Day 1 Valentine’s Day, 2019

This trip over to Armenia, ancestral home of the kith and kin of Kourtney, Kendal, Kylie and Kim began with flight FZ717 to Yerevan from Terminal 2, Dubai International. Taken initially by our regular Abu Dhabi driver, we had to change to a normal taxi at a Dubai hotel because of the risk of heavy fines for a non-registered taxi going into the airport. Our flight was delayed, so we spent a while in Paul, the French bakery chain, where I enjoyed a very high quality turkey sandwich and chocolate cake. We were just about to board when they told us to sit down again in the departure lounge and we were held up while they changed the plane. It turned out that a technical problem made the original plane unsafe. I can say with one hundred per cent certainty that I’m glad they did this! Louella was upgraded to business class, for no other reason, as far as I could see, than that she had asked for a rubbish bin for her empty coffee cup. She enjoyed first class treatment while we had….decidedly non-first- class treatment, although the prices of food and drink were much cheaper than on most airlines .

We finally arrived at a very sleep Yerevan airport just after 6 p.m. We were interrogated about who we were travelling with, the purpose of our visit and the nature of our employment before being released into the freezing temperatures of the Armenian capital. It is clear that Yerevan has one foot firmly entrenched in the post war Soviet era, whilst trying to move with the times. Relic Ladas and Trabant cars nestle side by side with more modern vehicles. These people, grim faced and staring have endured much struggle and turmoil over the years and this is etched into their DNA. The devastating earthquake of 1988 left 25,000 dead, while the war with Azerbaijan over the territory of Nagorno Karabakh affected the country’s economy badly too.   The local songs, predominantly in minor keys, blare out over the radio and in pubs and karaoke bars, infused with national pride, a vodka seasoned joie de vivre in the face of adversity and a deeply enforced sense of hardship and toil.
An undercurrent of suspicion, of underground activity, takes you back to an era when you really could trust no one if you valued your kneecaps, or indeed your life itself. How free are these people now? How free to say aloud what comes into their head or what their body tells them?

We were picked up and taken to our accommodation, a spacious, modernised two floor apartment housed inside a block that looked anything but modern and was accessed by a creaking, graffiti bedaubed lift that is anything but spacious. The trip to the eighth floor was an experience. Arriving at the top our driver fished the key out from under the doormat, showed us how to regulate the heating and connected us to the internet. We sorted ourselves quickly before venturing into the night time to see what the capital could offer. Bitterly cold, we turned left at the end of the road and crossed a really busy road towards a huge neon windmill that looked like a bar. One bar had a sign on the door refusing entry to dogs and basketball players, and this rule clearly extended to UAE British School teachers too, as the waitress told us, “No!” with an emphatic hand gesture. We tucked our tails between our legs and returned to our food quest, walking through a variety of urban art exhibits and finally settling on a craft beer bar/restaurant called…damned if I can remember, or find the name again. The prices here were extraordinary. It was less than £1.50 for a hefty litre of beer and the whole meal, for four, all food and drink, came to about £35, ridiculously cheap. The place was busy, and we were unable to get a booth, as it was Valentine’s Day, but we did end up here again on the last night, to pull our own pints from our own private taps. After here we headed back towards the apartment, stopping off in the sedate Duet bar across the street for a mojito before braving the lift, whose demise is surely imminent. My comment about somebody cutting the elevator cables was not warmly received. And finally some time after midnight we retired to our toasty rooms to get some sleep.

Day 2

We slept in a while before heading out at 9.30 for breakfast to Impresso coffee shop in Vardanants Street. It was such a relaxing place that we spent well over an hour there. Old black and white Charlie Chaplin silent films played on two large TV screens, accompanied by jazz covers of pop songs, old and new, with a strong bent towards Coldplay. Louella got up and started to play the piano. The music was switched off and the waiter could be seen talking to other customers. I’m not sure whether they were talking about their enjoyment of the music or the cheek of the foreigner who had just walked in and started playing without asking. As we ate our full-English grease-bound fayre, we discussed getting tattoos of inspirational Arabic quotes while deliberating on how to spend our two full days in Armenia.

