Place: West of Ireland Part 1

I've just got back from an amazing business trip to Ireland. It still feels a bit weird saying that I've even been on a business trip- especially when you consider I spent most of that time driving between and wandering around amazing archaeological sites. Business or pleasure? Definitely both. 

The trip started well with a chance to present my PhD research to a great audience of students at NUI Galway, thanks to the good graces of my colleague and friend Dr Eoin O'Donoghue (who has the most incredible office with views out over the Corrib. Lucky bastard). It was great fun to be able to talk about those ideas, talk about pots, jump around the little stage in the lecture theatre and remember exactly why I was so excited and passionate about my PhD results. To be taken out for dinner afterwards (epic seafood washed down with a tasty margarita) was a real bonus.

Earlier in the day though, I'd been here. Clonmacnoise Monastery. It's ridiculously beautiful, even without the fluffy clouds and the high waters of the Shannon lapping at the edge of the field.

  

Then here: Clonfert Cathedral. It looks like a tiny nondescript village church from outside the gates, which were adorned with these welcoming signs (a couple of high crosses were looking wobbly, hence the danger)

Then you go in, and there's this:

The most amazing Romanesque doorway, crowned by these glorious heads of saints. And the highlight?

Just the bloody grave of St Brendan. Casually laid out in front of the church door, distinctive for its "cat fooprints." As the product of generations of steadily lapsing Catholics, this was rather exciting- and such a contrast from Italian saintly tombs, all gilding and glass and grimly blackened relics. Just an ancient slab, surrounded by lush green grass. Beautiful. 

So, after carvings and cocktails, the natural thing to do was get out on a boat- to Inis Mor, the largest of the Aran Islands. We of course went up to Dun Aengus, a famous massive hillfort that looks amazing from the air (Google it and gasp). From the ground it looks a bit like this:

It's still an incredible site, but it was largely reconstructed during the 19th century, and there are some very suspicious looking bastions. Yes, it's dramatically situated on the edge of a cliff, and yes, it's well worth a visit. But if you head across the island, you can go somewhere a lot more impressive- and there won't be any exhausted yet noisy tourists lugging their bodies up the hill. Dun Duchathair, another Iron Age fortress on the edge of a cliff, takes a bit more effort- at least 30 minutes walk over slippery limestone pavement. Then when you get there, you have to edge around this:

 It's about a 2m gap, with a near vertical drop on one side down to the sea, which pounds in from the Atlantic. Yeech. However, well worth it, because when you do wibble your way around the wall, clinging to the dry stone and taking tiny tiny steps, you get these:

Yeah, internal structrures. Ok, there has probably been some restoration here too, but the fact of their survival at all is pretty exciting. Circular structures with what seem to be elongated entranceways. Well worth a wobbly at the thought of the cliff edge.

I thought when I started this post I would pop up loads of pictures from the whole trip, but that is NOT looking feasible- will stop by and add another post another day. Time to get to work- back in the office, this time, fortified by looking again at the awesomeness of Iron Age Ireland.

Current Affairs

I've spent quite a bit of time of late writing depressing blog posts about the fate of archaeological sites in the wake of conflict. From Syria, where Google Earth lets you track looting and a beautiful mosaic was blown up in the most recent fit of iconoclasm, to the Apollo of Gaza, smuggled in to a deeply troubled region and itself highly suspicious, I've been chasing objects and sites and getting steadily more miserable. I don't know how people like Dr Donna Yates and her colleagues do their valuable work on trafficking antiquities and destruction, but I bloody well admire them for doing it.

