There are too many people awake and doing annoying things like talking at not-even-5.00 am in Budapest Airport.

But I'm not going to let it ruin the tail end of my trip. I shall just drink my coffee and eat my croissant and try to ignore everyone, while inwardly waxing poetic on the past six weeks. (Six weeks to the day! Wednesday to Wednesday)

This has been an absolutely fantastic trip and an experience I will probably never have again. I've met some wonderful people, I've seen some incredible sights, and I gained experience in a field (ha, see what I did there...oh shut up, it's really early) I never thought I'd work in. I think the experience has made me appreciate archaeology better, if not actually honed my excavating skills. I worked with human remains, which is an opportunity not many bioarch people are even afforded back home. I saw a city I dreamed of but didn't believe I'd ever get to visit.

What a fantastic six weeks in Romania and Hungary!

Back in Budapest!

And it is hot. Apparently the heat wave you guys had back home is still hitting Europe. I woke up drenched in sweat and just altogether very uncomfortable.

But, our hostel is very nice, we're all together (me and three other girls, two of whom are going home tonight) and yesterday was quite fun. (After I took a shower and stopped being cranky at the weather).

Yesterday gave me: the national museum (so cool!), a delicious dinner, and a ruin bar. The last of which is exactly what it sounds like: a bunch of little bars and food stands in a giant ruin of something; it's not open to the air, it's covered, but it's still old and stone and really really cool. We all signed the walls, but there really wasn't much space to do so, since they're already covered in graffiti.

This morning, breakfast was provided and it included an electric kettle which means that I am writing this while drinking my tea! My tea! With milk and everything! I've really missed my tea. The hotel in Odorhei had mint-y tea in the mornings, but in that case, I went with coffee. And now I have my tea back!

Today, we're hoping to hit up a few different places, including the market this morning, then St Stephen's Basilica later. St. Stephen's is the one thing that I was adamant on doing. The rest, I understand if we can't get to because it's such a short time and it's crazy-busy here in the city. (A giant, Lollapalooza-esque music festival is starting today, and there's a dance festival, and all sorts of things, which means there are far more people in the city than we were expecting.) But St. Stephen's is beautiful and I like beautiful things and so, I want to see it.

As last days go, yesterday was fairly eventful.

Re the dig: I pulled the wood from my burial, uncovered more bone than was previously thought, had to do a burial record, and then managed to pull all visible bone and the little bit of wood under said bone--and I didn't slip once!

Afterwards, the local archaeologist we've been working with (not Andre, but the one who works around here permanently) and his girlfriend and another local we know came to say goodbye, so of course, we pulled out all the stops. (I mean, we were pulling out all the stops anyway, as it was the last night). The hotel staff gave us some berry palinka as a gift (we gave the lady flowers and the couple a card thanking them for everything) but, much as I loved our hosts, the berry palinka does taste like grape cough medicine. Don't worry, that's not the one I'm bringing home a litre of. The one we paid for and dispensed into water bottles last night was made by the local archaeologist's parents and is so much worse than grape cough medicine. 

All in all, yesterday was a celebration and very bittersweet. At least one person is already gone, flying off to Paris for a few days and then home. A lot of us are taking the train to Sighisoara today, wandering around Sighisoara and then taking the later trains back to Budapest. Still others are going by way of Cluj-Napoca or Sibiu. Which means that I'll be with a few people in Budapest, but not everyone, and I don't want to say goodbye. I don't like saying goodbye. It's no fun. 

However, on that note, I should probably go make the rounds. Perhaps you'll hear from me as we wait for our train, but if not, I'll see you on the flip side in Budapest! 

Au revoir, Transylvania! Köszönöm for a wonderful 5 weeks!

a voiceless song in an ageless light

So much for the cliche of godless Communism. (That's for you, dad.) Over here in Eastern and Central Europe religion is kind of a big deal. The Szekleys in our town seem to be mainly Catholic, while the largest percentage of Romanians identify as Romanian Orthodox. Or as AJ put it, if you're not Orthodox, you're not Romanian. Accordingly, there are a lot of churches in Transylvania. Lots and lots of churches. Large ornate ones and small neighborhood ones and old medieval ones. Our trip yesterday focused mainly on that last category, while the Saturday trip to Sighisoara showed us the intricate beauty of the Orthodox church.

The Holy Trinity Church in Sighisoara shows just how much the Orthodox church is a descendent of Byzantine Christianity. I've only ever been in one other Eastern Orthodox church, and that was on the high school trip to France. I vividly remember walking in and feeling the beginnings of tears at the overwhelming dark shimmer. It seems I haven't changed all that much, because my response was pretty much the same during our little stop on the way out of Sighisoara. 

I like feeling little in the face of the universe. (Which is odd, because I don't like to be told that I am small and insignificant.) And while the Catholics do cathedrals and the insignificant human very well, I think the Orthodox give them a run for their money. There is something about seeing the Bible stories plastered on the walls, surrounding you with a unique muted shine, that makes the concept and the emotions evoked even larger. You are face to face with Jesus, and by extension God, in a very intimate way; the faces on the wall are concerned with you and everything in the universe at the same time.

The medieval versions of this, however, are less opulent and ornate. Still impressive for the time, the churches we this weekend felt somehow smaller and closer to earth and human life. They were still monuments to God and covered with paintings, which have been preserved and recovered. My favorite was probably the first church we stepped inside on Sunday, the walls covered with paintings of the story of St. Laszlo, the knight-king Ladislaus I of Hungary.

My second favorite was absolutely Telekfalva. We heard a lot about Telekfalva at the beginning of this trip, because for the four weeks before we arrived, the osteology workshop worked with bones recovered from a salvage dig at the church before it was restored. It was really cool to be in the place we've heard so much about, and picture what it had looked like when they were digging.

Overall, the churches this past weekend left me with the impression of complete and utter faith. While the local churches are smaller and unassuming on the outside, the interior design has the same push of devotion, whether it be in glitzy mosaics or matte paintings. 

In true Victoria fashion, and perhaps making up for the unique 5 week period where nothing physical happened to me against my will, I managed to fall not once but twice out on the site today. I knew it was coming; there was no way I was getting out of Transylvania scot free. Don't worry, I'm fine and the bones are fine, but it gave people quite a scare. The second time, though, I managed to catch myself on the edge of the pit and the ledge of the church wall just inside it, which was rather impressive, if I do say so myself.

Yesterday was an experience all its own. We had a half day of work and then met up with some local people from the town we're digging in for some socialization. We headed up to the church, which is a copy of the church we're working in and was moved up the hill in the late 1700s/early 1800s. That was very cool, because it gave me some visual context to work with. For example, our trench is working near the altar and pulpit, which is one of the circular ones usually up higher than the rest. My burial is probably the closest to the altar, which is particularly interesting.

After the church tour, we headed down to the local museum where we were served palinka and 'cake' (which was flat bread with various sugar toppings), as well as beer. I hadn't had much food and wasn't feeling particularly keen on moonshine, so I stayed away from the palinka, and that was a wise choice. Two shots had most of the crew on their butts, napping in the sunshine. I stuck with Harghita (beer) and the cake-bread.

To top off a wonderful day, we took a walk through the town, exploring the residential areas and the graveyard. One of my favorite things about Transylvanian graveyards is that they are often (if not always) up on a high hill, away from the center of town. This means that graveyards offer some of the best and most beautiful views of the surrounding countryside and mountains.

Tomorrow is our very last day and I am hoping it's better than today. Today wasn't bad, it just really wasn't my day. And I'd really like to finish my pit, which means I have to work fast, but careful and thorough. So tomorrow will be a test of my abilities.

Titling this 'the final countdown' would be slightly too cheesy, wouldn't it?

Church blog is still in the writing, but I'm getting distracted by swing dance youtube videos and blues dancing with AJ, so it might be up tomorrow.

It is 8.30 oops 10.05 on a Monday evening, our last Monday at the dig, and it is hot. It was apparently over 100 degrees in Budapest earlier, but up here in the mountains it was only (!!) mid-90s. Don't worry, we're hydrating very well and putting on lots of sunscreen. Besides, I'm mostly in the shade over in my little corner pit.

I'm really not sure how we're going to finish everything we need to finish by Friday, but I'm betting this week is going to go upsettingly fast. Purely out of spite because it is the last week and I'm finally in a groove with everyone and everything and we have so much more to dig.

