Of Fieldwork, Germany, and the Process of Being Alone

One of the defining features of Anthropology, and one of the reasons I was so drawn to the discipline, is the process of fieldwork. Fieldwork has the mythical image of being a time where the anthropologist disappears into his or her site of study, learning the natives' ways, and analyzing everything he or she comes across. I think more realistically, fieldwork will just prove to be a constant process of trying to disappear into the field and being shocked, amazed, and baffled by all the ways these efforts are thwarted. While I have only been here for a week, I have already witnessed some of the ways this trip differs from my last transatlantic trip in 2009.

I have no real "agenda" here in the field. Certainly I am to gather notes, explore the possibilities of various projects for further study, and I am to meet people and improve my language. But those goals are rather nebulous and make fieldwork seem rather languid. On a day to day basis I have this itching feeling that I should be out where things are happening. And yet, if I knew where things were happening I think I would already know the field quite well. Instead, my days are filled with the mundane elevated to the point of interest (to myself at least). Often times I wonder if I am engaged in sloth or research yet to be recognized. I do ordinary things most days. I take the U-Bahn to the city center and walk around. I ask people questions before they quickly scurry away leaving me to puzzle over what linguistic faux pas I may have made. I go to the store and try to crack the logic of German grocery shopping and I come home to cook. But despite this flooding of mundane, daily activities, I have filled pages of my fieldnotes. Where does this level of productivity come from? Is it a false productivity? Am I doing enough? In many ways I have resolved to leave these questions unanswered while I am in the field. The moment I begin to treat these questions seriously, I believe, is the moment I begin to lie to myself about the nature of fieldwork.

I have discovered, however, that there is a process to being alone. This is both true in the fact that I now have to get cozy with my internal dialogue with little recourse to an outside voice. At night I sit in my room and dwindle away the last few hours of my day on the computer. I make some casual notes, read a section from the books I brought alone, and I listen to nothing. And in the course of the week I have found that these behaviors have slowly moved towards making me something else. This loneliness is what makes the field, well, the field. There are no comforting distractions big enough to ever take my mind off of itself. The Internet is only so familiar before I realize that it lacks the kind of comfort it has back home. I am out of context, and its wonderful. For so long I thought that fieldwork must suffer negatively from the fact that the anthropologist can simply log on, read in his native language, and communicate back home. But I was wrong. What I thought was a loophole to the act of being in the field has in fact proven to (thankfully) be a false promise. There is no going back. I am here, even when I get these small windows to look through. And I am here because the small, mundane acts I wrap my life with are now different. They are in German. They are kind of weird to me.

So what have I learned in a week? Well, I can see how people can say the field is a difficult place to be emotionally, mentally, and physically. From adjusting to time zones to realizing that my German isn't where it should be, I can see all the difficulties that are going to befall me (ok, not all the difficulties, but a good handful of the ones most pressing at the moment). But I'm excited about it! I wanted to do anthropology because I could get out of the library and talk to people. And for all the cynicism about what we do, I do believe there is tremendous value in fieldwork. I'll leave all the skepticism and complaining for when I get home. While I'm here, I may as well fake like I know what I'm doing. And at some point, I'm fairly certain I actually will know what I'm doing.