Papik Tatik

During my trip through Nagorno Karabakh, I visited the Gandzasar Monastery. Thankfully, a friend's co-worker saved me from another marshutka ride and drove me north from Stepankart (NK's capital) to the Monastery. On the road out from Stepanakert the Papik Tatik (Grandfather, Grandmother) statue awaits drivers. "We Are Our Hills" is the monument's official title. Made of the tuff stone, it represents the grit of the people of Karabakh. It also stands as a political statement, in the 1960s the Armenians wanted the statue, but the government in Baku was not too hot on the idea. My guess, the Azeri government, under the Soviet Union had little interest in strengthening the cultural spirit of the Armenian people. Eventually the statue was agreed to.

Artsakh

I took the week to visit Nagorno Karabakh - known as Artsakh to many Armenians. The republic is not recognized and it is considered "breakaway region." It is a defecto state and functions quiet well. One could make a strong case that it is more democratic than Azerbaijan, Georgia, and Armenia. Armenians fought a bloody war for independence of the region when the Soviet Union began to crumble.



I took a marshutka (minivan) for a seven hour journey. Despite being sandwiched between two large men reeking of cigarettes, the journey was tolerable. The marshutka snaked across southern Armenia with varying rocky landscapes. Once across the Karabakh border larger and greener mountains greeted us. Within 30 minutes I was in love with the lush, alpine landscape.

I arrived in Shushi, a historic city that served as the intellectual and artistic capital of the Armenians, Persians, and Azeries. My bread and breakfast host wanted to walk me through the old roads of the town dotted with white stones. A heavy fog had set over the town. Badly scarred by the war, most buildings - both Soviet and historic lie in ruins. A population of 3,000 or so keep life going and much restoration is underway.



I adored the family I stayed with. I played piano with the daughter, practiced my Armenian with the son, and spoke about the realities of life today and hopes for tomorrow for the people of Artsakh. I drank milk and ate yogurt (matzoon) from the neighbor's cow. I also had my first taste of mulberry vodka. A delicious drink that leaves one without a hangover and somehow more energized in the morning.

I also connected with a fellow diasporan and met her host family. We ate lentils, tomatoes, cucumbers and bread and drank. Later the men in the host family taught us Artsakh dancing which includes a lot of very quick steps, feet stomping and clapping.

Climbing Haytis

Today is Armenian Independence Day -- the country is 18 years old. Will write more on this later.



Yesterday I climbed Haytis, a mountain that is just over 2000 m. I joined a group of climbers who are training to climb Mount Ararat (5000 + m) at the end of this week. At the base of the mountain is a beautiful, small Armenian church. I will put some of these pictures up to view on Flickr. You can just click Armenian Pictures on the right.

One of the climbers in the group was a sprightly 80 year old man. He doesn't drink or smoke and is in fantastic shape. Early in the week I met a Canadian guy who looked at most 28 years old. He was 41. He has been biking across Armenia. It got me thinking about longevity. Maybe the fountain of youth is to bike and climb your way through life?

Heavy fog greeted us as we climbed. Out of nowhere we heard young voices laughing and from the fog appeared a group of Armenian teenagers (in the above picture)carrying the Armenian flag and singing Armenian songs.

At the top of the Haytis, Ara, the leader of the group who will trek to Ararat, took us into his manmade cave for a light lunch of apples, bread, cheese, cake, and tea.



After 30 minutes or so of eating, we left the cave only to be whipped by howling winds and a major drop in temperature. I enjoyed going up more than descending. Lots of stones to be mindful of -- one of the English speaking climbers kept reminding me, Armenia is a country full of stones.

Armenian Philharmonic

Aram Khachaturian remains the most well known composer of Armenian descent. Best known for the ballet Spartacus and Gayaneh, specifically "Sabre Dance"

listen:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eUFWaauGPCs

Last night I got my first taste of classical music here in Yerevan in the venue the concert hall that is named after Khachaturian.



