In case you care about what we did 15 months ago ...

I never did blog about our trip to Yerevan in November 2012, and I really want to. 

If you have been reading this blog for awhile, you may know that Jeremy and I met in Yerevan in 2005.  I was at the Embassy for my first tour, and Jeremy was finishing up three years in country - two in the Peace Corps and one teaching 5th grade at the international school - when we met at a poker game.  Shortly after I departed post, we got married.  So for me, Yerevan is filled with memories of early dating, falling in love and wedding planning.

We wanted to take our kids back to the place where we had met, so we drove down from Tbilisi over Veteran's Day weekend.

View on the road:

We spent two nights at the Aviatrans hotel in downtown Yerevan (good location, reasonable accommodations for a reasonable price) and spent most of our time reacquainting ourselves with the city and making the rounds to see old friends.

The girls in front of my old voice teacher's apartment building.

My teacher, Susannah, and her daughter Astghik had us over for lunch.

Natasha was into sticking her tongue out in pictures.  Thank goodness that phase is over!

Just strollin' around town ...

Taking in the sights ...

Posing for old time's sake in front of Mount Ararat.  Seeing this photo made me feel so old.

We took the girls to Square One, the "American" burger joint that really isn't, but which was the closest thing available eight years ago.

And to Tumanian Shwarma, which was one of our favorite spots for a quick lunch back in the day.  Natasha liked the shwarma.

Zoia, not so much.  (I was about six months pregnant with Gabriel at the time of this trip).

We took in a great music and lights show at the Republic Square fountain one night.

And had dinner at another old friend's house.

Then it was time to go home.  Past Lake Sevan ...

... and stopping over in Dilijan, to have lunch with Jeremy's host family from Peace Corps language training days.  

It was good to visit, but hard, too.  Georgia has made such strides since the last time I had been here.  I had forgotten all of the challenges Armenia faces - its geographic isolation, closed borders, extreme poverty and the ongoing tug-of-war between Russian and Western influence.  Sadly, not much has changed there.

Echmiadzin

Last Saturday afternoon, a bunch of us went to Echmiadzin, the seat of the Armenian Church (often called the Armenian Apostolic Church or, inaccurately, the Armenian Orthodox Church). I'd been there before, but only into the main church and to the office of the church's spokesman for a work meeting. This time, we got a behind-the-scenes tour thanks to Hakob, whose main job is as a guard at the National Democratic Institute office in Yerevan, but who moonlights as an Echmiadzin tour guide.

Our first stop was the main museum, which is closed to the public because its many valuable and sacred artifacts are poorly secured. Lots of neat stuff there, such as this tapestry that was made by diasporan Armenians in China.





I could not for the life of me get a non-blurry photo of it. The most interesting thing about it is that, though its makers were Armenian, Christ, the thieves and his disciples all have Asian faces.



There were lots of very intricately embroidered cloths and tapestries and vestments, like this one:




And of course, no Armenian museum is complete without a paean to the Armenian alphabet:



But the most important artifact in the museum (if it is indeed real), is this fragment of the Cross of Christ. I've never seen one that large, so I admit I have my doubts. But what really bothered me was that, if the folks at Echmiadzin truly believe this is a piece of the Cross, what is it doing in the museum? Shouldn't it be in the church?



So after the museum, we went into the main church ...



... which was built above a pagan fire temple, the ruins of which you can still see on the special tour:



The story goes that Christ came in a vision to St. Grigor Lusavorich (Gregory the Illuminator, credited for introducing Christianity to pagan Armenia in 301 AD), and instructed him to destroy the temple and build a church in its place.

Snow!!! Snow!!! It's not supposed to snow!!!!! What the ****!!!

So, it snowed yesterday. And how do I know that? Well, due to airline issues, I'm still here. My new flight is set for Sunday, so I'm in good old Armenia for another 5 days. And if that isn't enough, it snowed!!!!! Damn snow. It's 65 degrees and sunny on Monday. Masha and I were out playing cards, enjoying some hot chocolate and teas at some of the nice outdoor cafes that have sprung up around the Opera square in the last couple of years. No more trees in the area, but the shady umbrellas that have taken their place are a nice touch. Still waiting until they brick all the grass, but I geuss that progress is still a couple of years away. They did spray paint some of the brick green on some of the boardwalks. Wonder if that is their version of "greening up Yerevan"? After all, it was Earth Day on Sunday.

Anyway, I digress. So on Monday, Masha and I are outside playing cards. On Tuesday, after I find out I'm not leaving until Sunday (flights aren't a regular thing in Armenia unless you want to fly to Moscow, and I'm not quite up for that adventure yet), it's raining. And then it's snowing. Huge clumps of the stuff. So, Masha and I drag some friends out and we spend 4 hours INSIDE a tea shop, lamenting the weather. Try it sometime and let me know how depressed you get.