I spent a good chunk of the week before last researching the archaeology of the Crimea, in preparation for a potential new Andante tour on the "Empires of the Black Sea." Hours on Google Earth, scanning for burial mounds. Translating fractured GoogleTranslate into actual English to try and read the work of dedicated archaeologists who had mapped as many sites as they could, and shared the locations so the world could find them online. Delving into the depths of the Naval Museum at Balaklava, which looks like the ultimate James Bond villain lair. Even then, everyone at work had one eye on the news, and suspected that the tour might not be a viable idea. Now that the regime of Yanukovych has fallen at last, it seems as though it will be entirely impossible for years to come, while the latent tensions created in the wake of World War II bubble and curdle, leaving violence in their wake. Who knows what will happen to the archaeology itself, or to the people who so diligently created those digital records?

There are high points in all this doom and gloom, individual stories that catch the eye. My favourite is from Mali, a place that I have been fascinated by since childhood as a result of my dad's musical tastes. I had an interview to do a PhD focused on Ethnoarchaeology around Jenne, which I decided against in the end. This turned out to be a good decision, as I would have been smack in the middle of fieldwork when the Arab Spring set loose a vast supply of arms, sending them straight into the hands of the jihadists there. These extremists, after taking over Timbuktu, in addition to inflicting horrible sanctions on the inhabitants, posed a threat to the ancient manuscripts held in the city's venerable library. Through the actions of many brave people, including a band of fishermen and the library staff, the manuscripts were smuggled down the river to safety. The story is told far better here than I could tell it, but it's definitely a glimmer of positivity and hope.

I do wonder though, if it's wrong to care about artefacts- the pots and mosaics, the bits and bobs, the writings and mounds- when people are dying. The fate of the children of Syria is far more important than that of tesserae. That sounds horridly preachy, but it's the voice of guilt in the back of my head. Every time I'm upset about archaeology, that klaxon goes off. People, not pots, are the most important thing. But by that logic, looting and selling archaeological material to survive, to make money, to get on- isn't this just a way to feed families in a terrifying situation? How many looters are really doing it through desperation, and how can the middle-men and marketeers who make vast profits from their labour be brought to account? How can you implement community archaeology projects in the most vulnerable places, helping people and the past in one go, when the risks are so extreme?

There isn't really an answer, and this is a tangled, sad, mess of a blog post, for which I'm sorry. Still, any thoughts or comments very much welcomed.

Place: Ghost Towns

Like I said in my last post, I've been off and about the ancient world of late. Just over a month ago, I went to the Bay of Naples- somewhere I've wanted to go for a long time, but always been too lazy to get to at the beginning or end of an excavation season in Tuscany. Well, it was worth the wait. I got to go with a group of delightful work clients, and a lovely academic, Professor Emeritus Bill Manning from Cardiff (and his gorgeous wife, Maureen).

Very I Claudius...

Before even going to Pompeii, I was in raptures over visiting Paestum- and seeing the paintings from the Tomb of the Diver for real. I could have spent most of my life in the little museum there- just gazing at these Etruscan-but-not-Etruscan things. The temples, too, were fabulous- with the great umbrella pines leering next to them, and the clear blue sky above. It was a great start to the week. Maybe too great- to be honest, the next day's visit to Pompeii was not how I'd expected. Paestum had been almost empty- there was a snake crawling along one of the ruins, it was that quiet.

By contrast, Pompeii was RAMMED. We snuck around the back, and entered via the amphitheatre. It was amazing, but full of floodwater and podgy but sad looking stray dogs.

Then we wandered along some insulae- I don't think I was really taking it in at this point. I was so busy thinking about the present- the day ahead, hoping everyone would get lunch ok, hoping that the site would stay quiet. Then little things started to hit me. The bars. They were so familiar- a strip of boozers like those I used to wobble down as a student, playing stupid games of pub golf. I thought of them full of people, laughing and chatting, pushing and jostling. I couldn't get my head around what had happened to those people- until I saw the casts. Now, I'm not usually someone who is against the display of human remains. But to see the contorted body of a child reaching for its agonised mother, rendered in plaster, being snapped at by a thousand tourists, kind of upset me. There is so much power in these casts. Perhaps too much- the child and its mother didn't feel like people- they felt like a show. And, on reflection, that is so damn wrong. I felt more and more confused as the day went on- the buildings were amazing, but all I could think of was the contrast between the archaeological pleasure and the utter pain of Pompeii's original population. Then we went for lunch at the Autogrill- not quite garum on toast.

