I’m delighted to say I’m in the lab for my first full day of bone analysis. I worried that retrieving my materials from the museum where they were stored would take weeks, but our exceptional representatives at the Soprintendenza processed our permit in record time, and I collected the bones on Thursday. I spent yesterday morning finishing the database and yesterday afternoon finalizing my methodology. Now it’s Saturday morning, and here I am.
The beginning of a study is always intimidating. Even though I’m the one who excavated these bones, even though I know this archaeology inside and out, I look at the two crates filled with upwards of 5000 fragments and I think: “how will I ever…”
I know what’s waiting for me. I know there will be fragments I don’t recognize. I know there will be times when I turn a fragment over and over under the light, trying to decide if a series of round-ish dents are evidence of trampling or the marks of a dog’s teeth. I know there will be bones I need to reconstruct, bones I need to photograph, bones I need to set aside for further study. I know it will be a challenge.
I could stand here for hours, eyeing the bags of bones like I would the surface of a cold lake, but the best way forward is just to jump in.
So I do. And I’m right: on this first day, everything is a struggle. I realize I left several important fields out of my database, so now I have to add them. Several other fields aren’t in the right format and I have to change them. Several of the fields are too small to display the relevant information, so I have to make them bigger. Then I accidentally link one of the new fields to one of the old fields and can’t figure out how to unlink them, so I have to erase them both and start again.
It’s slow going, and the light isn’t great. I need to get a desk lamp. I need to organize my reference materials. I need to make a key for the various codes I’m using and write it on an index card. I need to find my photo scales.
I’m not even going to tell you how long it took to identify my first bag of bones. It’s too disheartening. What I will tell you – and myself – is that it gets better. The first day is awful. The second day is hard. The third day, however, is when I start to find a rhythm. And on the fourth day, I pick up the pace. There are many long days ahead of me, but the worst one is now behind me. I plan to celebrate with pizza.
The corridor nuraghe Sa Fogaia is one of my favorite monuments in Sardinia for many reasons. Some of those reasons are personal. Sa Fogaia was the first monument I explored on the Siddi Plateau. It was my first experience of the archaeology of the Middle Bronze Age, a fascinating period when the Nuragic Culture was first developing and the social and cultural practices that later became widespread were just being figured out. Sa Fogaia also happens to be located on the edge of a windswept plateau overlooking broad, golden lowlands that are striped by olive groves and dotted with small towns. I can’t deny the exhilaration of emerging from the ancient staircase and gazing out over that view.
But the main reasons I love Sa Fogaia are archaeological. Sa Fogaia is an unusual monument as corridor nuraghi go, which makes it an important reminder that – as useful as broad categorizations are – they can obstruct our understanding of human social processes when we rely on them too heavily.
What do I mean by that? If you read the scholarly literature on corridor nuraghi (which is easier if you read Italian, but there are a few things published in English), you’ll find statements that describe corridor nuraghi as having
“… strong rough stone walls and smaller internal areas…. There is no typical floor plan and some are elliptical, some quadrilateral, and some circular. All of the monuments have an internal corridor which is either straight or elbow (‘a gomito’). The buildings may have two entrances. Sometimes, apart from the corridor, there are other small spaces. It is not rare to find a stone stairway in the corridor, which leads up to an upper terrace. We hypothesize that the original buildings were between eight and fifteen meters high.” (Depalmas and Melis 2010: 169)
This is an accurate summary and serves as a good introduction to the concept of corridor nuraghi, which is what the authors intended to provide (I assign this article as background reading when I bring students to the field). But if – like me – you’re fascinated by corridor nuraghi in particular, you should note an important phrase: “Sometimes, apart from the corridor, there are other small spaces. It is not rare to find a stone stairway in the corridor, which leads up to an upper terrace.” This phrase covers a lot of real architectural variation among corridor nuraghi, variation that is important for understanding social processes among early Nuragic people but that isn’t highlighted when all corridor nuraghi are put in the same category.
I won’t attempt an exhaustive comparison of Sa Fogaia with all known corridor nuraghi – that would be material for a master’s thesis – but I will point out some features that make Sa Fogaia interesting.
The first thing to note about Sa Fogaia is its complexity. Most corridor nuraghi are structurally pretty simple, but Sa Fogaia is downright impressive in the number of chambers, corridors, and staircases it includes. Especially impressive is Sa Fogaia’s beautiful “false-tholos” chamber. It is notoriously difficult to photograph inside nuraghi, but this picture shows the important detail of a false-tholos chamber: unlike in a true tholos chamber, where the stones are smaller at the top than at the bottom, the stones in a false-tholos chamber get larger as you build higher, and the great weight of the stones themselves is used to counter-balance the small part of the stone that overhangs the empty space of the chamber. It’s a technique that succeeds in creating a comparatively large open space, but the result is much too massive to allow a second chamber to be built on top of the first. False-tholos chambers are rare, making Sa Fogaia one of only a few examples of how Nuragic architects experimented with construction techniques to arrive at the true tholos style that enabled them to build the multi-story towers of the later Nuragic period.
But the architects of Sa Fogaia didn’t stop after building the false tholos. They couldn’t build more false-tholos chambers on the second story, but they did create an elevated paved terrace that could be used as work or living space (some corridor nuraghi show evidence of huts being built on these terraces), as well as a corridor leading to the remains of a small chamber and two staircases: one that leads down to the courtyard below and one that leads tantalizingly upward, evidence that there was once a third story of some kind.
The staircase leading downward is another important feature of Sa Fogaia. At one point,
the staircase appears to have lead all the way to the courtyard, but at a later phase the bottom part was blocked up, making it harder to get up to the top if you’re trying to enter the staircase from the courtyard. Dating different phases of stone architecture is extremely difficult, so it’s currently impossible to say whether this change was made during the Nuragic period or during a phase of later reoccupation (and Sa Fogaia hosted a fairly extensive re-occupation in the late Punic and Roman periods). However, it’s interesting to note that this change made the upper part of the nuraghe a little more “exclusive.”
