the three amigos

The flight to "the field" is supposed to be something one remembers the rest of her life. The chaos of fieldwork preparation is over. A great big question mark awaits ahead. The fatigue from the previous few weeks hits you, yet the adrenaline from both stress and excitement keeps you awake. Mental pictures rush behind your eyelids. That last run at the dish. My last raisin scone at Douce France. That warm shower and the smell of toast and coffee in my parents' apartment. The good-bye party in a now empty blue cube. That last meeting with my advisors...

I was not looking to hear anything new and they were not going to tell me anything they hadn't already. I was simply giving them one last opportunity to impart upon me, as academics who have done more than their fair share of field research, some final words of wisdom. Have I done all the research I can from the ivory tower? check. Have i conjured up an overly ambitious research strategy for the field? check. Have I gotten my visas in order? check. Have I loaded up on my malaria pills? check. My advisors are not the talkative type. If I don't come into their office with a list of prepared questions, the meeting remains short and the chatting sparse. These guys weren't going to give me their last words of wisdom unless I went fishing for them.

So is field work supposed to be fun or is it supposed to be isolating? Some scholars follow questions while others follow cuisine. Some need daily access to a blowdryer; others like to rough it just so they can say they were there and did it. What am I supposed to expect?

The three amigos spoke up in a chorus of divergent opinions. It's the most humbling of experiences. It's isolating. It's never what you expect. It's difficult. It's fun. It's not the 9 to 5, but it's intensive work.

Strangely enough, though, they eventually converged to impart upon me a nugget of wisdom I hope to keep nearby throughout the year.

It's going to be the time of your life. Go enjoy it.