The day at Pompeii was great, if weird. And I took some lovely photos (if I say so myself). But it made me nervous about going to Herculaneum. If the preservation of Pompeii had freaked me out so much as to induce intense archaeological guilt, what would 2 storey buildings and boathouses full of skeletons do?

The fateful boathouses...

As it turns out, the complete opposite. I loved Herculaneum. It was pouring with rain- there were floods of water tumbling down the steep entrance to the site. I took the precaution of wearing flipflops, and my feet were soon soaked and spotted with little pieces of ash- something I've only just thought about. The buildings didn't have the same mournful air as Pompeii- that sense of a tourist resort in January, sad and bleak yet still busy- in spite of the huge overlay of ash that was so painfully obvious. While at Pompeii I felt like a voyeur, in other people's houses with a crowd of nosy busybodies, at Herculaneum I felt completely at ease. I'm not sure why- maybe the state of preservation and lack of crowds muffled the effect of the ghost town. Also, the victims of Herculaneum were safely roped off- dignified in their skeletal form, without the fleshy horror of their final torture.

I've been thinking about Pompeii and Herculaneum a lot this week- mostly due to the trouble relentlessly bubbling away in the archaeological organisation of the sites. These incredible places are the ultimate cursed blessing- from the preservation/destruction moment to the politics and pleasure of the present day. I don't know what the answer is, to my own feelings or the more serious issues facing Pompeii, Herculaneum and other sites in Italy in an uncertain financial and political climate. But I'm damned glad I went.

Restoration work at the Villa of the Mysteries...

Have you been to Pompeii? What did it feel like for you? Am I just a soppy oversensitive loser? Get in touch please, do let me know.

Blogging Carnival and Some Reflection

Hello all- I cannot belive it has been almost two months since I last blogged. Well, that's not strictly true. Since I last blogged here. I have been blogging twice a week for the last four months for my employers, rounding up archaeology news and presenting it in a fun way (I hope!). You can go back over those posts, and those of my colleagues, here. However, what I haven't been doing is my usual ranting and raving over archaeology on TV, whizzing around landscapes taking photos, and sharing my research with y'all. Well, I have been doing those things- but in the privacy of my living room, leaving the photos on my phone, and working my arse off trying to get things published and out into the world through traditional media. So the blog has suffered- and I'm sorry.

In light of how frankly pants I have been, I was very pleased and surprised to receive a Twitter message from Doug Rocks-Macqueen, of Doug's Archaeology blog, asking me to participate in his blogging carnival. I love his blog, and read it regularly, so it was a real delight to be asked. There will be a session on Blogging Archaeology at the 2014 SAA Conference- and unfortunately Doug won't be there. So he will be posting a question each month, and asking people to blog an answer- all questions relating to blogging practice in archaeology. His first question was sickeningly spot on for me. Here it is:

Why blogging? Why are you still blogging? If you have stopped blogging, why did you stop? 

Well, unbelievably, I think it has been a year since I started this blog. If the combo of that anniversary and that question don't push me into some reflection then nothing will. So, I will be honest and think back over the first year of this blog, and maybe into the future.

Why blogging?

I started this blog because I was frightened. I had just moved to the middle of nowhere, where I knew very few people- I moved away from a supportive kind group of office mates, to do the writing up of my thesis on my own. I couldn't just wander into work and yowl and moan at my long suffering friends about archaeology, I couldn't get overexcited and share ideas every day. I was frightened I would be lonely, frightened I wouldn't be able to think, frightened I would over think.

I was also pretty frightened I wouldn't get a job. 400 applicants for a single role? What did I have that made me different? Some nice little book chapters, a journal article, the same glowing references as everyone else, all of it was pretty samey. There was no way I would get my research published in time for me to have it as a cushion to land on when I fell out of my PhD funding and into the big bad world. So, how to publish my thoughts, and give potential employers something to look at other than my (until recently horrendous) Academia page. To show them I could write, I could think, I was a real person.