Although we can’t be sure when this change to Sa Fogaia was made, it’s interesting to think about it in terms of other nuraghi in the area. The UNESCO World Heritage site Nuraghe Su Nuraxi is only about 10km away, and Su Nuraxi, though it dates to a later phase of Nuragic development, also shows evidence of changing over time to create greater exclusivity. When it was first built, Su Nuraxi had an entrance at ground level and numerous small openings to the outside, probably to allow light into the structure. But a later refacing wall was built around the entirety of Su Nuraxi, and this wall closed off all the ground-level openings and created a new entrance 7m above ground level. The new entrance could only be reached by a ladder or staircase, and anyone entering the structure then had to navigate a narrow passage through the walls before using a second ladder or staircase to descend into the courtyard.
Spatial exclusivity like this can serve many functions in a society, and it often serves more than one at a time. Exclusive spaces can emphasize the social differences between the people who are allowed in and the people who aren’t, and this in turn can be used to justify unequal power relationships. Exclusive spaces can also be protective: they make it physically difficult for people to get in, both disaffected members of the group as well as hostile outsiders. When we’re speculating about the meaning of spatial exclusivity in nuraghi in particular, it’s important to remember that nuraghi of all periods show great diversity in their construction, including highly varying degrees of spatial exclusivity. It’s impossible to answer the question “what were the nuraghi for” on anything other than a site-by-site or system-by-system basis.
A final thing I love about Sa Fogaia is how much evidence there is that the structure was once even more complex than we see now. This little bit of staircase is preserved in part of the wall of the courtyard. What it once led to is impossible to say. A small platform? An extension of the second story? Perhaps another terrace? Whatever it was, it’s a reminder that the monument we see now is only part of the original construction. Corridor nuraghi are often treated as a uniform set of structures whose main historical function is to usher in the multi-story towers of the later Nuragic period. This approach is shown in the traditional architectural typology of nuraghi, in which “corridor nuraghi” are usually a single group and only the later tholos structures are divided into “simple” structures with a single tower and “complex” structures with multiple towers. But Sa Fogaia shows that corridor nuraghi also range from the simple to the highly complex, a strong indication that the social interactions that made architectural differentiations important in the later Nuragic Culture were already developing in the beginning.
* Depalmas, A. and R. T. Melis. 2010. The Nuragic People: Their Settlements, Economic Activities and Use of the Land, Sardinia, Italy. In Landscapes and Societies, Martini and Chesworth (eds.), pp. 167-186. Springer Science+Business Media B.V., Dordrecht.
I’ve been in Sardinia less than two weeks, and I’ve been called out twice for not doing enough to share my research in Italian. It’s a fair criticism. I gave a well-attended public lecture in Italian at the end of the excavation I co-directed with Dott. Mauro Perra in 2009-2011, but since then I’ve done very little. The reasons are complex, and I did offer to give five weeks of public lectures on local archaeology in the summer of 2014, but it was eventually decided that English lessons would be a bigger draw (and I have to say, I delivered my English lessons to a packed house, and many Siddesi still greet me on the street with an accented “how are you”).
But the criticism stands, and the fact is archaeologists face a variety of challenges that can discourage us from speaking directly to the communities where we work. Combatting this issue is one of the missions of Public Scholar Outreach, a non-profit organization that two colleagues and I founded this year. It’s also the reason why the book I’m preparing with Dott. Perra to publish the results of our excavation will have summaries of each of the chapters in Italian. But the book won’t be out for a couple of years, and that’s too long to wait to start redressing this problem.
Which is why I found myself trekking through Siddi’s countryside at sunset in search of tweet-worthy images of local archaeology. Italy celebrates European Heritage Days this month (September 23/24), and so in honor of Sardinian heritage, Public Scholar Outreach is featuring a full month of bilingual tweets and Facebook posts celebrating the archaeology and history of this beautiful island (follow us @ScholarOutreach).
I set off just after 6pm, phone in hand, to capture the fading light at one of my favorite monuments: the corridor nuraghe Sa Fogaia. Corridor nuraghi date to the early development of the Nuragic Culture during the Sardinian Middle Bronze Age (c. 1700-1365 BCE). They don’t reach the impressive heights of the later tholos nuraghi, but many – including Sa Fogaia – are complex structures with several chambers, multiple stories, and architectural features that suggest successive building episodes. Corridor nuraghi are often treated briefly in the scholarly literature. Few have been well excavated and even fewer published, and in many corridor nuraghi, later reuse destroyed the early Nuragic deposits, so even careful excavation may result in limited new information.
Because the corridor nuraghi are less frequently excavated and their deposits often damaged, our understanding of the early development of the Nuragic Culture is limited. Raising interest in these structures is one way to encourage more research to get done. So I walk. The most direct path to Sa Fogaia climbs a few gentle hills and then rises steeply up the side of the Siddi Plateau, the site of an important Middle Bronze Age settlement system of which Sa Fogaia is only one part. I pass a shepherd and his flock, and we exchange a few words about the coolness of the evening after the painfully hot day. He’s not someone I know, and he seems pleased that a foreigner is on her way to see the nuraghe. “There are lots on the plateau,” he tells me. I nod.
It’s a sweaty climb to the top, but the view, as always, is worth it. Sa Fogaia glows in the slanting sunlight and I get several good photos for Facebook and Twitter. Turning these photos into informative posts and tweets that will encourage people to engage with Sardinian archaeology is a whole other challenge, of course, but tonight I’ve taken an important first step.