paneling on the wall, but the marble was all plundered during the gothic invasions, so not much is left) off the bricks and mortar to see what color they were. Keep in mind that this plaster has been in place for…about 1600 years…so it is well and truly set. That stuff does NOT want to come off. The noise you make scraping metal on brick is quite quite quite horrific. And I ate more plaster and brick dust in an hour than you ever should in your entire life. Oh. My.
Actually the physical labor of moving dirt is much better than the standing still in the blazing sun and brushing dust off of one brick. The dust mostly goes onto another brick or into the air where it simply settles back onto the original brick. Or goes in your face. Sometimes both at once. At least bucket-hauling you can think about how heavy the damn buckets are, shoveling you can think about how many enormous rocks you keep slamming into, brushing a wall all you think about is the heat and the dust.
Though it was quite nice as all last week we had thunderstorms, and RAIN. Rain in Rome. In summer. Very odd, but really really nice. It meant we had a bit of a breeze, and the rain on Thursday and Friday helped to keep the dust down. Yay! But I think it’s all over now, next week will be a marathon of heat, dust, and rocks in buckets! Bring it on!
Tomorrow begins week two of digging. My week last week was full of moving rocks and dirt. Lots of rock and dirt. We have to clean everything out of our trench before the actual excavation can be. Unlike traditional digs my trench was first cleaned out, down to the floor level, using a backhoe. They did this, rather than the usual careful removing of each stratigraphic layer of dirt, because the area was greatly compromised as it was used as a dump heap in the 1960s. Also there are massive collapses from the baths themselves making things difficult. Thus we actually have quite a lot that you can see…but that also means lots of things like rooms that are still FILLED with debris. The backhoe couldn’t excavate everything, as some of the rooms have delicate arches, or unstable collapses that have to be cleaned and excavated by hand. So we move lots of dirt. Goody.
I spent a day clearing out a room that is filled with collapse debris. By filled I mean…to the TOP of a tall arched ceiling filled. Probably several meters. In the course of one day 4 of us managed to remove a full 1.10 meters of a room measuring 2.75 meters in length! Yes we are that good. And this was dirt, small rocks, and small boulders as well. Debris from the collapsed ceiling, plaster, etc. We exposed the tops of two archways that lead into other rooms, one that is blocked by a collapse, but the second arch you can actually see the other side of it in another room. We also found tiling and marbling to indicate the ceiling and walls were heavily decorated and mosaic-ed. But they won’t let us dig to floor level. Very sad. It would be to time-consuming and labor-intensive apparently, even though we would probably find a decorated floor and some interesting things in-situ. Tragedy abounds.
We also had to stop working there because one of the arched columns wasn’t stable enough. They will be putting in metal support beams tomorrow, so we can go back in the hole to take measurements, clean, and draw, but not to dig out further. It’s a bit sad. Ah well.
Beyond that, I didn’t do much of great interest. I moved more rock and dirt. Spent a full day cleaning a wall…meaning I used an excavators trowel and a small brush to remove lots of dirt, dust, and small grit from a wall. Oh yes. Then I had to use my trowel to scrape plaster (that had been used to hold marble paneling on the wall, but the marble was all plundered during the gothic invasions, so not much is left) off the bricks and mortar to see what color they were. Keep in mind that this plaster has been in place for…about 1600 years…so it is well and truly set. That stuff does NOT want to come off. The noise you make scraping metal on brick is quite quite quite horrific. And I ate more plaster and brick dust in an hour than you ever should in your entire life. Oh. My.
Actually the physical labor of moving dirt is much better than the standing still in the blazing sun and brushing dust off of one brick. The dust mostly goes onto another brick or into the air where it simply settles back onto the original brick. Or goes in your face. Sometimes both at once. At least bucket-hauling you can think about how heavy the damn buckets are, shoveling you can think about how many enormous rocks you keep slamming into, brushing a wall all you think about is the heat and the dust.
