Bag of Wind

I am writing this as I take the train from Romania back to Hungary. I made it on the train with only a few minutes to spare, after a stressful attempt at getting a ticket in the Arad train station. I am tired, sweaty, and not quite sure if I am on the right train.

The landscape flowing past my window is filled with perfect rows of corn, wheat and the occasional sunflower field.  These domesticated spaces are interspersed with patches of wildflowers and stands of birch and beech trees.

I am listening to a song on my iPod by Lia Ices called Bag of Wind, which dawned on me as a nice metaphor for my emotional state at this leg of my trip. I don’t know what she intended for this phrase – but her beautiful and haunting melodies, along with the rocking of the train, have lulled me into an introspective mood.

I am at that point in a trip away from home (nearly two months now) where I am feeling like a walking dichotomy: comfortable traveling and homesick; invigorated but exhausted.

The phrase “bag of wind” captures something about the experience of traveling in new lands.  It is a movement of venturing into the unknown – a place that can be scary, even dangerous, always stressful to a certain extent.

At the beginning of this trip there were many unknown variables and there were moments when I questioned whether being away from home for so long was worth the trip. And sometimes it wasn’t. Being away from my husband, family, and friends was particularly hard this summer. There was a death in the family, and some hardships that I could have never anticipated.  I felt how difficult it is to be away – disconnected – when your people need you (and you need them) the most.

It also speaks to the act of capturing something. Putting a finger on that “something” is difficult, but I always feel changed by long trips abroad. Participating in an archaeological field season, in particular, is a rite of passage of sorts. It is intense and you build relationships with people that can, and often do, last a lifetime. I learn about my strengths, my weaknesses, and most importantly, I always emerge having accomplished things that I didn’t think I could do, or didn’t even realize existed before.   Stepping outside of my cultural comfort zone ignites a newness and love for life, while at the same time instilling a deeper appreciation for the comforts of home.

The trip to Romania was well worth it – I got to see a fascinating archaeological site, reunite with old friends, and forge new relationships as well. I also now smell like cat pee due to a particularly feisty house cat named Bin Laden who apparently sprayed my luggage as a parting gift before I left.

I could literally use a bag of wind right now, if something like that existed, because the poor woman who has to sit next to me on the train is giving me the stink eye (pun definitely intended!). Oh the adventures of traveling!

Signing off for now,

Prof. Giblin