I would very much like to come back next year, ideally on Denice's linguistic anthropology field school or this dig again if not. Or! The 'experimental archaeology' class that didn't end up happening this year, but would have gone through metal working and/or leather working; basically making the artifacts we find in as close as possible ways to the originals. I'd really just like to come back and do something like this again, because there is so much I haven't been able to learn and see.

stories are woven and fortunes are told/the truth is measured by the weight of your gold

One of my favorite things about this trip has been examining the local culture versus outside influence, often broken down very clunkily into 'traditional' and 'modern' (modern being a codeword for Western technological inventions, more or less).

So let's compare and contrast yesterday in Odorhei and Sighisoara, shall we?

Odorheiu's local market was just that, one street cordoned off and filled with the same wooden-and-green-fabric-covered stalls and very fresh, local goods. At least three different meat stands, two cheese ones, multiple pastry stands (cinnamon rolls and pretzels, mmm!) and that's not even touching the honeys and jams. There was soap and there were wood and straw crafts, and a few stands selling similarly made bracelets and accessories. Traditional and/or local music drifted from the large speakers, a very welcome change from the American pop music we've been hearing in every restaurant and shop. It was very nice to just buy some food and wander around and then sit in the park and listen to the music and the people. I had one of those moments where I realized, once again, how fantastic it is to be here and how lucky I am and how cool it is that I'm just wandering around Transylvania.

The train from Odorhei to Sighisoara could be seen as a liminal symbol, if I were to be anthropological about it -- we travel from Szekelyfold (ethnic Hungarians and the local culture of Odorhei) to more Romanian Romania, through the country where we don't know which is which. We're in neither place, rattling and stuttering through the fields and the outskirts of towns with names we can't pronounce.

Sighisoara (pronounced, depending on the person's origin and language, either Siggy-shwara or Siggy-shorah; also my favorite place to say.) is a very interesting combination of Romanian and English (plus a dozen other languages; the man at one of the stands asked if I spoke German then French before we settled on English), of old architecture and bouncy houses strapped between the buildings, of stall food (stall goulash! I wanted to try it before we left, but we didn't have time) and British style pubs.

The Sighisoara medieval festival is somewhere between a ren faire and an SCA event. There were loads of obviously ren faire type people there, tons upon tons of tourists, and a whole lot of proper medieval fighting and crafts and outfits. There's traditional Romanian food and traditional Hungarian food in stalls (langos are incredible. Fried dough type bread with sour cream and shredded cheese and garlic on top. It sounds gross, but it's really yummy!) and the stalls sell everything from kitsch that we've already seen outside of Bran Castle (those vampire face mugs are everywhere!) to handcrafted, handmade leather-bound journals. There were knights fighting each other as we bought our tickets in and someone dressed as Vlad himself wandering around; there were a bunch of dressed up guys working who ran blowing a horn and photobombing people, and we stayed long enough to listen to a really cool band.

Easily my favorite stall was Natura Paper. I was drawn to old maps on parchment next to journals, and then the man behind the table showed me that they handmake every piece of paper. They had a paper-making stand next to the table; they offered to print me up whatever design I wanted on their parchment right then and there. I looked through their prints, their maps, their journals and their parchment (smooth but rough at the same time) and I had to walk away. It actually hurt, I want you to know. I wanted it all, but was on a gift-giving mission and besides, I didn't want to know how expensive it would've been. (More than that, I wanted to know how to do it myself.)

Yesterday was long and sweaty and crowd-heavy, but so great and so much fun. Today, we're off to visit quite a few of the churches in the area, so later I'll have another blog detailing that and talking about the quite literally breathtaking Orthodox church we found in Sighisoara.

Title lyrics from Loreena McKennitt's Marrakesh Night Market

Quick short update

After a whole week of nothin', I know.

We are off to the local monthly market in Odorheiu, which one person says is amazing and another says is just a farmers' market, but I'm excited nonetheless. I already picked up some jams and honeys (potentially for some family members--get excited!) at the LARAC-esque festival we found last weekend while we were in town, and now I get to pick around some more and maybe some local crafts. Very sweet stuff, it sounds like.

And then we'll be taking the 11-something train into Sighisoara to go to Romania's largest medieval festival! I am well excited for this. It's going to be quite a lot of fun, especially with this group. (A good chunk of the people here are history majors/history specific and many focus on medieval Europe, so it'll be fun.)

In unrelated, shocking news, I really like mornings here in Transylvania. I even don't mind the birds! Okay, so sometimes the cow bells and the constant mooing just outside my window can set my teeth on edge, especially if they wake me up when I don't want to be woken up, but the sunlight is soft and a warm counterpoint to the cool temperature and the windows are thrown wide onto the world. It's lovely.

dig up her bones but leave the soul alone

New site! New site new site new site!

If you didn't catch that, we have a new dig site and it's fantastic. It's a thirty minute public bus ride away, through towns and fields and hills, to a small neighborhood and then another six minute tromp into someone's backyard to our little grove of trees and rocks.

We're excavating burials inside actual ruined church walls (instead of the last site, which was more or less 'the walls are over there' with some careless hand waving), which are encircled by pretty trees and bounded by the neighbor's garden on one side. The trees provide enough shade, except for the hour surrounding lunch, and there's some nice breeze depending on where you sit.

I had no idea what to expect when I came here, but this peaceful ruin of a church is the closest we've come to the pencil sketch I had floating in the back of my mind. Digging up bodies in Transylvania doesn't have to mean disturbing their eternal rest looking for vampire-like wounds; it's laying questions to rest while we unearth history that even the locals find fuzzy.

I have a few more blog ideas percolating, so I'm going to go do some more writing. Enjoy the song Bones by MS MR, which is in the running for the Transylvania 2013 theme song, purely for the title lyric.

The Faceless Gargoyle: Brasov, Dracula, and the Carpathians

Part Two: Brasov and the Carpathians

So, technically, I'm doing this in a bit of a flip-floppy order. We descended upon Brasov late Friday night, and drove through the Carpathians all day on Saturday, and then spent Sunday exploring Brasov a bit more. But I wanted to get Bran Castle and Poenari out of the way before the more descriptiony type stuff.

So let's talk about the Carpathian Mountains. I am a writer, yes? I scribble things down in my journal and focus on the words used and try desperately to describe the color of the sky and the feeling of rain on my skin and all those sorts of poetical things. I get asked questions about this note-taking habit of mine quite a bit and my response is, because I'm a writer. Yet, when it comes to the Carpathians, words are...scarce. Fuzzy. I have lines and lines in my journal where I start a description and then strike it out because it's not right.

In Brasov, we walked through the Black Church, a stunning piece of faith and utter devotion right in the heart of the city, and as we wandered through it, stunned and open-mouthed, we found our way into a little alcove of grave markers and/or recognitions of important people of the past. Above them crouched a dog-sized gargoyle, possibly taken from outside and placed in here, with a weathered-off face. When inspiration strikes, I find myself muttering to myself, murmuring the words that make sense, that sound right; I found myself whispering about this faceless gargoyle, the phrase sticking on my tongue. The phrase returned to my brain as we sped our way through the mountains back to Odorhei. It was the phrase I was missing on our three hour trip back from Poenari as we whipped and wound through the darkening clouds and the lumbering mountains.

The Carpathians are monstrous, but not in the ugly and horrifying use of the term. They feel mythic. The clouds settle over them, a grey-purple crown, worthy of these old protectors. Giants, wreathed in mist and clothed in the finest, richest silk. The faceless gargoyles of Transylvania.

How do I portray this with words? Usually, words are the only thing I have. Words create our world, determine how we mold it, how we describe it, how we pass it on. But, much as it pains me to quote Hamlet: words words words, mere words!

But words are my only tools, especially in this medium, so back to Brasov:

Sat in the cradled arms of the Carpathians, Brasov is quite a nice city! It has Indian food, Turkish food (oh, it was wonderful to have Turkish coffee again), shawarma, and we even found a place to swing dance on Friday night. There is always something happening in the main square in town, there is a bookstore that also sells English language books, and a wonderful little weird cafe that we sat in for hours (it was really quite odd. Quirky. Mama, you would have loved it). I think my favorite part, though, was absolutely the Black Church. Half for what it is, and half for how much journal writing it inspired, especially on the idea of faith and devotion.

