Armenian Adventures

How to extend a visa

2008-08-28T07:04:00.001-05:00

I just spent all afternoon trying to extend my visa. I went to the official passport and visa administration building at 2:30. Of course, I didn't now that the whole building shut down from 2-3 for lunch. So, I waited a half an hour while the Armenians around kept trying to cut in line and enter the building when the guards weren't looking. As soon as they removed the sign that said break, it was a mad mob into the building, which consisted of three (or more) floors of numbered shut doors. I asked someone where I need to go and was told the second floor. I got to the second floor and was given a room number, I entered a small office and told the man inside that I needed to extend my visa. Using a calendar, a pencil, his fingers, and a calculator he determined that I needed three days (a fact I already knew), we settled on 4, just in case. Then he wrote how much I owed on a tiny slip of paper and told me to go to a bank and pay the amount and bring back the receipt along with a photocopy of my passport. So, off I went to a photocopy shop where they charged me 3 times the going rate, and then to a bank where I had to stand in one line to give my information, including phone number, address and passport, and then in another line to pay. Then, I went back to the little office where I filled out a visa application and then I was told to make another photocopy and come back. So, I left the building again, got my photocopy and went back to stand in line again for the little office. The man took the photocopy, put everything together in a stack and told me to take it to another room in the building. I did, and then had to go back to the original office again (and stand in line again) to give the man my passport, which he still has. I have been told to come back next week...I hope they let me out of the country!

I obviously have a lot of catching up to do on this visit. I hope to publish some more by the end of the week :)

cairnes

2007-12-01T05:52:00.000-05:00

Cairnes, Australia. Population 177,000, with 10,000 additional beds to sleep the transient tourists. Max Barrington, crocodile taxidermist stares back at me from a business card on the dash of the taxi van. This could be an interesting trip. The warm humid air hit us like a wall when we stepped off the airplane and walked the 100 yards across the tarmac to the tiny terminal. By the time the taxi left the curb it was raining. “No worries, reckon it’ll stop before morning. First rain in five weeks—we’ve needed it, wish it’d stay a bit longer,” says the man behind the wheel—Max, I presume. He got his wish.

Turns out we’d picked the start of the rainy season to schedule our scuba diving adventure. Luckily, the water was warm and so was the air, the rain just added some additional dampness. We stayed at the Traveler’s Oasis for the first few nights while I began my certification course. Uy, a fellow Armenia PCV, had joined me from Texas for the trip. The tiny quarters and coin-operated air-conditioning made the hostel seem a bit dubious at first, but it turned out be a great deal, well-located and full of super cool, like-minded travelers. Our second night we participated in a full-on aussie barbecue, featuring emu, kangaroo, fish, sausages and crocodile. For those not satisfied with the exotic offerings, wichiti grubs were available for an additional five dollars. Of course, Uy got to try one for free, after being randomly selected to participate in a didgeridoo contest and show us all his skills. I think he might be up for a recording contract…

After two days of sitting at the bottom of a swimming pool in full diving gear, we got to head out on the boat! Uy and I were fortunate enough to spend the next three days and two nights on a liveaboard dive boat, full of divers and snorkelers. There were 36 of us in total, including instructors and crew and a mix of skill levels and certifications. After my first four dives I was a certified open water diver, but chose to get my adventure diver certification while out there as well. I did 8 dives in total—Uy, already being certified, got in 11. Every dive was full of wildlife and the reefs got better and better as the days went on. We saw sharks, turtles, eels, rays, fish, fish and more fish. Be sure to check out my pics on flickr! I am most definitely in love with a new sport.

As usual, I was hoping to write more than few paragraphs I managed, but as this has been sitting like this for more than a week now, I figure its time to go ahead and post it. This week I have managed to open a face book page (I know, one more electronic thing for me to try and manage, great) but you can check it out for integrated pictures, updates and communications—facebook.com, just search for me. Just about two weeks remain in Australia now. I will be sad to leave the beaches and the tropics behind, but I am ready to be home and looking forward to starting the next chapter in my life. Hopefully I’ll be seeing a lot of you in person shortly!

quick update

2007-11-10T18:21:00.000-05:00

Just got back from Melbourne for the week--check out flickr for some photos. More to come, but I am off to Cairnes tonight to scuba dive the Great Barrier Reef and am a bit short on time! Big post when I get back. Love to you all,
J

Jigsaw Puzzles

2007-11-02T18:47:00.000-05:00

If asked a few years back where I would see myself today, I am pretty sure my answer wouldn’t have been exactly accurate. I definitely wouldn’t have guessed that two years in the Peace Corps in Armenia would lead to selling Aboriginal jigsaw puzzles at the local market in one of the suburbs of Sydney. Funny where life takes you…as it is, I have honed my skills in putting puzzles together (having done a dozen or so for displays), and I have also refined my skills in marketing and sales.