Why are you still blogging?

So, basically, I started this blog for entirely selfish reasons. I kept it going for purely selfish reasons too- but not the same ones. I found the release of writing (relatively) short, sharp pieces to be pure pleasure after toiling away at the coalface of my thesis. I would come back more refreshed, better able to assess my own work. And I met so many interesting people! People would commment (in teeny numbers), tweet me or let me know they liked how I was thinking, or didn't, or whatever. It was fun to have ALREADY had a detailed conversation with someone, to be able to join in serious debates like #freearchaeology and mess around with like-minded folks.

Why have you stopped blogging?

I didn't mean to!! Honestly, I was all fired up and ready to blog about a huge range of different things (some of which I will do, promise). Partly I think I had begun tying myself in knots with blog "series"- even the initial "Pots, places, stones, bones" themes of each post were starting to become a bit constricting after a year. So, I'm not going to throw them out, but I'm going to be more flexible about what I blog- so the title isn't an excuse. I also think that two of my main scaredy cat reasons for starting blogging had been taken away- I have a lovely job (where this blog was mentioned in my interview- Jesus, it worked!) and lovely office mates to chat with once again. Plus, blogging twice a week as I was, and leaving the house at 6:30 am and getting home at 7:15 makes for fantastic excuses not to just site down and write.

So, no more excuses. I want to blog from joy rather than fear (pass me the puke bucket). I don't need to be scared- I can just blog because it's fun, I like talking to all of you, and I like sharing ideas. So crack on another year of PPSB, and thanks very much Doug, for a much needed (if unintended) kick up the backside.

PS- photos are from my trip to Campania- Paestum and Pompeii. Which would be a perfect "Place" post. Maybe next week.....

Place: in the workplace!

The only way is up!

I have some news. Some flipping, effing awesome news. I came back from Italy on Monday of last week, and headed into my NEW JOB on Wednesday morning.

So yes, I'm employed. And, best of all, it isn't in a supermarket or fast food joint (not that that would be bad- it would probably be fun, but it's not archaeology, unless you're scooping up chicken bones off the floor). A job, a real job, in archaeology. I've done three days of it so far, and it still feels like a dream.

I didn't blog about this before, and I kept it more or less off social media, as I didn't want to jinx things- from the minute I saw the advert, I was desperate for this role. I honestly don't think I've wanted something so much since I was waiting to hear about PhD funding.

So, what's this job? Where did I hear about it? What am I actually doing now?

I'm now working as a researcher and archaeologist-in-residence at the amazing Andante Travels. They are a specialist company who put together archaeological holidays- all over the world! Yes, we (ahem) cover the big name places- Rome, Peru, Turkey, Etruria (!)- but we also cover all sorts of exciting archaeology that's more off the beaten track. Even in three days I have learnt so much- about rockhewn churches in Ethiopia, about incredible sites in Israel, even about the National Archives at Kew. My job is to design and research tours, and seek out the right people to lead them.

I'm still hoping to keep up with the academic world, and will be working on getting my thesis published over the next few months- but in the meantime, if it seems like I've fallen off the edge of the social media/blogging planet, it's because I'm too busy being overexcited about a new destination, or teasing out the best place to fly into to explore the archaeology of the Wild West! I will try not to be too rubbish though- promise!

And please, have a look at our website- it's amazing to be working in such an exciting, ethical and decent company that really cares about helping people enjoy the past, and putting a big fat grin on their faces while they do it. 

PS- If you feel like doing me a MAHOOSIVE favour, I'd be really grateful if you could vote for Andante in the British Travel Awards.We're nominated for three different awards- Best Special Interest Holiday Company; Best Escorted Tour Company and Best Holiday Company for Customer Services. You can win all sorts of prizes for voting- so please, if you have a minute and would like to help out, give us your vote!

