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This article presents the results of the first diachronic study of obsidian procurement patterns in the Gulf of Fonseca on the Pacific coast of Central America; it sheds light on the integration of the region in long-distance exchange systems. This study is based on portable X-ray fluorescence spectroscopy (pXRF) analysis of all 713 obsidian artifacts collected from Terminal Classic and Postclassic contexts on Tigre Island, Honduras, and of 54 additional obsidian artifacts from two sites on the south coast of Honduras that are housed in museum collections. Analysis of obsidian artifacts collected in the excavation of the earlier occupation of the site of La Tigüilotada (AD 800–1200) on Tigre Island revealed the predominance of Ixtepeque obsidian and the lesser presence of Güinope obsidian. Obsidian artifacts from excavations of the reoccupation of La Tigüilotada (AD 1300–1500) and of the site of Gualorita (AD 1400–1550) relied almost exclusively on La Esperanza obsidian. Least-cost path analysis shows likely riverine routes connecting all three sources to the Gulf. We contextualize these results within prior obsidian sourcing studies from the region and conclude that precolonial island settlements took part in different transference networks from their mainland counterparts.
This study focuses on reconstructing paleoclimate changes between 830 BC and 650 BC, a period of critical significance marked by the Hallstatt Catastrophe, a shift from a warm and dry climate to a cool and humid one. This period also coincides with the onset of the plateau on the radiocarbon calibration curve. The research material consisted of oak tree trunks G24 and G58, discovered in Poland (Grabie village). Dendrochronological methods were employed to date the two trunks. The identification of the Miyake event around 660 BC in the Δ14C results from the Grabie tree rings corroborated the dendrochronological dating. This study presents an analysis of changes in stable carbon isotope composition in α-cellulose extracted from annual growth increments and variations in growth ring widths.
Colonial borderlands provide an opportunity to study innovation of new foodways and persistence of traditional ones amid unfamiliar and potentially risky environments and dynamic cultural contexts. Archaeological research in northern New Spain has revealed foodways diversity as Spaniards attempted to replicate agropastoral systems and Indigenous peoples incorporated, to varying extents, new plants and animals into their culinary practices. These processes remain relatively unknown in Spanish Tejas. Here we present new zooarchaeological data from Mission Dolores in eastern Texas, synthesizing these data with a review of other Tejas missions and presidios. Written records indicate that Mission Dolores occupants struggled to provision themselves and to convert Indigenous Ais but had trade relations with neighboring French. We investigate the nature of the food system, the likelihood of self-provisioning, and culinary processing. We show that cattle were the dominant meat source, and wild fauna were rarely consumed. Mortality profiles indicate slaughter of prime age animals, while skeletal part representation, and three-dimensional visualizations of cut marks, indicate butchery of whole carcasses on site. Our findings contrast with documents implying resource stress at Mission Dolores and unexpectedly show that Mission Dolores occupants were almost solely reliant on ranching, compared with other Tejas missions and presidios.
Authorship metrics are a key component of academic advancement. Given recent increases in the publication of collaborative, multiauthored articles, we examine patterns in the perceived gender of authors of peer-reviewed journal articles with five or more coauthors in 11 academic archaeology journals. Our results suggest consistent patterns in lead and last authors and in coauthors. Men are more likely to serve as both lead and last authors and to include far more men than women as coauthors on their publications. We consider the ways gender homophily, friendship networks, and other forms of often unintentional exclusion may have a negative impact on the careers of women and members of other marginalized communities in archaeology and propose recommendations to address these issues within the field. In addition to greater individual reflexivity around coauthorship decisions, we encourage the development of clear guidelines on author ascription by archaeological organizations and publishing outlets and advocate that institutions adopt both total publication and fractional publication counts as measures of individual productivity.
