The Dune

This week, Egypt graced us with a couple of the hottest days of the year—the kind of days that require us to gulp down rehydration packets and drink extra bottles of water. I usually go through two 1.5L bottles of water during work each day, but had to go up to three.

Unfortunately, my kidneys do not know what is good for them. I gave them so much wonderful water to help protect my body from its archenemy, the sun, but what did those kidneys do? They dumped the water straight into my bladder.

As you might remember, my dig site is in the middle of nowhere with no real bathroom in sight. We had a makeshift outhouse last year, but this year we have given it up entirely in favor of a giant sand dune. Every so often, you can see archaeologists make the long trek from the monastic dwelling we are excavating to the dune, and you know exactly what they are up to. Given that one of our important survey benchmark points is on top of said sand dune, I frequently get phone calls begging me to step away from the total station and momentarily vacate the premises.

You might think that relieving yourself behind a giant sand dune is a horrible experience—I know I thought so all last year. My one attempt to use the outhouse was so horrifying that from then on I was willing to hang on until we got back to Anafora, no matter how miserable I was. Eventually the outhouse collapsed due to strong winds (good riddance), and on the second-to-last day of the season, I was finally forced to hike behind the dune. I hiked extra far to ensure complete isolation.

Unfortunately, while I may have escaped the view of my compatriots, I realized that I had walked into the distant view of farm buildings and active monasteries. This does not mean that the buildings were even remotely close to me, or that anyone would have noticed a faraway novice archaeologist about to drop trou while huddled behind a sand dune. But the paranoia was there. For good measure, a low-flying helicopter passed overhead.

But once you get over such scruples, it really isn’t so bad. It’s definitely more pleasant than using one of Anafora’s main floor bathrooms, where everyone has already thrown their used toilet paper into the trash. (Egyptian plumbing cannot handle gobs of wet toilet paper, so you can’t flush it.) The sand dune really is a more natural way to handle things. Let’s just hope I never encounter nature in the form of a horned viper primed to attack while I am most vulnerable.