The concert was held in Yerevan's Opera House, built by Alexander Tamanyan in the early 1930s. It fits two large halls into the building one for operas the other for concerts. Wagner's Der Fliegende Hollander, Verdi's Vespri Siciliani, and Haydn's Piano Concerto in D delighted. Though it's not Lincoln Center, at $5, the price is right.

Swayze

I have been interested in how American news is consumed and digested in Armenia. Earlier today a co-worker tapped me on my shoulder and asked, "Did you know Patrick Swayze died?"

I did not know.

The co-worker, in his mid thirties, is an editor, a tech fiend, and a lover of taekwando. Not your average Swayze fan. After talking a bit more to folks, my sweeping generalization of the day is that it seems like everyone here is a Dirty Dancing fan.

I was saddened when Ted Kennedy passed away, my office seemed less concerned. My guess is that the relative indifference to Kennedy's death is that the Senator did not affect their lives (though he was a stalwart on Armenian issues). Swayze however did effect lives. Their is shared nostalgia for this actor. It got me thinking about how American movie stars have a universal appeal and may be (for better or for worse) our most effective diplomats of culture. Unlike our actual diplomats, these actors end up being the transcending messengers of what it is to be American.

The Dirty Dancing story, working class guy meets girl, drama ensues, is similar to many parables cutting across a large swath of cultures. Only changes -- it's a Catskill mountain resort, working class guy is a handsome blue eyed dancer, and the bad guys are a couple that share my last name.

Katchverats

Today, I made my way to Echmiadzin, the Vatican of the Armenian Apostolic Church. I know very little about religious history, so bare with me, but it is said that Gregory the Illuminator had a vision that Jesus came to him and told him to build a church. Echmiadzin was built on this spot. Echmiadzin was the capital of Armenia when the it first embraced Christianity in 301 AD.



Echmiadzin is about 20 kilometers (I've gone metric) from Yerevan. I took a marshrutka (mini-bus) from the center city for 250 drams -- a little less then a dollar.

Unfortunately, I sat next to a persistent man who within the 30 minute ride tried to convince me of many things. No, he was not Armenian, but Persian. He was in his late twenties "touring" Armenia. Iranians come to Armenia quiet often for vacation. The two countries share a border. He claimed to be a history PhD and spoke some English - all wonderful until he started telling me how I should come back to live with him in Tehran where life is peaceful, food is wonderful, and everything is great. I declined politely. He then questioned my views on smoking, drinking, the Muslim religion and President Obama. I was glad to get off the bus.

Having escaped further awkward conversation, I focused on finding Mayar Tachar, the main church. It turned out to be the religious holiday Khachverats, a day devoted to the the holy cross (Surb Khach). It's also a day to remember those who have passed. Mayar Tachar is a three level church with lots of bells and ornate stone carvings.



Beautiful singing voices greeted me when I entered a packed church filled with elderly women with detailed needle points veils covering their hair. After the ceremony, I entered the church museum which holds Surp Geghard, the "Holy Lance" which is my handy Lonely Planet claims was used by "a Roman soldier to pierce the side of Christ on his way to Calvary."

I discovered another church down the road. The original base of the church is 1400 years old (so said the tourist information sign). I walked in to discover a baptism taking place. One of the perks of living in this country - religious holidays and family celebrations of the present are steeped in the past.

Growing Grapes

The picture on the right captures the grape vines above the office balcony. I have been impressed by the do-it-yourself culture here and ability to maximize what will grow from the soil out of a small space. I have so far learned that the best time to prune is during winter when their is less sap pulsing through the vines.

In other news, I have shown my coworkers the joys of American politics with Rep. Wilson's disrespectful "You Lie!" scream fest last night to the President. My coworkers admired Obama's calm response, but were absolutely thrilled by the Speaker's disproving death stare cast at what the Armenian here called "Obama's enemies." The wonders of YouTube. Unfortunately it remains officially banned in Iran, Morocco, Thailand, China, and neighboring Turkey.