This weekend trip was very much all wrapped up in the concept of power and devotion, for me. The sheer...sheer-ness of Poenari is a testament to one man's power and his peoples' devotion to him (Vlad had a very dedicated following in his peasants, remember); and the Church struck me as an extremely impressive dedication to faith. The devotion required to conceive of and build these giant, truly magnificent gifts to the power you hold dearest is truly striking. 

The Faceless Gargoyle: Brasov, Dracula, and the Carpathians

Part One: Bran Castle and Poenari Citadel

On Saturday, we headed out of Brasov to begin our double adventure of, first, Bran Castle and then Poenari. 

Bran Castle is a pretty castle on the top of a hill, surrounded by the beautiful green forest and a large stone walkway...and, as my roommate put it, an entire village of kitsch surrounding the base. But the castle itself is large and white and brown and lovely, and so much more than just 'Castle Dracula.' I have to do more research, but it was a fortress and castle and place of residence for many a Romanian noble, including Queen Marie, who was really cool based on all the plaques we read. It's a nice touristy type of place. 

However lovely Bran is as a cute little town, it is indeed a veritable village of tourism and kitschy souvenirs. (Big ol' mugs with a painted Dracula face, fangs extended and forehead scrunched, for example.) We had lunch at a cafe, a couple of us and our field director, and it was a nice relaxing time. 

Which is more than I can say for Poenari. 

During the three hour bus ride through tiny villages and unpaved roads into the Carpathians, dodging cows as we swung perilously around tight curves, we had a lot of time to chat about the upcoming adventure. It turns out that Poenari, being at a most defensible position at the very tip top of a mountain, has something like 1,480 steps. Yes, you read that right. One thousand four hundred and eighty stairs, just to get to the man who takes my money. 

The hike up Poenari was disgusting. I was frustrated and in pain. I was following behind athletes, who may as well have been Transylvanian mountain goats for how they frolicked up the steps to the top. The forest itself is a pretty sight, the concrete stairs rising up through the spread green trees, pointed and thin, like fangs but more beautiful--but other than that, it was quite a miserable time, all told. 

Poenari Castle is worth it all.

The view, the power, the history of it all was breathtaking. And that's even after I huffed and puffed and got my breath back. It is at a nigh-impenetrable height, a stone and brick fortress that overlooks the entire valley, the River Arges slithering far below us, roaring and rumbling. The outline of the crumbling fortress is still formidable, skeletal against the silhouette of the mountains.

I stood at the edge of the cliff, staring down into the long drop below, and felt powerful and tiny simultaneously. AJ and I had a conversation about why. For her, it's the longevity of the surroundings, that we are seeing the same rocks and trees that Vlad saw; for me, it's the remains of the castle and the manmade imprint on history. Nature ebbs and flows to its own rhythm; humans create and force themselves onto this landscape, using it to our advantage. Vlad's genius lay in his use of his own resources and the natural ones at his disposal.

I stood where Vlad III stood, staring down at those dark, unfathomable trees. He scans for enemies while I see cars. He strides with worn boots and powerful steps, and directs his soldiers; hold, wait, but do not be merciful, do not miss. I can feel the military strength, the tactical shrewdness, the strictness that spills over into cruelty. It's a truly incredible feeling.

And that's not even to mention the soaring height of the Carpathian Mountains--which is where I shall pick up in Part Two. 

Deadliest Warrior: Vlad Tepes v. Dracula

Tomorrow evening (Friday), we head off on a group adventure to city of Brasov, in southern Transylvania. From there, on Saturday, we visit both Bran Castle (Transylvania's 'Castle Dracula'; touristy and kitschy and hilarious) and Poenari Fortress, Vlad the Impaler's real castle.

I am so ready for this weekend to be all vampires, all the time. 

One of my favorite things about being in Transylvania with a whole bunch of vampire mythos geeks and history buffs is comparing/contrasting the real history with the myths. Vlad Tepes is a fascinating character, and once you start delving into his reality, it's obvious why he's used in so many different ways. He cuts a compelling figure. 

Similarly, comparing vampire myths cross-culturally, and with the definitive Dracula work, and the deviations in fiction, is a really good time. You're dealing not only with cultural differences on what 'vampirism' is (Greek vampires vs. classic Eastern/Central European vampires vs. stories in Native American cultures like the Iroquois Vampire Skeleton), but also what Stoker decided to set down (his influences are many and varied, pulling from lots of sources and his own imagination) and how popular culture and fiction writers have played with that and weaved their own mythos. It's so much fun. 

Some backstory on Vlad the Impaler from Andre's lecture that first day/The Historian/wikipedia: 

• His father (Dracul, meaning Dragon; named for his policies and his inclusion into a society called The Order of the Dragon) made many enemies, so when he was younger, Vlad was kidnapped and held hostage in Istanbul for many years.
• When he finally returned to Transylvania, he was well-educated, very smart, and very shrewd when it came to military tactics. (Some natural talent combined with observing the Turks, no doubt.)
• As it was, the man was very kind to his peasants and they loved him, would die for him; his lords and nobles, not so much. He was hard on them, didn't favor the aristocracy system, and that made them rather grumpy. 
• Vlad made his fair share of enemies, not least of all, his lords.
• Interesting point: while Vlad was in command, the Ottoman Empire (the Turks) never set foot in Transylvania. The soldiers did (not for very long; they were defeated rather quickly, though it takes a while to die when you're impaled), but there was never a Turkish foothold in the region. (According to Andre; have not fact-checked this, but he is a Romanian scholar who has worked in this region for a very long time)
• One of his most persistent antagonists (previously an ally) was Matthias Corvinus, the famous king of Hungary. 
• Now, this is interesting, coming from Budapest where Corvinus is hailed, to a lecture where he's an impotent coward--such an interesting transition. History, man. One man's hero is another story's black-hatted villain. The truth exists somewhere in between. Or, as John Sheridan says, "Understanding is a three-edged sword: your side, their side, and the truth." 
• The legends of Vlad's death are where much of the vampire myth-research can be seen (though Andre did give us some funny anecdotes that give some evidence) 
• For example, the best one we heard, was: Vlad did not allow weapons in his presence, but a Dominican monk (an order who vehemently opposed Vlad) was allowed to carry a large wooden cross (being a monk). While in a meeting with Vlad, the monk broke the wooden cross to provide a pointed tip and plunged it into Vlad's heart, killing him and starting a whole avalanche of vampire myth questions.
• Andre's closing statement gave us one of my favorite tidbits about Vlad's life and legacy: apparently there are still monks of a religious order set outside his tomb (at Snagov, potentially), praying for his return, to fix Romania.
• Also, I just want to call attention to this very interesting painting from 1463 placing Vlad as Pontius Pilate judging Jesus Christ. Man, you could write a very long, very involved article on that. Wow. 
• And finally, a quote that I think sums it all up very well (found on wikipedia, but very interesting): 

And he hated evil in his country so much that, if anyone committed some harm, theft or robbery or a lye or an injustice, none of those remained alive. Even if he was a great boyar or a priest or a monk or an ordinary man, or even if he had a great fortune, he couldn't pay himself from death.

Whatever you think of Vlad the Impaler, I will say this: he may have been cruel, but he was trying to do right by his people, and he was very effective at it. I will have more information, plus pictures and excited fangirling. 

Archaeologists Are...(part 1)

After spending so much time around my diggers, my anthro and writing instincts are kicking in and I find myself observing the people around me just as much (if not more than) I'm watching the dirt. So let's talk about the kind of people who are drawn to dig up graves in Transylvania.

Archaeologists are wonderfully creative people with wild and very vivid imaginations.

We can be out there early in the morning, already hot, already feeling the sweat in the crooks of our knees, cranky and caffeine-deprived, and you will already be able to hear detailed theories about what we're uncovering. Crackpot theories and jokes, or serious-faced educated guesses, they're all interesting.

I can't tell you much about what we're doing (I've asked the field directors, but not the higher-ups, so I'm erring on the side of caution; the background is all here) but I can give you a little context: we found some connected, in-context bones that first day of proper digging last week, but not much else since then, and nothing connected to the original bones. So, whilst bemoaning the lack of anything new (or anything else to help us make sense of our pit), the following exchange occurred:

Pit Partner: "Ooh, well, maybe there's a pagan cult we've never heard of!"
Me: [deadpan] "There always is."

It drew a laugh and much talk of Indiana Jones, and I think I'm going to add it to my ever-growing collection of Dialogue I Must Use In Something.

