A report from an archaeological expedition

Imagine a country, reminiscent of both Ancient Greece ruins and rusty abandoned Pripyat. Imagine that this country is the inhalation, as if a strong scent of herbal collection from cold and cough. Imagine that such a state is not on many maps. Imagine that it still exists somewhere in the middle of it you Wake up at 7 am, eat Breakfast, looking at the cold fog high in the mountains, getting water in the spring and go to the excavations of ancient graves. If you did, then you were in the Abkhazian archaeological expedition.

Local map for Georgia fundamentally signed with a small letter, if not marked. Russia is written in a larger font as a sign of gratitude for the recognition

— I got a hole in the floor through to the second floor, so be careful. In this room will live. A lot of places, but first you need to clean off mold from walls, throw out all the trash. The light is only in one room, no water, so wash in a mountain river — the girl with the bandaged knee catches me in the life of an archaeological expedition. — I’m afraid of mice or fleas? No? Well, we just a lot. “Dichlorvos” helps underdeveloped. By the way, you first time in Abkhazia? Here in Akarmara, Abkhazia’s real. It’s not on the program!

The girl leads me on broshennaya, which has become a haven for archaeologists for a month. She demonstrates boastful flea-bitten neck and waiting for me the minute run away forever from this subtropical hell. But I only show the bruises received on the way. Stubborn. Here, incidentally, from the district center can be reached only by passing please.

— Every day we went to the dig to nine in the morning. I work until five in the evening, Saturday noon, Sunday — closed. The excavation located on a mountain peak of Gantok, the way up is quite difficult and takes about an hour — do not give up Bandaged. I nod silently and humbly.

I go into the kitchen and get acquainted with all participants of the expedition. Their man 15. Sitting everywhere in the narrow room, illuminating the contents of their iron mugs headlamp flashlights. One guy shines in a dish. He didn’t get a mug. On the floor is a giant watermelon and a 20-liter Jerry can with homemade wine. Yes, I was told that outside archaeologists drink a lot: just about to spending on alcohol were comparable with the budget of the expedition.

“Abkhazia” in the language of the local population is “Apsny”, which means “the Country of soul”. It was recognized as a separate country only a few States, such as Russia, Nicaragua and Venezuela. In this list mostly unrecognized same education. For the rest of Abkhazia is only a part of Georgia. Local map for Georgia fundamentally signed with a small letter, if not marked. Russia is written in a larger font as a sign of gratitude for the recognition.

Akarmara — Abkhaz stuck in the Outback and in time a village, homes, schools and hospitals which are covered with trees. Apartment long abandoned by the owners, they now live stray dogs. Hence fleas. Rickety wall of white classical columns covered with moss. Old dressers, TV’s outside and covered with mold photos on the walls in some unexplained, surprising not dare to move. Residents there are not more than hundreds. Sometimes, in the abandoned house with broken Windows and growing on the balcony of the fifth floor of the tree lives a couple of families.

In place Carmary IX–III century BC there was a settlement of the Colchians. Now in its seventh year, the Russian Academy of Sciences together with the Abkhazian Institute of humanitarian studies carried out excavations here. To help the archaeologists for food and “sea chacha” can anyone who is filling out an application via the Internet. So came I and.

Before the trip I knew almost nothing about archaeology. Speculative tried to restore skeleton of Brontosaurus in the form of a small bone or Dating pottery shards on the ornament. I only knew that from women in eternity remain, as a rule, the pots, beads and spinning wheels, and from men — all kinds of piercing-cutting items, such as arrowheads.

Exactly at seven in the morning, the expedition leader begins to sing loudly for all sad song about war. From the rooms begin to be bitten by fleas diggers and to queue to the sink. I test washed the evening things — they haven’t dried up: all night it rained.

Good morning! — I greet all with a cheerful tone, trying to pretend like everything’s wonderful, though, of course, nothing wonderful, but the mountains outside the window.

— The morning is not good! — meets the head of the expedition and immediately explains what place in the excavation I will be taking.

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