Ironically, or maybe appropriately, I have always loved puzzles and have always been interested, although not very knowledgeable in the aboriginal culture. It is pretty much the Australian equivalent of Native Americans, another interest of mine. Working at the local markets has allowed me to build a community of friends and acquaintances, and also to be more of a local than a tourist, which is certainly the best way to travel. I get the opportunity to talk to locals and tourists alike, and to sell them a product that I actually believe in—one that is both aesthetically pleasing and educational. Kids should be doing more puzzles and less video games, for sure.

I don’t see a sustainable future for myself in the jigsaw market, but I do see a potential future for myself in Australia. The beaches are beautiful and close by, which is fantastic, but that is not the reason. I love being a stand-in beach bum, but what really impresses me about Australia are the social structures, medical care, environmental consciousness of both citizens and government, and the slightly slower pace of life. In many ways, Australia and the US are very similar, but in these crucial areas, Australia seems to excel.

Most Australians own cars, but use public transport or walk most places instead of driving. Water conservation is forefront on everyone’s mind, recycling bins are everywhere, for all kinds of materials, and the general populace seems to think about what their individual impact is. Maybe this is because the radio, television and local media promote this type of thought, or maybe it is because Australia is not blessed with the wealth of natural timber and water resources that the US is, but either way, their action is admirable.

My travels repeatedly emphasize how fortunate we are as Americans, and how greatly we take that for granted. The land of plenty has us just wanting more. When do we decide we have enough? The US is the easiest place to shop, to drive, to buy and to consume. Everything is more packaged, more processed, quicker and more convenient than anywhere else I have been. (yes, Armenia is an obvious one, but London, Sydney, Paris, and Prague maybe aren’t) Everything is also noticeably cheaper—from food to gasoline to clothing, we pay less than the rest of the world—but it seems to me that at some point we will have to make up the difference and then some.

I just finished a fantastic book called Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, by Barbara Kingsolver (who happens to be my favorite author and has only increased her favor with this book). I highly recommend the book to anyone looking for some answers to how to solve our global impacts and dependencies and start to be local, self-sustaining and environmentally conscious, and eat great to boot! This book only emphasizes the resolutions I have made after travel and peace corps life. It is time for me to live simply, deliberately and wholesomely—not because it is trendy, or because I’m trying to make a political statement, or because I’m a hippie tree-hugger (although I might be)—it is time because it is the right thing to do for my health and my well-being and for that of my community, both local and global.

Golden Gaytime

2007-10-16T19:42:00.000-05:00

As part of my quest to learn as much as possible about Australian culture, I have begrudgingly embarked on a junkfood tour of oz. So far, I think golden gaytime has to be my favorite, both in terms of pleasing my palate and in the literary beauty of the name. Who can resist a golden gaytime? I can’t.

I have also tried madiera cake (known to us yanks as pound cake), cherry ripe (like a cherry flavored mounds bar), cheezles (ring shaped cheese puffs that fit around your finger), mini cheezles, and more that I can’t remember right now because I am preoccupied with golden gaytime.

And then there’s vegemite… I decided that in my almost three months here I need to leanr to like vegemite. This is partly because it is so quintessentially Australian and partly because it is full of B vitamins and good for me. I started with about two bites of toast and a tiny dot of the brown stuff spread around. I have now worked my way up to a full piece of toast and slightly larger (but not much) dallop of the dark brown goo spread very thinly on top of butter. I am starting to like, but certainly not craving it quite yet… There’s still time.

Australia

2007-10-04T19:13:00.000-05:00

Well, I am in Australia now! It still feels very surreal to be here, and yet normal, as if I have always belonged. The predominant style is casual--jeans and t-shirts, flip flops and bikinis, so I fit right in. People have even started asking me for directions. I just say "sorry, I'm an American" and everyone laughs and we continue along. Summer has arrived a bit early here and the weather tends to be in the mid-80's, low-90's during the hottest part of the day (which unlike America, occurs in the late morning and very early afternoon). Evenings and morning are refreshingly cool.