In all seriousness, though, we have a bit of background on the site and a general time/place understanding of the setting, but we're digging up some really weird and varied situations. There are a few theories floating around from the directors/people who actually know what they're doing, but the rest of us are just making it up as we go along. And when I say making it up, I mean pulling it out of our butts. It's a little frustrating not actually knowing what's going on, but it's ridiculously entertaining to hear everyone's comments, and I'm content to just laugh and write them down.

Lounging during lunch and writing everything down in my little Field Notes notebook that mama gave me. (Everyone loves it and is totally jealous of me. Good job!)

I'm talking to the shadows, one-o'clock to four*

I look up from my sun-hardened clay to glance around the hillside. Massaging my hand, careful to lightly pass over the forming blisters, I take in the sights. There, in front of me, is the tall grass, light green and desperate for breeze, as I am. A little further on, the town hidden in a dip, red roofs and white buildings and small ferocious cars. The silver spire of the church, a uniform symbol in this area, glints in the merciless sun. Still further, the mountains rise, the light green melting into deep shadows.

I watch the horse-and-cart trot down the road, I hear the students' laughter mix with the rapid low Romanian of the local diggers, and I am once again struck by the luck in my life. I am doing what I once only dreamed as a far-away dream. I am on an archaeological dig in another country, searching for the past and the watercolor-wet sketch of people long dead. I am in Transylvania, hearing Hungarian and seeing Romanian and eating fantastically well. I am rereading the dog-eared and ragged pages of my book just as I am living out the footstep-worn path of the characters and their trek through the region. I am so very lucky and it is wonderful.

All day today, I've been hit again and again by this realization. That I am here, and doing this, and I am going to make it count. It's been wonderfully centering, especially when I find myself getting frustrated over this trivial thing or that stupid comment or my own personal goals in contrast with the group.

For example: while I am an independent/I can do it myself type of person, I do like a certain level of structure when there are group projects and big things to be done. I want to know what I'm doing right or wrong so I can attain the former. And this dig does not have much structure or direction, which is generally okay because I've dug before and I know about square pits and straight walls and leveling and levels and layers--but most people haven't done any of this before. There's no direction, there's no workshop portion of 'here's how to hold a trowel' or 'here's how to fill out paperwork.' Granted, there wasn't much my first summer, either; it was purely an accident of a slow day and my pit partner being absent that led our dig director to teach me the proper way to hold a trowel, to dig, to level out, etc. But it makes having a certain level of uniformity very hard when general knowledge isn't taught. Like, my troweling form is so bad it's embarrassing, because of the hardness of the clay and lack of a properly sharp trowel edge, and if it's like that for someone who has dug for the past four seasons, I can imagine just how confusing and frustrating it is for my pit-mates.

Also, I've come up with another story idea! An archaeological murder mystery! Not particularly original, I know, but the bits and pieces are being sketched out, like:

• murder by trowel--but on a dig like back home, where there are uniform trowels, what acts as the key is the amount of wear/tear and sharpness/dullness of the blade (?)
• someone came up with the idea of the body being found under the plastic tarps we cover our pits up with at the end of the day
• ~controversial~ discovery in a pit
• argument at night, over controversial discovery

Something like that, maybe. I'd have to do more research, but it could be really fun!

*Black Coffee, Ella Fitzgerald. Sad and soppy, but I was in the mood for jazz.

to dungeons deep and caverns old

For those of you who know The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings (I'm looking at you, daddy), the Mines of Moria are located in Transylvania. In case you needed this information.

We've only just come back from a trip to a local salt mine-- Praid/Parajd, apparently one of Europe's biggest stratification(s) of salt. It is massive and very very cool.

We took a bus a hour through the hills and mountains and valleys, which were absolutely gorgeous, and I was left staring at the way the mist drapes itself soft-heavy inside the green and the way the towns lie just out of its reach, but stretch up to meet the hills. The view continues to remind me of the UK, but this time, the Irish countryside. The patchwork pattern and the colors are very similar, but the texture of the vegetation gives it a different feel. As I was discussing with my roommate, who is from the very different geography of Florida, the scenery here is like looking at a familiar picture with a different zoom or sideways angle. The hills, the green, the valleys--it could be a picture of the mountains surrounding Lake George, but just slightly different. There's that extra flavor, a slightly different type of paint or mix of colors that makes it addictive. I can't stop staring.

Of course, the scenery made me think of a song, from which the title lyric comes: Misty Mountains, from The Hobbit soundtrack. (Mmm, Richard Armitage's voice...) Which was only enhanced when we found our way into the mine.

It starts with a long wooden staircase. The stairs descend into a dark, not-very-well-lit rock tunnel; down and down into darkness. It would be silent were it not for the tourists galumphing their way into the main chamber. It opens to you as you pass through a small door, and there is a truly massive cavern carved out of the earth.

I don't think Moria had kids' games and an entire rope course strung from the ceiling, though. It might have had a church cut into the side of it, though, as Praid does.

Down we go...

The rope course, for a sense of scale.

The church was really beautiful, and also huge, to fit the rest of the place.

It's been raining on and off today, interspersed with nice warm sun. Now, when I say it's been raining, I don't mean a misting kind of rain. I don't mean a nice light summer rain or even a summer storm. When it rains, it has been absolutely drenching everything with heavy pelting rain. I don't mind it, since I like rain, and the clouds are absolutely stunning, but it does make the idea of going out and digging tomorrow a little iffy. So I'm in a bit of a pickle. I like the rain and clouds so much better than humid sunshine, but I want to dig. We left it in the middle of a discovery on Thursday and I'm dying to get back to it. 

Look at those clouds, though. That is beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

sweating out confessions/ the undone and the divine*

Easily the best story of this trip so far: getting caught in a thunderstorm in a Transylvanian cemetery and taking shelter in the nearby church.

But before we get to that...

Today we walked into town again (which is a tiring ~45 minute walk) and got breakfast at an absolutely delectable place. Alexandra's is a divine experience. (We've had quite a few of those today!) We went there for a snack yesterday and I got a giant eclair which rivaled Parisian eclairs. (I'm being absolutely serious. It was incredible.) Today, I got a cappuccino and some sort of chocolate-pastry-whipped cream thing. We sat and talked and it's so nice to just be in a new place. I love the digging and I like the socializing, but my favorite thing is slipping into the place, nice and easy and slow like the local honey. Walk around and familiarize yourself with the area, but always leave places to be explored. Eat the local foods, use the language. Talk to local people or knowledgeable people or interesting people. (There is no shortage of interesting people on this dig.) 

In following that vein, we went exploring. There are quite a few churches (two bookend the main green space/square in the town, which tells you something about how religion is viewed here). At one end of town, beyond the square, there is another church on top of a hill with a cemetery attached. We were meandering and wanted somewhere shady (at that point, it was sunny and hot) and figured the church and cemetery would work; plus, they're usually interesting places in a town, so we wanted to explore. 

I am not religious the way I used to be. I don't go to church with my father much anymore, but I have a great respect for religion and religious spaces. For me, it does not matter what religion you practice, what sect you're in, what spiritual explanation or lack thereof you hold to: sacred space is sacred. Sacred places, holy places, consecrated places, are all places of power and faith and you are to respect them. I can walk into a Catholic church, not being any sort of Catholic, and feel power there. I felt it today. Houses of worship hold a power all their own and whatever God you believe in, whether you gather your strength from prayer or from magic, you are always welcome in a holy place because it does not care how you believe--only that you do believe. The particulars fall away and all that is left is spirit, all spirit, every spirit, every holy power is present at once. 

We walked into this small, unassuming, bland white church --and gasped. No one was present, but we all three still whispered. The silence pressed on my ears and my mind and I felt clear. Cleansed? Both alone and  comfortingly connected to another something. I think it's what faith should feel like. I feel it in holy spaces. I've felt it in churches in London and Paris and now here. I remember feeling it when I would escape from lunch during Vacation Bible School and sit on the altar of our Methodist church, alone. I feel more when I'm alone, rather than through the communal nature of a religious service. I am allowed to relax and breathe and be at peace when I'm alone in a place of faith. Exactly as it was this afternoon. 

