One would have thought an archeological dig in an exotic foreign land would have been an ideal way to unwind. As it turns out, one could be monstrously mistaken.
Despite catching up with an old friend, I made the fatal choice of catching up with him in what I thought was an exotic place. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I connected the word "exotic" with "fascinating," "spectacular scenery," "paradise," maybe even "quaint partially clad female natives".
Certainly not "monsoon."
I have no idea how Carberry expected to dust the earth for pottery shards when the earth was mud, rather than dirt. He claimed "an unusually wet summer," but the advance preparations by the native guides and porters shouted "we knew it was going to rain."
Nonetheless, we had a good time playing with our little dirt dusting brushes (though using them mostly to swat mosquitoes), and exploring the different ways to prepare wild boar. As you can well imagine, this wore thin in about a day, so I cut my stay somewhat short, and returned to a more civilized vacation on the coast of Maine.
Ahh, vacation at last - gulls keening, lobsters aplenty, fresh air, a relaxing sail...or not, as it turned out. Criminy, after two weeks there, I need a REAL vacation.
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