From there we set off for the office of the tour company which owned our our air b n’ b. On the way there we stopped off to look at various things and my photos bear witness to the following: took a picture of a seedy cellar massage place to send back to Peter; walked past trees with simple, almost childlike colourful paintings; saw a spooky black widow-like figure walking past what looked like a museum to communism; looked at the art work outside the theatre, a large spidery war of the worlds like creature, the twelve zodiac signs around a pool without water; went into a souvenir shop to look at fridge magnets and postcards; stood outside the reconstruction of Tchaikowsky music school as children came out with parents clutching violin cases; picked up/adopted three dogs who decided to follow us to eternity and back, even running the gauntlet of busy traffic to cross the road with us; and finally we went up some stairs to Armenia Tours where we felt like the only customers. They were exceptionally helpful and tailored our two itineraries to include all the things we wanted to see and do. From there it was all go.

Grabbing a quick coffee, we had half an hour before leaving for the slopes of Tsakhkadzor, 60 km north east of the capital. We drove out of town, up the hills and into progressively more snow until we reached what is Armenia’s primary ski resort. It was a bit of a shambles, not very well explained, and the level of English was minimal, so much so that we paid a basic rate, then had to pay a bit more for a guide, a bit more for the helmet and goggles, the jacket, etc etc. It’s actually really good value for money in comparison to established ski resorts in Western Europe. After about half an hour of to- and fro-ing we were finally kitted out for skiing and snowboarding. One of us, to remain nameless, lost his balance and fell over walking to the ski lift, which transported us, skis dangling, to the top. My guide, an old Armenian, had about four words of English: left, right, open and “No, no, no, no, no!” which he seemed to use quite frequently as we crisscrossed and descended the beautiful, crisp yet powdery slope.

I was actually a little taken aback that we were let loose on that slope at once. I thought there would be some kind of training first. The snowboard guide who kept appearing alongside and had a slightly better command of English, contradicted everything the other man had told me about position of skis and balance, leading me to feel completely disorientated. After ninety minutes, however, and after taking a decision to go with my instinct and feel the lie of the land, I felt like I was just about getting a grip of the technique. And then it was time to hand everything back, pay the guides and call it a day.  

We drove next to the picturesque Kecharis Monastery, an 11^th to 13^th century medieval monastic complex a few minutes down the road. The snow and the blue skies allowed for some very sharp photos of a place that once housed some of the country’s top scientists and p[oliticians in the Middle Ages. A major centre of calligraphy, hundreds of manuscripts were created and copied here.

Our final stop on this packed first day was Lake Sevan. It is the largest body of water in Armenia and the Caucasus, a visually striking sight, similar to how I imagine Alaska when it has snowed. The light was heavenly and it was really refreshing (that’s French for bleeding freezing)  to walk out onto the flimsy wooden walkway and soak in the divine views as the sun prepared to say ciao. Before driving home, we did a series of Abbey Road mock ups on the snow covered, tree-lined avenue leading from the lake.

That night we ate in Lavash, a restaurant on Tumanyan Street and just up the road from our apartment. Named after the soft, thin, unleavened bread that is found all over that part of the world, this Armenian restaurant was packed to the rafters, and we were probably fortunate to get a table, albeit upstairs in the smoking section. After a day out in the snow, the only thing to do the job was a delicious thick broth with small dumplings in it and some meat packed small sausages cooked in a blackberry sauce. It was such a nice menu. The only downside was that Sinead had to wait until we had finished to get her food. By way of apology they cut a heart in to the hollowed out pumpkin that contained her meal. Next we had a beer in an underground pub full of teenagers who tried to get us to dance before their chaperone arrived and they went suspiciously quiet. Adorned with bizarre art forms showing decapitations and amputations it was not the best pub in the world but satisfied our novelty factor needs. The girls went down into another one but beat a hasty retreat after looking inside and seeing a group of naked men cavorting suggestively. From there we then went back to Duet which did not fail to disappoint us with its quiet charm and then home to bed ready to face another tour the next day.