Once we felt like we'd had enough of this beautiful, calm place (and once we'd taken all the pictures we possibly could from all the different angles), we meandered to the cemetery right next door. We had just enough time to explore a little bit before we heard the thunder and the rain started to come down. So we decided to huddle in front of the church while we waited for it to stop raining. I couldn't stop grinning to myself about the situation, even in the rain --especially in the rain. I liked walking part of the way home in the rain. I lived in England for a semester; I loved the clouds and the rain and getting soaked to the bone was soothing in a weird way. In keeping with the spiritual theme, there's a lot to be said on the subject of being bathed while in a spiritual state. The rain felt nice. I was content. 

*Bedroom Hymns, Florence + the Machine. Faith and love and sex, all rolled into one, the way it should be. We tend to separate our lives into itty bitty bits and pieces, when really, it's all mushed in together, messy. Like when your parents tell you to eat all your food because it's all just gonna get mixed together and land in the same place anyway. Our lives, our selves, are a great big ball of mush--our thoughts, our feelings, our experiences. How can we separate it all out like laundry loads? 

It's not every day you get to clean Bronze Age bones.

So about yesterday (Friday 5 July)

I believe I mentioned that yesterday the forecast called for rain and so we went exploring for the morning. But in the afternoon, we met up at the lab and cleaned off bones from a Bronze Age burial for a few hours. Now, I'm not one for lab work and never have been, and there's a reason: it calls for me to work slow and steady and calm. I'm not usually good at that. In fact, the most common comment on my work (for school, on tests, at work, around the house, etc) is that I need to slow down and focus. So I was understandably a little iffy on being responsible for the fragility of over-1000 year old bones. 

It ended up being a really nice, kind of soothing, exercise. It forced me to slow down and think, which is something I'm not always keen on. In much of my life, when I'm doing something, I tend to not plan. I'm fairly lazy about the foresight. I generally figure I'll pick it up as I go, because much of what I've done has been that style. Watch what other people do and repeat what works. Living in Surbiton? Do what I normally do and see what changes I need to make in my daily routine. Figuring out London and the tube? Follow one person, then another, then another, until you know where you are. Linguistic research? D. says to just go with it and go out and do it. Lots of it is just doing (and the other half is ignoring thinking about what I have to do, but that's another blog post). So being forced to slow down and think and focus with all of me (mind, eyes, hands) is an interesting experience, and was fairly meditative by the end. 

Not to mention, I was periodically struck by the scope of what we were doing. The dig back home is really cool and I get to play with musketballs and animal bones, but that's fairly (comparatively) recent history. These are the remains of a person from 1600 BCE. One thousand and six hundred years before the current time marker of the birth of Jesus. That's 3613 years ago. That's incredible. And they were trusting me with this. That pressure and scope definitely added to my determination to do it right. I was responsible for the remains of a real person from a long, long time ago. I still can't quite wrap my mind around that. 

Also, pictures from Budapest are up! 

to the waters and the wild*

Good morning campers!

It is cloudy and threatening rain today (it's already rained twice and the forecast promises us Transylvanian thunderstorms this afternoon) so we have the morning off from digging! However, we'll be working in the lab  this afternoon, doing some bone cleaning and identification. Gotta brush up on my anatomy. (ha, that was punintentional)

Yesterday was good but frustrating. We didn't get nearly as far as I or our field director wanted us to in exposing more of the possible goodies in our area. I was working with two very nice, but very detail-oriented people, which meant that we spent a loooong time brushing off bones and being very careful--and not a lot of time moving dirt. We weren't very efficient and it drove me a little bit nuts, especially since we're not digging today and I'm not sure if he's putting us in the field tomorrow, so we may have to wait until Monday to actually get somewhere.

To be fair, though, this is the very first time most of the people here have done any digging. So while they know their anatomy and bioarch stuff, they're not as up on the practical, hands-on side. I'm a little antsy because I just want to dig. I need practice on slowing my roll and going slow and careful, though, so this is good for me.

The clay we're working in, however, is not good for my brand new shiny trowel. This is what it looks like after two days of digging.

And I'd like to make a point of saying thank you to Andy, because his joke present of the vampire hunting kit has actually been really useful.

It's perfect to carry my trowel, my sunscreen, my little field notebook that I haven't actually used, and I have been carrying around the paintbrush just in case, but they have field ones already for us to use. 

Also, in terms of adventures, yesterday was a fun one. AJ and I went shopping in a big proper Kmart/Walmart type place and boy, was that fun. We bought a whole bunch of great stuff and we're sharing supplies for lunches (since we have to provide our own for lunch break in the field) so our current plan is peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Oh my lord, the honey here is exquisite! I've never been a big honey person; I was into it for a little while when I really liked herbal teas, but then I switched to black and honey doesn't really go with Tetley or Twining's. (Or maybe it does. Ian?) But we put honey on bread/toast for breakfast in the mornings and it is the most delicious thing I've ever had, oh goodness. I'm hoping I can bring some local honey home for you guys to try, because you'd love it. 

In terms of trying new foods, yesterday was also fun. A few of us walked to the corner store about 7 minutes from the house and bought Lemon Ciuc. Ciuc is a popular local beer (I've tried a sip of someone's and it's okay for beer) and they have a low-alcohol content, lemon one that is really yummy. So we had some of that in honor of Fourth of July. And then our dinner was (get this) stuffed cabbage rolls, with sausage and rice inside and something like sour cream on the side. It was interesting. 

And on a final note, here's a picture of me actually on the dig. Parentals have seen it and probably already shared it, but I'm really excited to be here and doing this! 

*Re the title, I have Yeats' The Stolen Child in my head and have since yesterday around lunchtime. Specifically, I have the Loreena McKennitt song version going round and round in my head.

with the dust and rattlin' bones

Well, today was fantastic.

Sometimes I still can't believe I'm here. It doesn't hit me like when I was in London, a bubbling spring of laughter that caught me when I was part of the city. It's more just a calm pleasant buzz of contentment and wonder. The sky, the hills, the artifacts, the people, the language...

Today I finally got to dig! They sent three of us to start a new pit with relative surety that we'd at least find something, most likely a burial, and right off the bat we found some related artifacts. Later in the day (our first day, mind) we started finding some really cool bone! Tomorrow is going to be absolutely wicked, but probably hard work. I had to go really slow and use dental picks and a brush—the very image of a stereotypical archaeologist!

I also started a new story, and got some input from some interested diggers. It turns out that archaeologists can be some of the most scientific and most spiritual people you'll ever meet. I think it's the anthropology, even though it's not as wishy-washy as proper anthro (one girl I worked with today said she moved from cultural anthro to archaeology because she couldn't stand the shades of grey and wanted yes/no answers. I wanted to ask how she felt about the whole aspect of archaeology where you make educated guesses that are probably true, but you often don't really know with confidence.)--it's still about digging deeper and trying to understand, by whatever means are at your disposal. There's so much inference and guesswork that goes with anthro/archae, and so much intuition, too. There's a quote from one of my tv shows about how intuition is just the name we give to experience, but there's something else there, too.

Anyway, my new story is sort of about a haunted house with a graveyard in the backyard being excavated. (Life influencing art, blah blah.) I started writing and it sort of drifted away from a proper ghost story, with an actual villain on which to pin the terror and plot, and has that sort of vague nebulous non-entity of pure terror that I love in things like Woman in Black. Atmospheric and creepy and the essence of evil without a face. Now, before you think me morbid, it was inspired by our conversations in the field today about creepy abandoned houses and haunted houses and the like.

Which brings me to my title for today (you know how I love my quote titles). It's a lyric from a song that is fast becoming my unofficial Romania 2013 theme song. It's called Rattlin' Bones by Kasey Chambers and, before you ask, yes, it's country/bluegrass song, but in the style of Southern Gothic rather than just straight country/bluegrass. (It's the same thing and that's a lame distinction, but it's a great song, okay?) But the lyrics are so Southern Gothic and kind of related to this dig

But I cut my hands

And break my back

Draggin' this bag of stones

Till they bury me down beneath the ground

With the dust and rattlin' bones

And that's archaeology, folks!  

Dig, boys, dig till you drop

Thank you, mother, for getting yet another song relevant to my life stuck in my head. (Mine, Mine, Mine, from the Disney Pocahontas soundtrack, which is a really awesome song and a good pun. It's my unofficial digging song.) 