PPS- I promise I won't get corporate in future- but Andante work bloody hard to ensure all their customers have a fabulous time, and put a lot of effort into keeping their tours archaeologically relevant, as well as accessible. Thank you so very much.

Stone: The Past is a Foreign Country

Lost in the rainforest. By me.

 I am guessing that you will most of you heard the quote I've used to title this post, the second in my series on theory. It gets thrown around all the time in various forms- "the past is a foreign country, they do things differently there." It's actually a quote from the novel "The Go-Between" by L.P. Hartley in 1953. This little snippet has survived the 60 years between now and then to become a trope, a cliche, of archaeological thought. If I had a quid for every time this little phrase has popped up (in the first year of undergraduate study alone), I would probably be able to treat myself to some pre-dig pampering. In the rush of repetition, the meaning of this phrase gets lost. It's actually got some quite deep links- back to some serious ideas about who we are, how we think, and how we perceive other people.


Have you ever got lost abroad? I have. Lost in Merida, Mexico. Lost at night in Rome. Lost (for a very panicky minute or so) in the rainforest in Guatemala in a thunderstorm. Do you remember those feelings? The rush of nerves, the separation of yourself from all the people around you, the sense of your own body as an island in the middle of an ocean of strangeness? And all this in a modern world, where so many of the objects and thoughts around us are familiar- the cars, the electric lights, the universal humiliation of the tourist.

Levi-Strauss looking mournful in the jungle. Image: anthrotheory.

One man who took this feeling to the extreme was a French anthropologist, Claude Levi-Strauss (just for the record, he's not responsible for the overpriced jeans). Levi-Strauss was convinced that, underneath surface differences, human experience was structured by the same principles. He was certain that the same series of contrasts would be picked up by any human brain- separating light from dark, day from night, male from female, cold from hot etc. He termed these sets of differences binary oppositions, and considered that all human societies would have conceptualised them. As a good anthropologist, Levi-Strauss then set off for the field. Dashing to Brazil, he wanted to find people as alien to him as possible, to prove himself right. Accompanied by his wife, Levi-Strauss steadily moved through different cultural groups in the Mato Grosso and Amazon- yet each had been, in his view, tainted by the modern world. The very presence of interpreters, imported clothing, cigarettes- any imported idea or object alerted Levi-Strauss to the fact that these groups were impure- and so could not be used to test his ideas. Finally, heading deep into the Amazon in 1938, Levi-Strauss made contact with the Nambikwara, a community which at last seemed to be relatively untouched by the outside world. Yet he couldn't understand his informants. They couldn't understand him. There was nothing, no common ground, for the two to share. The language, the material culture, the behaviour of the people- Levi-Strauss just could not (in the short weeks he spent there) observe or make use of any of the underlying similarities he was sure were there.

I want to leave Levi-Strauss to one side now- I will come back to his structuralist beliefs another day. My point is that his story demonstrates a real truth in archaeological theory- the same truth that squats underneath the glib little phrase that titles this post. Levi-Strauss could not leave his own body, his own beliefs, his own cultures, his own biases behind. No matter how much he desperately wanted to understand the Nambikwara, how much he cared about their culture, how much he believed that he shared a universal set of cultural building blocks (his binary oppositions) with them- he couldn't talk to them. He couldn't understand them. He could never leave behind his Frenchness, his European identity. His white skin. His penis. He couldn't cast that off and instantly understand what it was and what it meant to be Nambikwara. And nor could I, and nor could you.

