Saturday 24th – Wednesday 28th January

The workmen in my trench were giving Jamie regular updates about the tragedy in Gaza, i.e. the growing number of casualties. They also mentioned if they had heard anything about Australia, for example if there have been any Australian protests, or Australian aid offered.
I wanted to know where they are getting their news from and whether it is from Al Jazeera, and I asked Jamie to find out for me. It’was interesting to get updates from the workers because with the lack of internet access I was not up to date with what is happening in the world. For all I knew Canberra may have seceded from Australia and become an independent Principality.
Wednesday – our last day at the dig! Glory, it was a great three weeks. Let me say that I am SO impressed by how this dig has been run. Three weeks cooped up with complete strangers…limited opportunities for showers….walids lurking at the foot of the hill…..sheer cliff faces everywhere….inexperienced volunteers let loose on Bronze Age mud brick walls…….sounds like a recipe for morale disaster, doesn’t it? Instead in the capable hands of Stephen and Karen it has somehow been transformed into a fabulous time. To organise this thing must be akin to being in coordinating the D-Day landings of 1944…or maybe trying to conduct a recalcitrant orchestra…perhaps both at the same time.
However, towards the last few days, I WAS starting to crave my very own pasta, complete with garlic, tomato sauce made from home grown tomatoes, a squeeze of lemon juice, hmmmmm…. maybe some chopped up chorizo sausage and DEFINITELY some chilli, with parmesan cheese piled on top. And how about some nice Australian lambruscho to go with it? You know that when you rhapsodise for a full paragraph about your own favourite recipe for pasta, and how much you are looking forward to making it again in your own kitchen, that it’s time pay home a visit. 
But there are some things about the Pella dig that I will miss. Foremost of these is the Pella dig house cock which crowed several times in complete hormonal confusion, every single night  – but never at dawn – in an endearing and random manner, with absolutely NO regard for when cocks are supposed to crow. The bells on the sheep. The Muslem Call to Prayer. The Byzantine East Church. The other volunteers! The staff! The views from Tell Husyn. Goodbye Pella!!!

~ by margoforte12 on February 4, 2009.

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