We spent today (~8.15 to 12.30, then 1.15-2.30ish?) shifting huge piles of dirt to another area and then digging deeper so we can get a level field going and finally, at some point this week, start troweling for graves. I volunteered as a bucket person (fondly called bucketeers who go bucketeering, which makes me happy) which felt easier to me than shoveling, so I felt a bit guilty, but the couple shovelers I talked to said they'd rather do what they were doing. So on the whole, if it's good for them and good for me, I'm okay with arrangement. 

Tomorrow looks to be much of the same, but if we stay at the rate we went today (a pace we were already regretting by the 10.15am break time) we'll be level in no time! Our field leader (K) was talking about tomorrow's events with another digger during dinner, but I couldn't really hear, so it'll be a surprise for me! 

The scenery here is absolutely fantastic. Our dig site reminds me a bit of our area in New York. On the side of giant green hill (mountain? hill? We're near the Carpathians, but I'm not sure what separates a mountain and a hill here, they're both huge and beautiful.), with beautiful deep green trees against the lighter green grass. All set against a blue, blue sky, with a few white-grey-white clouds. 

It sounds like Lake George, until you see the town down the road. Red terracotta roofs all over the place, topping short, squat, white buildings. The blue, blue sky, but not the clear blue and not the lake-reflected blue, more of a gem blue? Like looking at an aquamarine necklace or a blue diamond ring against the dark jewelry case interior. 

So the scenery is incredible, and the food is bloody fantastic, and the dig should be lots of fun once we get into it; Hungarian is super-fun to listen to, and I like quoting Dr. Daniel Jackson (archaeologist character from a sci-fi tv show) on an actual dig; but I have to say, I love the colors the best. Everything is good so far, but the colors are striking me most. The houses are a thousand different colors; bright yellows and suede grey and electric blue and electric green. Bright flowers everywhere (purple, pink, white, bright lipstick red) against the greenest, lushest foliage. Red terracotta roofs. Flags and signs and outfits, there's so much color here and it's so bright. It surprises me, against the dimness of the roads and the grimness of some peoples' expressions, and the assumption of a dreary, vampire-infested, post-Communist land. 

I promise I'll get pictures uploaded sometime soon! I owe you Budapest as well as Odorhei. 

Adding to my list of Things I Didn't Know I Wanted to Do Until I'd Done Them

1. Have fresh warm milk (as in, the cow was milked a couple hours prior) in my hot breakfast drinks (first tea, then strong coffee) 
2. Successfully go shopping for lunch/snacks at a Transylvanian grocery store

I am a loud, goofy, often faintly embarrassed American tourist, but it's fantastic to be here and to just walk around and be here. The people are very, very nice, especially if you smile a lot and at least try. (I throw in a lot of thank yous, both because it's the only Hungarian word I know, and because please and thank you can get you very far. People are so much more accommodating and pliant if you're polite. Also because it's the nice thing to do...) 

I didn't start taking pictures today until later in the afternoon, after our trek through town, partially because I don't like getting in the locals' way (summers in Lake George and Saratoga, know what I mean?) and partially because I want to experience it the same way I experienced London/Kingston/Surbiton. Anthropologically, trying to be part of the landscape. Getting money from the atm, spending time talking in a cafe with people, eating sandwiches at a bar, and finding my way through the grocery store. Looking around shoe stores. Trying desperately to figure out what music video is on the television when it's on mute. Just doing normal stuff in the town, because life is not more or less complex here, it just is. And that's the point of anthropology, for me; it's definitely what I like about it. The differences lie in how we are raised to deal with the situations put in front of us: physically, economically, socially, emotionally. 

That's why today's lecture on Transylvanian history with Andre was so wonderful, because he ended with our raison d'etre (and also because it's just so, so interesting, omg): the Transylvanian border was the eastern battlefield for all the major points in medieval Europe, he says; what he wants to look at is if these big political, religious, and sociocultural changes had any impact on the peoples' daily lives. 

Do changes in the economic/political/religious landscape mean big changes in la vie quotidienne? We cultural anthropologists talk big talk about a person's environment and upbringing shaping (or at least, partially shaping) their personality and how they behave/think/interact. But, for example, does the Protestant Reformation matter deeply to a farmer who is more concerned with having enough produce to feed his family? Does the border changing hands between the Hungarians and the Turks and pretty much anyone else mean much to the old widow living on the edge of town who is just trying to survive until next Sunday? 

This is actually really important for how we live our lives now, especially in American society. I am big on people knowing at least a little of what is happening in world events, because we are part of the world and not only does it matter for our own country's future, but there are billions of other people in the world and they matter too. But we fall back on what matters most to us, individually. What is best for our family, for our loved ones; what we're going to eat for dinner; what presents we still need to get for someone's birthday in two days; entertainment that affects us emotionally; gossip and girl time and chocolate. And I'm of two minds about it. On the one hand, I'm very much a just do what makes you happy sort of person; just do you and let the rest take care of itself. On the other, I do think that thinking about people not connected to you in any way is a good thing to do, and caring about what happens in different places to different people is about compassion and opening your eyes to see other people as equals, not just others. 

This post went a whole different way than I intended. We start in the field tomorrow and I'm a little nervous, but mostly really excited. It's been a whole year since I last got dirty and muddy and dug in the dirt. Tomorrow will be hard work, but fun and I have a feeling that it's gonna be so worth it. 

Middle-of-Nowheresville, Transylvania

--is actually a really happenin' place!

Okay, so Odorheiu Secuiesc isn't a major city or anything, but it does have a full town (that I will be seeing tomorrow during orientation) with cafes and shops and banks and three hotels and everything!

Also, it's technically in Romania, but the people here consider themselves true Hungarians. They speak Hungarian, have their own flag which is separate from both Hungary and Romania, and strongly dislike being addressed in Romanian in any way. So my Romanian phrase book and culture/travel guide are just a little bit useless, since it's not really properly Romanian here. And I was dumb enough to not buy a Hungarian phrase book at home, something I regretted being in Budapest; I am seriously regretting it now.

Also also, we're now at 7 hours time difference. It is 8.49 pm here as I write this in beautiful Transylvania

Lots has happened since my last post, which was slightly melancholy. I'll try to sum it all up:

Saturday

• Dig girl (AJ) and I took a tour around Budapest on one of those hop-on, hop-off buses and it was really wonderful and I need to do everything but I'll only have a few days when I go back and it's so frustrating that you never have enough time to see everything
• Sidenote: I am so winning at yellow car, parentals and Danes. The sheer amount of yellow cars in Budapest! And I've seen a fair share in Romania too! 
• But we did manage to make it to a proper Hungarian restaurant (you know, one that gets advertised, but is a very local thing) to have goulash and some chicken dish that was yummy (and also had liver! are you proud of me yet?)
• Also, we found a bar that served Strongbow!
• Then headed over to Keleti train station to meet up with our group and get on the train
• I get nervous when meeting up with people I've never met in a strange country, so I was a little bit stressed, but we managed to find everyone and it was really nice
• The train! Oh god, the train. Okay, Uncle E, I'm sure it's actually really lovely, but trying to fit 6 girls and all their luggage in a tiny space while tired and needing to pee is a feat. Especially when the original compartment has the two beds high up, and then six seats (three on either side) where the cushion for the back of the seats flips up to settle on a couple little poles to make the middle beds. And especially when everyone packed with huge bags. And when there's no room for your bags, so you manage to fit them both at the foot of your tiny bottom bunk, which should be fine because you like to sleep curled up anyhow, but you forgot the part where everything you will ever need for a 12 hour trip is inside those two bags and it is very very hard to get things out of them. Sigh. 