As archaeologists, we are continually trying to do what Levi-Strauss did. At least the man actually got to visit, live with, attempt to speak to the people he was studying. The feeling of being lost, of being confused, that everyone experiences in a new situation in a strange culture, might have gone away after a few months- yet continual moments would have brought it back. There's no way of living in the past, to lessen the shock. We are stuck in our own skins- we have our own histories, our own stories and experiences. Everytime I write about the Etruscans, I am doing it as a white, middle-class, English woman. I'm not doing it as an Etruscan. I'm not seeing things an Etruscan might have thought important. And I've had to get over that. Nobody is objective- we are all tied firmly to our own culture. You don't need to get lost in the Amazon to figure that out- Levi-Strauss did it for you. As long as you're honest about who you are, and where you come from, and you use the evidence in a convincing way, your view is just as valid as anyone else's on what happened in the past- because it's a foreign country with no airports and no access where you can't even get lost. You can only do archaeology as you- but that doesn't mean you can't think outside the box you were born into (ouch, horrible cliche). In the next "Stone" blog post, I want to explore this more deeply- the methods we can use to try and wiggle away from our own skins and expand our interpretations of the past.

Let me know what you think of Levi-Strauss and company. Have you been lost abroad? How do you feel about the "foreign country" quote? Please do get in touch with your view!

Place: Mexico, Belize, Guatemala

This is more or less a picture post, a what-this-archaeologist-did-on-her-holidays type of post. As I blogged about previously, I ran away over Christmas to the hot sunny lands of Central America. It all seems a hundred million lightyears away as I sit in my study surrounded by snow, but I did go! It was real! And I had a fantastic time. The exact right balance between archaeology (for me), beach time (for my long suffering other half) and nature (for both of us). And food... the food was incredible. I won't even start on the amounts of tequila based fluid consumed as daily cocktail intake.

The view from my house last week...

I love to travel. I actually think it's pretty important. There's nothing like a good culture shock to make you remember the old chestnut that the past is a foreign country- and probably more foreign than any foreign country you can just hop to on a plane! Watching other people live completely different lives, and knowing that the way they go about their day will keep going, long after you go back to what's "normal" for you, is pretty amazing. The whole world gets on with its respective business, while I sit and write this in cold Devon.

...it seemed a world away from Flores, Guatemala, where I am here...

Palenque, where the world didn't end.

Skulking around looking at the floor....

It's also bloody lovely to get away archaeologically. We honeymooned in Greece, so I knew a whole load about all the sites we were seeing. The result of this was I got cross with incorrect signs, and stomped around museums gloating over the amounts of bucchero and Etruscan made material while my husband sighed and took pictures. Mayan archaeology is something I know very little about- so I just lapped up the sites, didn't fuss over the signs, and only had one Hermione-Granger moment when the guide started talking about the Pope's crozier as a sign of spiritual dominion (there's a long history to the blimmin' thing, which seems to have started life as an ETRUSCAN lituus or magistrate's staff. Eurgh).

It was particularly special to be visiting in time for the supposed "Mayan apocalypse" of 2012. Needless to say, it didn't happen. What did happen was a lot of hippies showed up at the site of Palenque, where we were staying, tried to stay up chanting and taking ayahuasca all night, got drenched by a vicious thunderstorm which showed what the gods thought of them, and then were looking utterly miserable with bloody noses and soaking wet maxidresses the next day. I sniggered unkindly, but seeing the dedication these people had did make me realise the power of these ancient places for them- who was I to laugh? I felt pretty guilty about laughing the night before at the figures running through the pouring rain falling over in wet robes due to the amount of mind altering substances they'd consumed. It was funny though, honest.

Phil looking sick at Bonampak!

The amazing murals at Bonampak- weirdly reminding me of Etruscan tomb paintings in brighter colours...

My favourite site was (predictably) the quietest and least visited we went to. It's called Yaxchilan, and to get there you have to travel in a little boat an hour down a river. There were spider and howler monkeys, living in almost intact jungle, and the best archaeology was 300m up and well worth the climb. I also loved seeing the murals from Bonampak, although my husband was feeling very ill that day and did not appreciate being dragged up the steps to see them. He does say it was worth it now though.

Yaxchilan

A very excited me on the boat to Yaxchilan!

