2020: The Year that No One Excavated
April-May 2020
It is becoming increasingly clear that no one will be excavating this summer, at least not in the Mediterranean, Europe, or the Middle East, as many of my friends are inclined. While there are many other bigger issues going on right now (healthcare workers putting their lives at risk, unemployment, people disregarding and even rallying against social distancing policies, lack of testing kits, etc. - you get the point, it’s bad), I think it’s important to acknowledge this loss for all of us archaeologists. For many of us, going abroad every summer is a way of life. It’s how we see some of our closest friends, get new research material, collaborate with colleagues, and lose that five pounds we gained from sitting on our butts in the library all year (digging is the best workout).
While part of me (the small town Wisconsin kid) feels like a spoiled brat saying “Oh, woe is me, I don’t get to play in Europe this summer,” the professional academic part says, “This virus is going to change my entire dissertation plan and keep me from doing the research I need to do.” I’m trying to listen to the academic part more. As a kid, I never thought that my professional life would depend on annual trips to Greece and Italy. Those places always seemed too far off to even be real, let alone places that I would visit regularly or even live in eventually. Little Andy (or “Baby Andy,” as one friend might prefer) would have been shocked to know that her future self would be living in Greece for a year or driving through Sicily by herself.
As a domestic summer approaches, I realize how important my summers abroad are for both my personal and professional life. This time is precious and sacred to archaeologists. Even if we only get to go for a few weeks, those weeks are gold. The same is true for many of my friends and colleagues who rely on annual trips abroad to their excavations and to do research at other sites and museums. Also, many of us manage to take a small break from our rigorous academic lives in the summers to let our minds and bodies relax - much needed after spending weeks in the hot Mediterranean sun moving around wheel barrows full of dirt and rocks. Can you really imagine a better way to relax than spending the day on the beach on a Greek island? (How else would you expect to wash off all the excavation dirt?) Or hiking on cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean, knowing that a nice cone of gelato is at the finish line? Or biking along the coastline, through old train tunnels, or through the Tuscan countryside? I can’t.
The virus is going to change a lot of things for everyone, but has already changed the nature of the work we archaeologists do. Since many of our materials “live” abroad, hidden away in museum storerooms without any sort of online documentation (great for research proposals, not so great during a travel ban), the papers and presentations that we want to do that involve studying these materials in person simply cannot happen. Already some of us have had to change abstracts for conferences or rearrange research plans for the next year simply because we do not have access to the things we planned to have access to.
All of these changes are very upsetting, but honestly, the thing that upsets me most is not being able to see my dig family this summer. Not being able to sit at our communal table under the stars and enjoy each other’s company after a long day of hard work in and out of the trenches. Not being able to hang out in the one bar in town with the dig crew and the locals. Not being able to spend time working with my Sicilian colleagues and have them teach me new phrases in dialect, regardless of their utility (although, arguably some of these phrases have proven to be very important, though not for the reason they were intended at all ["Uvu l'uvu?"]). Not seeing random locals to whom I’ve never formally been introduced, but who recognize me because I’ve always said “hi” to them (I treat central Sicily like it’s rural Wisconsin). Not being known as “la americana che parla italiano.” Not ending the day with a granita from one of our favorite establishments. Not going into Old Man Bar once a summer just to stick it to ‘em (feminism!). Not almost dying from being way too close to “very safe” fireworks. Not annoying people with my morning cheer at the breakfast table. Not waking up to the sunrise over Mount Etna.
When we are able to return to our research countries, our summer residences and pseudo-second homes, what will we be returning to? Current reports of mafia activity in southern Italy do not bode well for future research or travel endeavors, let alone the lives of the people who live there, including our Italian friends who may have to endure these new hardships daily. The country I know and love may not be the one I return to and may not be as safe as it once was (well… okay… “less safe,” we’ll say… let’s not forget the “Indi-Andy Gets Mugged” post...). Criminal activity, especially the threat of the mafia, has always been a stigma of Italy, especially Sicily, but a vacuum in services, jobs, and money may create a larger opening for illicit groups than previously existed. Is it actually going to be safe for me to drive around southern Italy by myself after all this is over? More importantly, when will “all this” be over and how will we know that it’s safe - from the virus - to travel? Furthermore, even if we’re “safe” from the virus, what other new risks may we face? What other new risks might our international friends be dealing with on a regular basis? Okay, I’m spiraling, but these are all fair questions and serious matters that we need to consider before we head back to our Trinacrian paradise.
I often find a bus ticket from Greece or Italy in my coat pockets or napkins from Greek restaurants that double as an emergency toilet paper stash (in a land where toilet paper in public bathrooms is a thing of myth, you MUST have a secret TP stash). Usually finding a trinket from Grigoris, KTEL, or Interbus is an occasion for a smile, a reminder of a previous adventure, but these days, that smile is brief and followed by a feeling of loss. It’s important to acknowledge that feeling of loss and realize that what we’re feeling is real, but not to dwell on it too much. Instead, I try to be thankful for the amazing international adventures (mis-adventures or otherwise!) I’ve had, the amazing people I’ve met, and of course, all the delicious food I’ve eaten. In addition, connecting with colleagues over Zoom happy hours after a long day of (attempting to) work helps a great deal.
So, in the spirit of acknowledging my grief and the alternate reality of “what might have been,” I should be asleep in Athens right now, exhausted from having spent the day looking at fruit fragments in the Acropolis Museum and attempting to converse (poorly) in Greek. I should have spent the evening getting dinner with friends or having a drink on my AirBnB balcony and looking out onto the city. On Tuesday I would have visited my neighoborhood farmers market and greeted all my favorite vendors. But unfortunately that’s not what happened. It’s no one’s fault, it’s just reality. I shall continue to take out my grief (and sometimes rage… okay, more so rage) on my lawn and future garden, which will finally be well taken care of this year since I’ll actually be around to do so. Most importantly, I will try to focus on the fact that I am physically okay and focus on the things I’m gaining instead of losing. I am not in the hospital, I am not constantly exposed to sick people, and I am not unemployed. I will get to go strawberry picking (I hope!) for the first time in a decade. I will find another way to lose those five library pounds (who else wants me to pick axe their yard?). I will finally clean out my closet… maybe. I will make countless new kitchen creations. I will run and bike all over and see new parts of a place I’ve lived in for six years. Hopefully we can all find something to be thankful for and something that we’ll gain, and hopefully when we finally do get to return to our second homes, the return will be even sweeter than Massimo’s mulberry granita.