Anyway, so after a depressing day (but highlighted by the fact that I get to stay another 5 days with Masha), we came home, made lasagna and watched a movie. I was going to put in "300" (yes it's out on DVD here), but since we had watched Apocalypto on Monday, I didn't think that Masha could handle all of the blood and guts for a second night. So, it was a "Swingers" night. She'd never seen it. Don't think it's going to be in her top ten listh, though. She did marvel at how Vince Vaughn's body has kind of gone downhill since that movie. Tonight I think we'll try "Spys Like Us". You can never go wrong with a classic.

Well, now I'm back to my paper. 22 pagos done, but I haven't touched it since last Thursday or Friday. Need to get back to it.
Anywho, enjoy yourself and your Starbucks. I'll be here, typing away and yelling at someone to make the snow stop!!!!! I'm supposed to be on vacation!!!

I'm Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!!!!!!

I just wanted to let you all know that I'm safely in Yerevan, albeit after some adventures. First, the airport has a new terminal. So, that was nice, but of course it's not totally finished. They get you off the plane, put you on a bus and then drive you past the old terminal and up to the new one. Gotta show off the new stuff before it's even finished. But it is nice inside and the visa stuff is a lot easier nowadays. They actually have a line system and give you the forms on the flight to fill out, so that's helpful. And for those that can't figure it out, they have a nice little stand that flashes electronic numbers that tell you which visa station is open. All very helpful, when people actually figure out that they are supposed to pay attention to them. But alas, no such luck today. It's still the "elbow in the eye, shove with the hip" fight to be first. Ah, good times in Hayastan.

After all that, Masha and I proceeded to get ourselves stuck in the elevator at her apartment for an hour. Got in
the elevator with my bags, hit the 3rd floor button, got to the 3rd floor, but the doors wouldn't open. The lights on the buttons went out, the buzzer didn't sound after repeated pushes, and there was no phone inside to call for help. So Masha had to use her cell phone to call friends in the building, who went down to alert the guards. And then the adventure really began. Just so you know and are informed as to proper Armenian "elevator opening" procedures: First, you tell the passengers to hit the elevator buttons to see if that opens the door. Damn, we hadn't thought of that, but alas that didn't work. Step Two: Try a pry bar. Apparently the pry bar didn't work (but they tried for a good 30 minutes). Step Three: Just use your hands to open the doors. Uh, yea, because the pry bar didn't work, the hands will. Finally came Step Four: After about an hour of trying brute strength, they got into the elevator shaft above us and manually opened the doors with the safety lever on top. Asked as to why they just didn't start with Step Four, its because it's not proper procedure. Maybe we should have bribed them to just skip to Step Four. Ah, good times.

Well, now I'm here. I've driven Masha to work, driven to the market, went back to the Embassy and had lunch with Masha
and now I'm just lounging. Trying not to fall asleep so I can get over this jet lag. Just relaxing and trying to avoid writing my paper for graduate school. I'll let you know how that goes.

Levon's Divine Underground

Katie visited from D.C. a couple weeks ago, so on a Sunday afternoon, she and I, Taline and Sonya drove out to the Yerevan suburb of Arindj to visit Levon's Divine Underground. Though the name would be fitting for a hip club or a punk band, it actually refers to a network of subterranean caves dug by one man - 66-year-old Levon Arakelyan. Levon has been digging these caves for 22 years. He says that God told him he will need to dig another 28 years before he is finished, and before the reason for his digging is revealed to him. This is Levon.



The directions to Levon's house read something like this:"make a left at the post office, park at the end of the road, walk down the dirt path and take a right at the rusty pipe." When you get to Arindj, you basically walk around asking folks where Levon's house is. This is his house.



We banged on the door for a few minutes, until Levon popped out. Didn't bother asking us why we were there; apparently the sight of four Western-looking girls with cameras was pretty self-explanatory. We walked through this door ...



... and entered into Levon's underground world. Levon began digging after his wife, Tosya, asked him to dig her a pit to keep her potatos fresh. He dug a couple of meters (the deeper the hole, the colder the potatos), and then decided he quite liked digging. He kept going.



That was in 1985. He did not have an overarching vision. Levon says that directions come to him in dreams and visions. Once he begins his day's work (he told us he digs 18 hours a day), he knows how many centimeters he will dig, and in what direction.



When you enter Levon's Divine Underground, you descend on a staircase made of what appears to be soft clay. Levon digs the rooms without any support structure, a fact that sat uneasily in my mind, particularly when I considered that Armenia is earthquake-prone. Still, Levon has had thousands of visitors and no one has been buried alive yet.







This is the prayer room. Levon considers himself a religious man, though he usually spends his Sundays digging. After he had completed the room, he says, he realized it was the perfect place for people to make a wish. He asked which of us wanted to make a wish in the room, and then made the rest of us clear out into another room while each took her turn.



































Above are Levon's tools, and a giant pile of the dirt he removes with them, sitting on the street outside his house.




















The End.