Sunday

• Finally made it (about an hour late; apparently trains are always late in Romania. Apparently, Romania time is much slower and leisurely than American time. Like Italy time or island time, according to some of the girls) to Sighisoara, which is really interesting. I want to explore it. 
• Took a bus for a very long way for quite a while through the Middle-of-Nowhere township. The colors remind me of home (dark green trees on the mountains, especially), and the shape reminds me of the English/Welsh countryside (rolling hills and fields and farms, etc) though the texture and vegetation are much different and the sky reminds me of London (overcast, with variations of grey playing in the clouds). 
• The towns are very...cute? It's not quite cute. It's not English villages or French cottages. They are a very serious people and their houses are surprisingly bright-colored, so it's all a bit interesting. Electric blues and bright yellows and red brick tiled roofs. Lots of churches. Lots of feral dogs. Tiny, practically one-laned streets (England flashback!)
• There was one scene that would have made a particularly good photo, if I had caught it in time: a car parked on the side of the dusty road, with a wagon pulled by horses approaching it
• The town of Odorheiu is actually fairly cosmopolitan for what we've seen of Romania. There are nice shoe shops and parks with fountains and lots of nice restaurants. I'll be seeing more of it tomorrow and can give you a full run-down, but driving through it was impressive. 
• However, the hotel for the diggers is on the outskirts of town (probably because the dig is even farther out) and it's very, very nice, but it's a ~40 minute walk into town. It took us ~10? minutes to get to dinner tonight, and that wasn't close to town. 
• After putting our stuff in our rooms, we went downstairs for Andre's welcome. This was a shot of palinka (local Hungarian/Romanian moonshine, basically) (also, sidenote, my first shot of anything at all) and it was horrible. Oh god, it's SO DISGUSTING. Why do people do this to themselves? And the girls who have been here for a few weeks actually like it. UGH. 
• After that, he gave us a dessert palinka, which was flavored something vaguely fruity and tasted a bit like cough syrup, but was much easier to get down.
• After unpacking and bonding with our roommates for a little while, a bunch of us went to find dinner, which consisted of
• Transylvanian goulash (different in that it's not a soup, but more of a stew? Not at all soupy/watery, and more of a sauce)
• "pancakes," which is basically the Romanian version of crepes, and which were absolutely delicious, stuffed with vanilla ice cream and bananas and some sort of fruit-based drizzle on top

The two girls I'm rooming with are definitely more like me, in that we all need some down time after being social all afternoon (and, well, for me, I've been social since Friday evening, since AJ and I were together and then I was stuck with people in a train for 12 hours and now I'm here). 

That's one thing I am worried about, the social aspect. Some of these people are very, very extroverted people; always craving new experiences, new stories, new gossip. And that's good! I'm just...not exactly the same. Remember when I was in England? This is the same story. But I'll be forced to be social and AJ's a bit like Bella in that she's definitely a do-er and she'll push me to do things like Bella did; and then I can just say I need some me time and be alone. Write down the day, and type it up, and say hello to you guys and read. And it will be good. I have a feeling I will majorly need some alone type after we actually start digging. It's probably going to be way more exhausting than I think. 

Köszönöm! 

(Hungarian for thank you; pronounced kur-sur-num, with French-esque hidden r's; shortened to kursey which we said a lot at dinner, both to teach one girl the word and to thank our kind waitress. I know that and nem which is no and a bad word to say to aggressive Romanian men, should I need it, but that's about it. I should really remedy this.)

Because I love you, Love, in fire and in blood

It's a Neruda night.

It's a Neruda night when my heart is filled with yearning for something I do not have. For something I have left behind or for something I have yet to hold, to touch, to experience, to feel. 

Right now, it's a Neruda night because I am in a beautiful, new (but very, very old city) with a new friend having new experiences and enjoying them

And I can only write them down.

Language makes my life concrete, but how many times and in how many ways can I say that my heart exists within the paradox of new-but-safe? What can I do to bring life, color, bloom, to my life so that you are in step with me down city streets and in country lanes? How do I describe the beauty of a looming but forgiving church on the backdrop of a storm and properly explain just how different the storm sky is here from home? How many times can I say I love you and I miss you and I wish you were here until it means nothing, until it's merely a conversation piece, a cute trinket?

And then I remember, as I always do, that that's what poets have been doing for centuries. They think around the words, albeit with a liberal splash of the dramatic, which is why I love them so. 

So have a smattering of Neruda for your night, and hopefully you can understand what I mean. Let Pablo take the feelings stuck between my heart and my tongue and put them in your mind.

Merged, you and I, my love, seal the silence
while the sea destroys its continual forms,
collapses its turrets of wildness and whiteness,
because in the weft of those unseen garments
of headlong water, and perpetual sand,
we bear the sole, relentless tenderness.

Or

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

Or the cute

Conspirators in pajamas who exchange deep kisses for passwords

And finally, the title poem, with one of my favorite lines and simplest explanations of love: I love you...because I do. Because you are the one I love.

I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it's you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood. 

Second update of the day!

I've done a lot and it's only been a few hours. But before we get to that, guess where I am that has free wifi?

It's an English pub! A street away from the river, and a couple over from the bridge! I am having a halfpint of cider and have ordered a shepherd's pie and there's Sky Sports on the tv. It's a proper pub! So I'm having a giggle to myself and skype-messaging with Danes. It's lovely. (I might also be seated near an English cricket player?)

I've been all over today since we last talked. Took the guy's advice and wandered down the main drag we're on. It took a little while to find a cafe that also served food, so all I've had today is coffee and a croissant. (I woke up starving)

Went straight down Rakozi (one of the main roads and the one my hotel's on), took a right turn, wandered down some random streets (on which I found a tea place, which I might go check out later) and found my way down to the river and the first of the bridges, which my map calls Erzsebet Szabad, but I can't tell if that's the road or the bridge. Walked along the riverwalk until I got to the Szechenyi chain bridge and crossed it. Took loads of pictures, then crossed underneath and walked back on the other side. Both sides of the river have a little park/walk to sit and talk and such. The one I decided on had a guy set up selling beverages and playing techno music in a language I couldn't decipher. 

After a nice long sit and journal writing session, I took off in search of some food. Now I'm here. After this (delicious cider and very yummy pie!), I'll head back the way I came and see if I can find the tea place. 

• My work boots are not conducive to fast-paced wandering or slow meandering. But they will be good for standing in one place and digging for hours on end. 
• I'm starting to get a little apprehensive for the dig.
• No pictures yet, because first I have to get them from my camera onto the laptop, so pictures later. 

Reach up and touch the skyyy*

Alternate title: Isn't it midnight on the other side of the world, because now that FMac song is stuck in my head courtesy of a message from mama


'Ello 'ello 'ello!

Sleep does wonders for the sick stomach/crying/generally miserable feeling. I haven't had breakfast yet (10.17 am), for a couple reasons, but after this, I am off exploring and the nice man behind the desk said there are a couple good cafes just down the road.

After flipping around Hungarian tv for a little while (things of interest: lots of music channels [American music videos and some weird male Hungarian pop star]; CNN and a sport channel in English; lots of Hungarian dramas; a Hungarian dub of Bones and of Bridget Jones' Diary, which was obviously quite interesting), I finally fell asleep a little before 10 pm my time...and promptly woke up 2 hours later. My body still hasn't adjusted to all the time and sleep differences that just happened. Some more tv surfing, restless iPod listening, and listless crying later, and I finally got back to sleep around 2 am.

I set my alarm for 8.30 and arose around 9, thinking I was in enough time for breakfast (7.30-10). So I go downstairs and the nice man tells me two things: one, my luggage has arrived (hooray!!) and two, there's no breakfast because I was the only one signed up for it this morning and the lady who makes the breakfasts decided not to show up. He gave me a free cappuccino and some directions/advice on where to go today.

So, positives: I had a free cappuccino, I am currently breaking in my work boots for the dig, and it's a London type of day, weather-wise. And I am in Budapest!

And now, I promised to show you my swanky room and so:

You walk in the door and there's this little antechamber, and then you round the corner and see this

Pretty nice, right?

And now I am off to grab some breakfast and wander down to the city center, which looks like a long ways on the map but the nice man says is about a half hour walk. 

*Yes, the nice man at the hotel is playing Nicki Minaj's Starships. Sometimes it's Hungarian pop/rock music, sometimes it's Hungarian talk radio, but it's often American pop music. Love it.

Of course I say that (I'm tired and sad and lonely; all of which is still true even after--)

And then I decide to go for a walk in the cooling Budapest evening.

I found a very beautiful church that was just closing its doors, but had a park all around it, with lots of life. Parents meeting and letting their children play and write with sidewalk chalk; a lone college-age boy either studying or writing/sketching (I couldn't see); just generally lots of people doing lots of things. Very beautiful. And absolutely stunning against an angry grey sky, bringing cool wind and the feel of a storm. (Future rain feels different here, too.)

And starkly different from the traffic and noise and construction just one block up. I walked the route to the train station, just to make sure I could get there (especially in the midst of construction) , and it was also pretty...but a city. And not a London type city (though I did see a couple Tescos and even a Lidl's on the drive into the city!). A language I don't know (can't even recognize) and an entirely different pattern of behavior and interaction and a different type of traffic. I can't explain it, just that every city has a personality and I can already tell Budapest has hundreds.