Though it was quite nice as all last week we had thunderstorms, and RAIN. Rain in Rome. In summer. Very odd, but really really nice. It meant we had a bit of a breeze, and the rain on Thursday and Friday helped to keep the dust down. Yay! But I think it’s all over now, next week will be a marathon of heat, dust, and rocks in buckets! Bring it on!
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Dirt, digging, and more dirt.
July 2nd 2009
I have started digging. Just finished day three. I have never been so completely and utterly covered in dirt and dust. It’s hard core. I am way tired every evening by about 8:00…understandable as I do have to get up at 5:15.
I remain in love with the metro, even with a 20-minute commute twice a day. It’s easy, clean, and fast. I am now the proud owner of a student month-long metro pass. Go team!
I am now very very very good at moving dust around. And putting rocks in buckets, and lifting bucks, and dumping buckets, and filling more buckets. And brushing off walls…which is NOT FUN. As the slightest breeze blows the dust right back onto the wall, and if there is no breeze you are brushing dust into your eyes, mouth, and down your shirt. Doing the hard labor of filling buckets is much better. Though I have discovered that wheelbarrows and I do not get on.
Today I worked on emptying an entryway that is filled with collapsed vaulting, brick, mortar, and dirt. There is an intact door arch that was barely visible over the top. We took the level down 1.10 meters in ONE DAY. That is awesome…we did so much work. I was on a team with another girl, an Aussie woman, and the Brit (a guy, but we only have one...so he's "the brit"). Rachel, the aussie, is amazing. She is a machine with a pickaxe! It’s impressive to watch. Hauling rock has never been more fun. AND we found tesserae (small tiles used in mosaics) and marble that were used to decorate the vaulting. Jeff, our trench leader/supervisor, thinks that the entire ceiling might have been covered in patterns. So cool.
Good times abound. But mostly fatigue… Not really fun…just lots of work, lots of heat, and crazy amounts of dirt. I mean…geez. Also, I’ve never been so sweaty. Ever. Not even during barley harvest last summer. Yes, it’s true.
More details and interesting things to come at a time when I am not super tired. Probably this weekend.
PS: I love comments, sorry I haven’t figured out how to set up the feature where you can reply to specific comments. I am working on it. Rest assured, I read and love them all. Alicia: arrival story is going to get writ! Soon. Promise!
I have started digging. Just finished day three. I have never been so completely and utterly covered in dirt and dust. It’s hard core. I am way tired every evening by about 8:00…understandable as I do have to get up at 5:15.
I remain in love with the metro, even with a 20-minute commute twice a day. It’s easy, clean, and fast. I am now the proud owner of a student month-long metro pass. Go team!
I am now very very very good at moving dust around. And putting rocks in buckets, and lifting bucks, and dumping buckets, and filling more buckets. And brushing off walls…which is NOT FUN. As the slightest breeze blows the dust right back onto the wall, and if there is no breeze you are brushing dust into your eyes, mouth, and down your shirt. Doing the hard labor of filling buckets is much better. Though I have discovered that wheelbarrows and I do not get on.
Today I worked on emptying an entryway that is filled with collapsed vaulting, brick, mortar, and dirt. There is an intact door arch that was barely visible over the top. We took the level down 1.10 meters in ONE DAY. That is awesome…we did so much work. I was on a team with another girl, an Aussie woman, and the Brit (a guy, but we only have one...so he's "the brit"). Rachel, the aussie, is amazing. She is a machine with a pickaxe! It’s impressive to watch. Hauling rock has never been more fun. AND we found tesserae (small tiles used in mosaics) and marble that were used to decorate the vaulting. Jeff, our trench leader/supervisor, thinks that the entire ceiling might have been covered in patterns. So cool.
Good times abound. But mostly fatigue… Not really fun…just lots of work, lots of heat, and crazy amounts of dirt. I mean…geez. Also, I’ve never been so sweaty. Ever. Not even during barley harvest last summer. Yes, it’s true.
More details and interesting things to come at a time when I am not super tired. Probably this weekend.
PS: I love comments, sorry I haven’t figured out how to set up the feature where you can reply to specific comments. I am working on it. Rest assured, I read and love them all. Alicia: arrival story is going to get writ! Soon. Promise!
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