Can't get enough of Armenia (or Masha)

Well, I just can't seem to escape Armenia. I just got tickets to head back to Armenia in 4 weeks. I'll be over there for 2 weeks. You know, just got to fill up the passport. But it's really a chance for me to be humiliated with how much Armenian I've lost. Masha gets the pleasurable experience of ridiculing me in public and correcting my unpronounceable Armenian. She started last trip when we went and saw my host family. Wasn't pretty. This trip will won't be much prettier. Have to break out my old sign-language techniques from early language training.

But really, it's kind of a mini-birthday present to me (from Masha) and a way to feed my need to see her. I know that I'll be spending the next 50+ years of my life with her, but it feels too long since I last saw her (I know that it was only January, but hey cut me some slack) ;)

It'll be a fun two weeks. I'll be working on my thesis paper for grad school, so I don't know how much fun that part will be. But hopefully I'll get out and maybe see my host family or head down to Vayk. Definitely see some old friends (one who has a new baby) and just check out this year's new crop of Armenian hooch. Anybody know how the mulberry harvest is supposed to be? You know, priorities!!!!! ;)

Speaking of priorities, true to a woman who is getting married, she is already scouting out friends' homes where she can store her wedding dress away from my prying eyes. Too bad I can't just search her pockets like she did while searching for the engagement ring.

Well, I'm sure that we'll post some pictures while I'm there, so check it out. Hopefully the weather will be nice and we'll be able to get out and enjoy the evenings (and spy on the couples in Make Out Park).

Trip to Shirak Marz

On March 6, Irina (my Armenian colleague), Ruben (our driver) and I set out for a two-day trip to Shirak Marz, the northwestern region of Armenia. Shirak sits in the corner of Armenia formed by the Turkish and Georgian borders. One of its cities, Spitak, suffered a tragic earthquake in 1988, which registered 6.8 on the Richter scale, killed more than 25,000 people, and devasted the entire region. We didn't stop in Spitak, but did spend a lot of time in Gyumri, which also suffered a great deal of damage. Gyumri is the center of the region and the second-largest city in Armenia. Some effort was made to rebuild it, but reminders of the disaster are everywhere.



We stopped in Gyumri for a cup of Armenian coffee (that's what it's called here, but you may know it as Turkish coffee, Greek coffee or Arabic coffee) and then continued north to visit a couple of villages. Though spring has sprung in Yerevan, and to some extent in Gyumri, it definitely is still winter in northern Shirak Marz.











Our mission was to talk to people about the upcoming parliamentary elections, which will occur May 12. Unsurprisingly, we learned that politics is secondary to people who don't have gas or running water. The people of Ashotsk, the first town we visited, were happy with their current parliamentary representative, because he paid out of his own pocket for diesel fuel so that the snowplow could clear the path to the main road.

Poor quality roads are a chronic problem for the residents of Armenia's poor and remote villages, where most make their meager living by growing vegetables or milking their cows, and need an open artery to sell their products.












Many village residents are earthquake refugees from Spitak or Gyumri. Partially built apartment blocks, meant to house those who lost their homes in the earthquake but abandoned for lack of funds to complete them, are a common sight in the region.



We spent the night in Gyumri, at the one-story hotel Berlin (German-built, hence the name). The next morning, we met with human rights activists, the deputy marzpets (regional governors), and representatives of several political parties. As we drove from meeting to meeting, I couldn't help but notice how many statues there were.


Though I saw no statutes of Lenin in Gyumri (which was formerly called Leninakan), there was a prominent statue of Stepan Shahumian, the leader of the Baku Bolsheviks. Shahumian was a buddy of Lenin's, and translated the Communist Manifesto into Armenian. He was captured and killed by anti-Bolshevik forces in Transcaspia (now Turkmenistan) in 1918.


This is definitely my favorite statue in Gyumri. It is Charles Aznavour, a French singer of Armenian descent who one of the most famous Armenian diasporans in the world (see also Cher - born Cherilyn Sarkissian - and Dr. Kevorkian). As far as I know, Aznavour has lived his entire life in France, but he operates a charity in Armenia. There is a square named for him in Yerevan, as well. Last summer, he came to Yerevan last summer during his farewell tour, and sold out a concert in Republic Square, with tickets selling for more than $100 a pop.








This is Gyumri's World War II monument. It's not particularly noteworthy except for the fact that I think the woman looks like she is serving tea in a very adamant fashion.




On Wednesday, we left Gyumri, and stopped in several towns on the way back to Yerevan. Among them was Azatyan, whose faded sign still bears the seal of the Armenian Soviet Socialist Republic. (It's much easier to forget, while in Yerevan, that Armenia used to be a Soviet country. Out in the regions, the Soviet Union doesn't appear quite dead. The picture underneath the Azatyan village sign is of a six-inch layer of cow dung, drying so that it can be cut into bricks that later will be burned for heat.





My experience upon returning to Yerevan after trips like this always seems the same. First, there is relief at returning to my comfortable, heated apartment with 24-hour running water. Once that wears off, discouragement sets in as I count the flashy SUVs on the street and note that, although life for the Yerevantsis has become easier during the two years I've lived here, life in the regions is as difficult as ever.