Gender inequality carries high social costs, and understanding its causes and consequences remains a pressing concern. Numerous policymakers and academics have taken on this challenge, including anthropological archaeologists. Because archaeologists create narratives about the past that can justify or question current and future actions, contemporary archaeological practice impacts everyone. This themed issue builds on recent documentations of disparities and calls to address them. To do so, contributors use a mix of quantitative and qualitative analyses, as well as novel theoretical perspectives, to understand why intersectional gender-based inequalities continue and to propose interventions to rectify them. We begin by considering the history of feminist equity critiques. We then argue that scholars should build on existing research by reconceptualizing not only difference but also exclusion. Policymakers, academics, and others must move beyond the problematic yet ubiquitous metaphor of a leaky pipeline and instead consider the active—though often unconscious and unintentional—ways individuals and institutions exclude, including through notions of fit, prestige, and the hysteresis of habitus, also known as the Don Quixote effect. The overarching goal of the themed issue, and this article, is to advocate for interventions in contemporary archaeological practice and beyond.
This Element approaches large game hunting through a social and symbolic lens. In most societies, the hunting and consumption of certain iconic species carries deep symbolism and is surrounded by ritualized practices. However, the form of these rituals and symbols varies substantially. The Element explores some recurring themes associated with hunting and eating game, such as gender, prestige, and generosity, and trace how these play out in the context of egalitarian versus hierarchical societies, foragers versus farmers, and in different parts of the world. Once people start herding domestic livestock, hunting takes on a new significance as an engagement with what is now defined as the Wild. Foragers do not make this distinction, but their interactions with prey animals are also heavily symbolic. As societies become more stratified, hunting large animals may be partly or entirely reserved for the elite, and hunting practices are elaborated to display and build power.
Tea on the terrace takes readers on a journey up and down the Nile with archaeologists and Egyptologists. Travellers such as Americans Theodore Davis, Emma Andrews, and James Breasted, as well as Britons Wallace Budge, Maggie Benson, and Howard Carter arrived in Alexandria, moved on to Cairo, travelled up the Nile by boat and train, and visited Luxor. Throughout the journey, readers spend some time with them at their hotels and on their boats. We listen in on their conversations, watch their activities, and begin to understand that much archaeological work was not done at the field site or in the university museum, as many historians have argued. Instead, understanding the politics of conversation in the social studies of science, the book shows that hotels in Egypt on the way to and from home institutions and excavation sites were liminal, but powerful and central, spaces which became foundations for establishing careers, building and strengthening scientific networks, and generating and experimenting with new ideas. These are familiar stories to readers, but Tea on the terrace presents them in a new framework to show Egyptologists’ activities in a seemingly familiar but unknown space. A mix of archaeological tourism and the history of Egyptology, the book is based on original archival research, using letters, diaries, biographies, and travel guides as well as secondary sources.
"The story presented in these pages ends around 1925, when the dispute Carter had with the Department of Antiquities over excavations at the tomb of Tutankhamun was ending. By this time, the antiquities laws that had allowed almost unabated excavation and the expatriation of artefacts had become much stricter. Laws were set by the newly independent Egyptian Government that no longer benefitted Western, rich, white, male excavators but ensured instead that Egypt would retain its control over its own artefacts. For years, Egypt fought for political and economic independence, and by 1922, after the First World War had changed the world order, the British had given them some autonomy. It was in 1922 that Carter found King Tutankhamun’s tomb and all the ‘wonderful things’ it held. The control he tried to maintain over the artefacts he uncovered depended on his use of the space at the Winter Palace and drove the change in laws regarding archaeological finds. Luxor was the place in which, for this book, most of the work was performed and, therefore, was the most exclusive in terms of location and participation.The conclusion ties together all of the themes and ideas in the book, as well as proposing new avenues of investigation. "
Chapter 2 focuses on Cairo. Some visitors stayed the whole season in Cairo, venturing out for day trips to nearby Helwan and Memphis, but mostly staying around the city. Many archaeologists would spend several days or weeks in Cairo, preparing their equipment and making final preparations to go into the field for months at a time. Most archaeologists at the end of the nineteenth century could not afford to stay for long in the bigger hotels, which were designed for long-term tourists and cost more than their small excavation budgets would allow. A few, however, had very generous patrons. The hotels discussed in this chapter include Hotel du Nil, the Continental, Shepheard’s Hotel and Mena House. Chapter 2 introduces a lot of the characters in this book, and, as Cairo was the city in which archaeologists prepared themselves, built their scientific networks, and readied their thoughts for the next step in their work, the chapter performs the same role for the argument in this book. That is, it works to introduce many examples and demonstrates the use of hotels as important nodes of networking, building the cognitive landscape, and being useful for certain knowledge-creating activities.
