The Accidental Archaeologist
The official on-the-go adventure blog
I should start this post by telling y’all that I haven’t really driven a manual transmission car in about 17 years. That was back when I was learning to drive, and we lived in a hilly place, and stick shift was terrifying. I’ve never quite gotten over that. Keep that in mind for later…
The party Sunday night had been grand. Monday morning was a different story. It was back to the regular schedule, which meant many bleary-eyed, somewhat hungover archaeologists shuffling around and making grunting noises at o’dark early. I myself had had a pretty rough night, and, though I didn’t really have a hangover, I had gotten very little sleep and my digestive system told me I was swearing off meat and homemade wine for awhile. Work progressed at a snail’s pace in the trench. There is really only so long you can stare at a bunch of stones and draw them before they start to all blend together and you find yourself drawing the same rock three times. It’s no surprise that the prof. decided to pack it in an hour early and head home. “Home” in this case, of course, being a tiny French schoolhouse with no laundry facilities (I mention this because I got to spend the latter part of the evening washing socks by hand in a sink & hanging them on a radiator to dry). I didn’t get to go straight back home, however, because another late arrival to our team was coming in from Bristol to the train station in Metz, and, as she’s a fellow MA student, I had to go along to identify her when she got off the train.
I ended up making the trip to Metz in Msr. K’s car along with Sarah. He spent most of the 40 min. trip speaking a mixture of French & English, and I strained to keep up with the conversation. It was a pleasant enough ride, though…he’s a funny guy. He dropped us off at the train station an hour early so he could go to a dentist appointment. This meant we had time to hunt down a rental car for Phase I of our cunning plan to get the whole team to Trier the next day. You see, the dept. Landrover is only insured for five people, and we now have seven on the dig. The only way for all of us to get to Trier in one trip (it’s about an hour and a half) was to take two vehicles. I volunteered to use my trusty US license and knowledge of driving on the right side of the road to get a rental car and save the day. Of course, it didn’t occur to me that there would be no automatic transmissions in sight. So it was I found myself behind the wheel of a tiny red two-door Peugot with manual transmission and the crash test rating of an aluminum can. I stalled six times just getting from the 2nd floor parking deck to the other side of the train station. It was an experience. But we made it home in one piece, and I happily abandoned the car in the school parking lot for the night.
Tuesday morning (Bastille Day) dawned with grey skies and rain. The prof. had spent the night back home in Saarland, and he showed up at 10.00 sick as a dog. This threw the first monkey wrench into our plans. He couldn’t possibly go with us to Trier. We bounced back, though, when we realized that two other folks were qualified to drive the Landie, and, with our profoundest regrets, we left the boss to get some rest and set off on our own road trip. Once we got on the motorway, I stopped cussing and settled into a happy groove in fifth gear. It was smooth sailing through Luxumbourg and on to Trier. Navigating city centre was a bit intimidating, but at least I could understand the German signs, and we quickly threw the tiny car in a parking garage for the afternoon.
Lunch was a pleasant stop in the big market square, where I got a flammkuchen (flatbread with sour cream, sauerkraut, and blud- and leberwurst on top) and a nice dark German beer. After we’d stuffed ourselves to the eyeballs (and, my, are those German meals big!), we strolled down to see some of the Roman remains the city is famous for. First stop was the amazing basilica, seat of the Roman rulers of the region. Next was the Catholic cathedral, with it’s gorgeous and stunningly elaborate carvings. Last was the Porta Negra (Black Gate). Unfortunately, this was all we had time to see before climbing back in the car for the long trip back to Metz.
The drive back was a little more nerve-wracking, since the motorway was backed up to kingdom come, but I managed it without having a stroke or rolling back into somebody. We stopped in Metz near the cathedral to meet back up, have a beer, and plan the next move. We were thinking about hanging around until the fireworks started, but we had to make two trips back home to get everyone here, so I decided to come back in the first trip and have a little quiet time to write y’all this post. As I type this, the school is dead silent, the prof. is sleeping off a slight fever (I just saw him a minute ago to hunt down some water and exchange news), and I’m relaxing with a beer counting my lucky stars that I’ve ditched the rental car for good and won’t have to do that again anytime soon.
I want a cookie AND a medal.
