It's little more than a quick hop from Kyiv to Yerevan. It's like flying from Baltimore to Chicago, with plenty of time for turns with heavy traffic and a little weather over Midway and O'hare.
But only there's not a whole lot of air traffic over Yerevan. The plane, which had been filling the entire flight with illicit cigarette smoke leaking from the bathroom, simply began its slow descent somewhere over the Black Sea coast, and continued on that way all the hour long way to EVN. The kids next to me were Ukrainians in a rock band, on route to a gig, barely conscious, though enough so to constantly offer me the bottle of Jameson they were drinking. "This is for courage!" They said. "We're scared of flying!"
The sky was brillantly clear on landing, even in the late afternoon in winter, fortune on my side, I inhaled almost choking on the breathtaking scene of Mt. Ararat and the snow capped wonderland scattered about the wheel wells and wingtips.
The Ukrainian band opened another bottle, this time, it was Jim Beam. "What is that one for?" I asked. "We've landed."
"Of course, to celebrate that we are in Armenia!" They responded, befuddled at my nescience.
I'd come to Armenia to celebrate Thanksgiving with friends. This was my fourth Thanksgiving away from home, and I'd learned that the only proper way to spend the best American holiday abroad was with good people. (See blog I wrote on Thankgsiving for the US Embassy in Ukraine's website: http://usembassykyiv.wordpress.com/2011/11/24/its-thanksgiving-everywhere/#more-697)
I immediately liked Armenia. It adds some more post Soviet intensity to what I'm used to in Kyiv. For example, a lot of people wear black leather coats and duckbill hats in Kyiv, but in Armenia, everyone wears black leather coats and duckbill hats. In Kyiv, a lot of men smoke, but in Yerevan, nearly all men seem to smoke, and a lot too. The buildings outside the very center are ruthlessly proletariat.
This scene is actually the entrance to a metro station. The very central one.
But then again it's definitely not like any of the old red star realm I had been to yet. Like Crimea, Armenia is multi-sided crystal reflecting the bright spectrum of influences surrounding it. While Russian is widely spoken, vendors sell saffron from Iran. Turkey looms large over the food and music. One can have a khatchapuri for lunch and hear Georgian. The nut store we visited reminded me of visions of a travel show on Syria.
I always thought that a nation with such a heavily scattered diaspora across the globe should have a population at least of fifty million. After all, I think I knew more Armenian-Americans growing up than I did Canadian-Americans. But apparently, Armenia has only two million people in the whole country. This tiny mountain nation, which reminded me of windswept southern Wyoming, seems to only have half a growing season, so they make the most of it and make good cognac and good concrete instead.
My friends Nick and RaeJean live in Yerevan and they were having a big Thanksgiving feast. A good plate of stuffing is ample motivation required to hop over the Sea of Azov, even if the plane was filled with cigarette smoke. Their friend Ania flew down from Paris (much more of a trip!) and joined us for a few days of stuffing our faces with poultry, potatoes, pumpkin pie and... ...pig fat.
On orders from RaeJean (RPCV Ukraine '03-'05), from the markets of Kyiv, I brought two kinds of "salo", which is basically like spreadable pig fat, black bread on which to smear it, and of course, honey pepper vodka. The two kinds of salo are: 1.) pure fat garlic infused, and 2.) a bit ham-ish with wee-tad specks of meat amongst the fat. I was amazed at the other guests who had never tried salo before literally dove right in. Molotsi folks! The Ukrainian band kids were right - for those uninitiated to salo, liquor is liquid courage.
Thanksgiving dinner was spectacular. An American turkey and an Armenian turkey. Corn, chutney and brussel sprouts. Beer bread. Deviled eggs. Buckets of Nick's homemade beer. Salad, stuffing and Peanuts on TV. And then it began to snow.
On Black Friday, we drove up into the mountains. To the right, you can just barely see the peak of Mt Ararat erupt magestically above the clouds. According to stories this is the mountain that Noah's ark landed on after the flood. It's hard to stop looking at it, given that there are no peaks nearby that come close to rivaling it. We left the traffic clogged environs of Yerevan to visit two sites: the Monastery of Geghard and the Roman ruins of the Garni Temple. Yes, that's right, ancient Rome in Armenia - it's like trying to picture dinosaurs in Anarctica.
From the USAID funded sign at Geghard, I learned that the complex was built in the 4th century.
I really let my new Nikon off its leash on this adventure. I'll shut up and let these very postable pictures speak for themselves.