The introduction is an entry into the theoretical underpinnings of the book as a whole. In it, I frame my main argument, which is stated in the first few pages as: ‘As the sites of such activities, Egyptian hotels, I argue, functioned as Egyptological think-tanks. Egyptology began and operated under the umbrella of European colonial power, and for the time period in this book, specifically British colonial power. In that context, I analyse the power of ephemeral hotel spaces in the networks formed within them and the interpersonal performances within the places, groups, and networks up and down the Nile.’ I frame this argument in the theories and methods of the social studies of science, geographies of knowledge, the history of archaeology and Egyptology, and the history of tourism and travel.
This article examines a monumental structure in the North Pontic Steppe that was repurposed as a burial mound in the late fourth millennium BCE. The authors argue that this repurposing reflects a pattern of Yamna appropriation of ritual spaces, conceptualised as a ‘continuity of sacred spaces’.
The fourth chapter uses the sites and spaces in and around Luxor as the culmination not only of the long journeys of the travellers in this book, but also of the ideas presented throughout these pages. Truth spots, sites of knowledge creation, network creation, the intellectual landscape all peaked in the activities of archaeologists in Luxor. Luxor’s many sites, tombs, and artefacts drew both archaeologists and tourists and, therefore, offered a variety of lodging options. Smaller hotels like the Grand Hotel, Karnak Hotel, and the Savoy, were significant only as meeting places for social events and holiday meals, such as those that took place on Christmas Day, Boxing Day, or New Year’s Eve. From the time it was built in 1907, the Winter Palace became the chosen lodging of many archaeologists, including Carter and Breasted before their houses were built, and Davis when he wanted to get off his boat. The Luxor Hotel, older than the Winter Palace and only a short walk away, was favoured by less generously funded archaeologists and tourists on a budget. This chapter is much longer than the others because there are two major hotel sites to discuss, and, because there exist far more sources for these events, the stories are more complex. The stories of Margaret Benson, Janet Gourlay, Emma Andrews, and E. Harold Jones are detailed here. I also argue for a new view of the excavation of the tomb of Tutankhamun.
Having finished preparing for the season, some archaeologists went out to the desert areas near Cairo, and throughout Lower Egypt. But many went south to Luxor, heading up the river by steamboat, dahabeah, or train, and sometimes stopping at various points along the way. The third chapter follows these river travellers and centralises their activities on these semi-private boats as scientific institutions in Egyptology. The boats served as labs, classrooms, offices, storerooms, and homes. Some archaeologists, like Charles Wilbour, Emma Andrews, Theodore Davis, Archibald Sayce, and James Breasted, travelled to Luxor in dahabeahs, or private houseboats. They would live on the river in these floating homes, entertain guests, host scientific meetings, and even store their artefacts to keep them safe. While dahabeahs were not necessarily options for all archaeologists on limited budgets, there were enough of them to analyse the role they played as semi-public spaces and as scientific institutions. James Breasted used dahabeahs in this manner, deliberately beginning to do so in 1905 and then continually after that for the next thirty years. He saw these floating laboratories as so important to Egyptology that he attempted, but failed, to get funding for a custom-built steamer to house his work in Egypt. Travelling up the Nile in any conveyance usually strengthened the bonds in each network, and, by turning the dahabeahs and steamers into scientific institutions themselves, they became truth spots by giving credibility to the work the travellers were doing.