Boy howdy, was that a day.

Let's see, where was I when I last checked in: oh, right, Albany. That feels so long ago.

I am currently seated in a swanky Budapest restaurant, with some chicken a la bonne femme (chicken with potatoes and onions and just generally yummy stuff) and a free (!) glass of wine. There is English-language jazz/pop/something music on and I am tired, but very very happy. Even after all the (pardon me) shite.

• The check-in desk for Air Canada at Albany took waaaay long, because of a faulty computer and they had to do my stuff by hand. (Perhaps this relates to #5?). I wasn't too terribly bothered, but I was already emotional, and I hate saying goodbyes, so my parentals and I were emotional in different ways. 
• All three of my flights were delayed in some way, either with me still in the airport or when we were on the plane. I am nothing if not antsy. 
• I hate naps, and I especially hate napping on planes. Both of those things make my stomach all icky, which directly leads to
• Me throwing up (twice) into those little bags as we touched down in Budapest. Yay. (I was, however, sat next to an absolutely lovely old German couple, both of whom helped me through it. Poor man, though, was on his way to his younger brother's funeral. I didn't have much to say to that, especially after my frivolous comment about being there for archaeology which just seems so...well, frivolous, compared to that)
• My luggage getting lost/delayed from Frankfurt to Budapest. As well as a lot of other people, but really, it was just that kind of day. 

Good things are all around, though! 

• From Toronto to Frankfurt, I was seated next to...an archaeologist! She's a 3rd year PhD student who is going to Rome to do her own osteology work and dig. She's actually done a whole bunch of work in Budapest before! She's really cool and we got separated but not before she wished me luck and told me to facebook her bc she wanted to know how it goes. 
• My hotel is fantastic. It looks like this run down hole in the wall (Istanbul flashbacks!) and the pub on the first floor is just a bar, but the interior is gorgeous. I will take pictures and upload them for you guys. It's so pretty. 
• He upgraded me to a triple without an upgrade in money! I have this ginormous, beautiful room all to myself (and another dig girl, tomorrow night) and the only downside to it is that the wifi doesn't like working there. (Oh noes!) I think I'll have a flip around Hungarian tv and then go to bed in an hour or so.
• The other dig girl arrives tomorrow night, so I have tomorrow day to explore by myself, then we leave on Saturday! 

I am still happy and excited, but I think I'm crashing from the new-travel high. I'm feeling tired and lonely and sad. Transitions are the suckiest to ever suck. And while I prefer traveling on my own on the whole (I am an only child and used to doing what I want to do), I would like to share this with someone. (I still think you should have come, Danes.) I miss you guys. Hopefully next week will be too busy for me to get all mopey.

I really love sitting in airports, don't you?

I don't, actually. That was sarcasm. 

I'm currently still sat in Albany airport. My first plane has been delayed about an hour and a half. Luckily, I have (well, had) a three hour layover in Toronto before I head to Frankfurt. 

I've spent a lot of time this summer just sitting in airports, biting my nails and getting nervous for connections and such. It's not the most enjoyable time to be had. 

So instead, I'm on the internet and I'm reading Neil Gaiman's new book and I'm snacking and hydrating (so I don't almost vomit on the plane this time), and I'm not actually worried or too annoyed or too antsy. I'm just chilling and it's a really nice alternative to getting all irritable and anxious. 

There's a London poster on the wall, an ad for US Airways. It's nighttime on the Thames, with a light along the Southbank in the foreground and Parliament in the background, illuminated against the dark grey sky. It's beautiful. And it's reminding me why I'm here. 

I want to see Budapest from the bridge*. I want to see St. Stephen's Basilica and the library and walk along the Danube just as I was lucky enough to walk along the Thames. 

I was nervous and sad this morning, and it got worse as the day went on. (It was especially bad after I made it through security and waved my parents goodbye.) Danes calls my mood 'nervcited,' which is exactly what it says on the tin. But right now, at the time of this writing, I am calm and excited and raring to go. Let's do this. 

* Szechenyi Chain Bridge. "As we turned onto the bridge, the full evening light, reflected off the Danube, flooded the whole scene, so that the exquisite mass of the castle and churches in Buda, where we were headed, was thrown into gold-and-brown relief. The bridge itself was an elegant monolith, guarded at each end by lions couchants and supporting two huge triumphant arches." (pg 315, The Historian)

And we're off!

Albany --> Toronto --> Frankfurt --> Budapest!

Total travel time: something disgusting like 15 hours and change

I arrive around 2.10 pm local time, which, at 6 hours ahead, is around 8.10 here on the East Coast.

I will be online and around (I have 3 hours in Toronto airport alone...) but for now--

A tout a l'heure! 

Digging Dracula's raison d'être

Alternate title: I'm going on an adventure!

When I went off to Kingston, I did a post giving a little bit of background on the town, the school, what I would be doing there, etc. 

Doing that for this trip is going to be a bit trickier.

Let's discuss the whole trip, shall we

• Wednesday night-Thursday, I fly from Albany-->Toronto-->Frankfurt-->Budapest, Hungary
• I stay in Hungary for a couple days
• I take a 13 hour train ride from Budapest to Sighisoara, Romania
• I take another bus/train from Sighisoara to my final destination, Odorheiu Secuiesc 
• Where I will then spend 5 weeks digging furiously in the dirt, pretty much 9-5 Monday-Friday

View Larger Map

So, Part One: Budapest

• Budapest is Hungary's capital
• I am really, really excited to be there for a few days on either end
• A family friend of ours is of Hungarian descent and I love listening to her talk about Hungary, and Budapest specifically
• The language is messed up
• No seriously, Hungarian is a weird, weird language. 
• I will be in Budapest for 2.5 days in June and ~3 days in August, before heading home. 

View Larger Map

Part Two: Sighisoara

• The most important thing about Sighisoara, for me, is that it is the real Dracula (Prince Vlad III, the Impaler)'s birthplace. 
• I will be going there for that piece of history alone. 
• It houses a couple really cool places
• It's a UNESCO World Heritage Site 

Part Three, Odorheiu Secuiesc

• To be honest, I don't really know all that much about Odorheiu Secuiesc 
• I will, however, be participating in this dig, the Medieval Funerary Excavation
• I am super excited

General Info re: Transylvania (plus random trivia): 

• Transylvania is a region in Romania that has been handed back and forth between the Ottomans, the Hapsburgs, Hungary/the Magyars, Romania, the Austro-Hungarian empire, and just generally passed around like a hot potato for much of its existence 
• Apparently, Transylvania was at one point ruled by the Bathory family from Hungary. The Barthorys were split into two branches and one of them includes the infamous Countess Elizabeth Bathory, the "Blood Countess," sometimes called "Countess Dracula". Elizabeth ruled Hungary in the late 1500s and is most famous for bathing in the blood of virgins to keep her youth and beauty
• two parts of this story I find most interesting: 
• the narrative thread found in many stories and much of real life of a woman's only power being her beauty
• the new movie I am desperate to see: Chastity Bites, starring one of my tip-top actress (Allison Scagliotti). A modern-day version of Countess Bathory, she heads up an abstinence club in a high school and kills the girls in it. The tagline is: Who says the virgin lives till the end? 
• Bram Stoker, daft old man, never went to Transylvania, only researching it swiftly after a traveling friend mentioned it as an ominous place he ought to look at for his horror WIP.
• Bram Stoker, the man, the myth, the writer behind some of our most persistent vampire myths, is often held in high esteem for using Dracula. Much has been done connecting the creepy fictional vampire with the terrifying Vlad, the original vampire, the impaler and drinker of his enemy's blood. In fact, Bram never did much research on Vlad Tepes. He was flipping through a book one day (in Whitby, northeastern England, of all places!) and found the names: Dracul and Dracula. Dracul was Vlad's father's nickname; a horrible old man, he earned the nickname Dracul (which means 'dragon' and is related to his part in the Order of the Dragon; it is not 'devil' as was translated early on) and Vlad III grew up an angry, vengeful, mean man with the name Dracula, son of the dragon. Bram thought, ooh that sounds creepy enough, done! He crossed out the working title of his novel and penciled in Dracula instead. The name stuck. 
• I think my favorite part of this is all the academic work on connecting the two figures, and he did it purely on a creative writerly whim. 
• I am dying to go to Bran Castle, the supposed basis for Bram's Dracula and called "Dracula's Castle" in Brasov