Day 3

Shortly after 8 am on the Saturday morning we set off from Yerevan, after disturbing an as yet unopen café and imploring the barista to tend to our caffeine needs. This was to be our only intake of food or drink until we guzzled ten varieties of wine late that morning. We drove an hour or so out of Armenia’s capital. to Artashat and the monastery, Khor Virap (Armenian for deep dungeon or pit of oblivion), for stunning views of the snow-capped slopes of Mount Ararat in neighbouring Turkey. Immediately on leaving the minibus, we had doves (technically pigeons) placed in our hands to release into the glorious blue skies above, a re-enactment of something similar performed by one Mr Noah, whose boat is said to have come to rest on top of the mountain. After the flood when God sent a rainbow as a covenant promise never again to flood the whole earth, the eating of meat was first allowed and Noah started to drink wine. Interesting considering we were on our way for a bit of the old wine tasting. Truly following in the footsteps of the old dude himself. Maybe he drank wine fermented from the same Armenian fruit as us.  Khor Virap is an interesting religious complex, a collection of buildings and annexes with graffiti carved into the stone, a lot of it dating back to WW1. Even before it became a monastery in the 17^th Century, the former royal prison site was famous as it held patron saint, Saint Gregory the Illuminator, for 13 years. He was the first bishop of Armenia and was responsible for converting the king and establishing Armenia as a Christian state. The king had demanded the execution of a group of nuns fleeing persecution in Rome and on doing so was struck down by a disease that caused him to behave like a wild boar. His sister had a vision that Gregory was the only person who could save him. The prisoner was released, prayed successfully for his healing and oversaw his conversion. We were fortunate (or not!) to go down a metre square hole onto a metal ladder attached to the rock face and into the underground dungeon.  In spite of the bright picture of Gregory it had a very heavy, oppressive atmosphere, almost claustrophobic, with a feeling of not enough oxygen for the five of us. One Indian lady was too scared to come down and it was probably a good job, seeing as it was quite hairy going back up again. In another part of the monastery complex we lit a candle each. I placed mine away from other candles in a tray of sand and grit. As it stood, emitting light and illuminating a Madonna and child painting, it felt like Abu Dhabi or Dubai at first, something shining in a desert place, but my thoughts then turned to Jesus and his forty day fast in the wilderness, the son of god shining in that desert.

From here we headed out again to the Areni Winery, doing our Noah proud, and taking in the excellent, arty décor. We went upstairs to avail ourselves of the services (bogs) before starting the tasting. Louella once again played piano without asking and only apologised afterwards. Can you see a pattern developing? Our empty stomachs were able to taste all manner of wine, crafted from all manner of fruit. We walked amongst the barrels and then outside into what was still a beautiful day.

Then we started driving up towards Jermuk and the snow started coming down more heavily. Now obviously when it gets colder your bladder contracts and the liquid starts looking for a place to go and some members of our contingent were pretty relieved when we finally found a restroom. It was a small restaurant which was opened up for us and we enjoyed winter wonderland views through the windows from our table. At this point it was decided to go back to the capital because of the risk of being stranded in the snow. It meant we weren’t able to take the cable car or bathe in the hot springs but we couldn’t run the risk of missing our flights the next day. On the way back the driver became involved in a series of heated exchanges with the office of the tour company as they tried to get him to compensate by taking us to other places and he tried to explain that we wanted to go back to Yerevan. In the end it was decided to take us to the airport for free the following day  seeing as our tour was finishing a couple hours earlier than expected due to the heavy snow.

That evening, our last, we went back to the place where we’d gone the first night, though we managed to secure a booth this time as it was a bit quieter. This allowed us to be pullers of our own pints! I ordered a steak platter that was virtually a whole cow, diced, seasoned and barbecued. It was amazing, and like I’ve already said, we paid less than £10 a head for all food and drinks.

Our final stop of yet another busy day was ARLY music club and karaoke where we spent a couple of hours drinking bottles of beer and listening to some really top  notch singers blasting out powerful ballads in Russian and Armenian. Some very touching romantic ballroom dancing completed the scene. There was one girl who obviously thought that Armenia should have a monarchy. This self-proclaimed “queen” of the club had dozens of roses on her table and got up to dance in front of a large mirror and ask questions about the fairest of them all. She nearly had a black eye to destroy her fairness as she got a little too fresh with a man who was with his girlfriend. Fight averted she went to sit back with her roses and we set off on the fifteen minute walk back through the shopping area, to the flat for the night.

Anyway, dear reader, this concludes my Armenian diary. We didn’t meet the Kardashians or their Armenian Kousins but we were treated to a fascinating insight into their heritage and their people. I have not really got a lot more to say, except for sleeping, getting up, taking the shuttle to the airport, checking in, wondering whether Sinead was being detained again, enjoying omelettes in the bright terminal and heading off, away from the Caucasian snow fields and back to the desert sands of the UAE. 

Si@cre8ivation