The final site of our tour was Tikal, which we visited in the dark in time for sunrise. I can't really describe the experience more than to say (banally) that it was truly magical. As we visited very close to the solstice, the sun rose directly over one of the temples to strike us viewers in the face. We also got some fabulous photos of the wildlife...

Sunrise at Tikal

Spider monkey at Tikal- this incredible photo, like all the pictures from this post in which he doesn't feature, was taken by my husband Phil- thank you :)

So, that was my trip- worth not blogging for a few weeks eh??

In all seriousness- I think going away was one of the best things I could have done. In fact, I'm plotting a humungous getaway for when I finish my PhD. Dependent on when and what happens afterwards, I'd really like to have another fantastic, culture shock escape. Maybe a little more wildlife/seaside than this time though- it's only fair on hubby. I'm thinking Nepal and India? We'll see.

I hope you liked the photos, and I would say to anyone considering going to Central America- do it. Go tomorrow and book the flights.

Where are you travelling to next? Where was the best place you've been? How has travel changed you? As an archaeologist/academic or as a person?

Pots: Time Off and 2013

I cannot believe it has been almost a month since I last wrote on this blog. I would love to say that it's been a manically busy period, I've got loads accomplished, finished my PhD and got a million journal articles accepted but that would be a big fat lie. In fact, I have been away. I brought articles and a work book with me, but I didn't read them. I lay on the beach, and visited some amazing archaeological sites in lands far far away. They pushed me right out of my comfort zone- I knew nothing about them, and very little about the people who made them. I just gawped along with all the other folks standing looking at them.

The reason that this is a Pots post is that I am starting to think that time off should be an everday thing. BECAUSE the gawping and sunning time that I have just spent has been one of the most productive times in my life. I was getting pretty tired and run down by the end of last academic term- with no holiday apart from 3 days off in March since my honeymoon, which itself ended up very stressful, I had no idea how much I needed a break. I turned off my twitchy Twitter spidey senses, stopped looking at emails, and just absorbed the world for 3 weeks. It was blissful. By the end of the first week, problems that I had been worrying over constantly were suddenly small and solvable- I can just ask this person for help, I can just apply for that. By the end of the second, I had a massive breakthrough with my PhD thesis- I suddenly realised exactly what I wanted to conclude, and what I had learnt. Just before I went away, my wonderful supervisor told me that I was "banging on the door" of having my work completely sussed. All it took were 2 weeks away to burst through the door and come out the other side elated.

So, I am thinking that time off, time away, is perhaps one of the most important aspects of academic practice. Before my dog died, I was very good at this- I had to make space for 2 hours each day to walk, with no gizmos or phone or anything, just me, him and our feet moving and thoughts flowing. All the positive breakthroughs of my time away have shown me that this is something my brain is missing. So, I am going to try and take time more regularly to just switch off- stop tussling and worrying over tiny issues, making them bigger instead of smaller. It's like my mind just needs a bit of time to process, before it can come up with an answer- unconscious thought whirring away in the background. I didn't realise how important this space and time would be, until I wasn't letting myself have it anymore. Everyday time to reflect, time to empty my mind and refresh myself. I think this can only make my work better, and certainly my work-life balance better. So that's my New Year lesson, I suppose. 2012 was a year that started with heartbreak and ended with burnout. I'm not going to do that in 2013. I'm going to do things aside from work that I love- running, yoga, and volunteering. I've just volunteered to work in two different museums, which, now that I'm not teaching any more, I have time for. Hopefully they will stop me getting bogged down again, and provide a little more regular respite from the Etruscans in my head! (Caveat: I don't think there are actual Etruscans in my head. They are definitely metaphorical, just so you know I'm not crazy).

What are your plans for 2013? What do you do to take time off? Is it an important part of your academic life? Do you have past people in your head?

PS- a sneak peek from my trip away to Mexico, Guatemala and Belize. I will blog about this in more detail another day... but you can see why I was glazed over with amazement... maybe mindblowing archaeology should be a prescription experience?