My days have been filled with long walks on the beach (well, actually on lovely paths around the coast), and quick swims in the refreshingly cold ocean. It's been a week now, my days are packed, and I haven't even been to the city yet...not that I'm complaining as that would mean leaving the beach. Of course, I have also been getting over jet lag and a post-flight cold that has knocked me out pretty early each night, but the beauty of such a long trip is that I don't have to worry about missing out on things when I want to just chill and enjoy the moment. Healthy lifestyles and environmental consciousness is part of the culture here--a breath of fresh air (literally) after two years in the developing world, but also a refreshing change from the hurried monotony of work at Meijer.

My first few days here were spent helping Joe sell jigsaw puzzles at a market during the local jazz festival. We will be doing this throughout my stay, mostly on weekends, at various markets throughout the area. It was a great way to talk to people, meet other artists and get an idea of the local culture from an observers perspective. I met a really great woman named Deb who was selling her artwork in the stall next to us--check it out: www.thelivingartist.com I have also met up with Jen, another A13 Peace Corps Volunteer, who is here working on her Masters in teaching English as a foreign language. Other PCV's will soon follow--we are thinking of relocating peace corps Armenia to Australia...I think it could work. :)

This weekend Joe and I attended an Armenian wedding--ironically, the first I have actually been to. It was a lot of fun and definitely like a more modern, developed-country version of what one would see in Armenia. (just think "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" an you've basically got it) I spent the evening entertaining the people I met with my ability to speak Armenian--most of them seemed to think it was a joke when Joe told them I was fluent. Inevitably they would say "say something," and then start giggling and shaking their heads when I did. The skills I have acquired in the Peace Corps will serve me well...

Finally, Sunday was spent as a day trip to the Blue Mountains, which are quite beautiful and certainly call to be climbed and hiked. As we were lacking in time and still wallowing in jet lag (we were with a few guys who just arrived from England), we mostly took in the views and ate great food. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining! But we will go back to the hiking and exploring at a later date. One the highlights of the trip was to see Kangaroos out hopping around in the fields. I even managed a few good pictures. We also ate kangaroo, which was quite delicious, but I am glad we did so before seeing the kangaroos. Kangaroo overpopulation is a problem here, sort of like deer in many parts of the US, and thus they are hunted and the meat is sold in the supermarkets.

I will try to keep regular updates on the blog again (and hopefully do a better job than I did towards the end of Armenia…). I have tons of pictures already, so instead of trying to post a few here and there on this site, I will be posting them on www.flickr.com My username is the same as my email prefix: jroverho, so you can search that way. I have a few up already and should be posting more soon. If time and websapce allow, i may also post armenia and other travel pics. Enjoy!

profuse apologies

2007-04-04T04:28:00.001-05:00

I know what your thinking...how does Jill manage to go almost six months without posting a single entry and then posts 5 in one day? What can I say? I have no excuse other than that I live in Armenia and perhaps that I have grown a bit lazy. The four posts that you will find previous to this one were all written at various times and never finished. Thus, I never posted them. It dawned on me the other day that I probably never will finish them so i decided to just go ahead an stick them on the internet. I hope you enjoy. I will have some new (actually current) posts soon...I promise :)

sock salesman

2007-04-04T04:28:00.000-05:00

The door to door sock salesman came again this afternoon. Yesterday a car drove through the neighborhood honking its horn and selling the cabbages piled floor to ceiling in the back seat. I have no use right now for socks or cabbages yet I want to help the poor people whose lives have been downgraded to this existence of just barely scraping by. The reality is that I can’t help them all, or even a majority of them. I have spent nearly the last two years in the Peace Corps in an attempt to “help them help themselves.” It has been successful, to a degree. But the process of rebuilding a country is a slow one. In the two years I have been here I have seen a modicum of improvement but it isn’t enough for the people who have spent the last 15 years waiting for things to get better again.

Prosperity is promised along with the word “democracy” but no prosperity can come of the level of corruption that abounds in this country at the current time. People have given up on prosperity and democracy along with it. They just want their old lives back. The longer I am here the more I start to think “who can blame them. Sure, they were living under the hard rule of the soviets and had no freedom of speech, nothing to buy, a crooked world view, but they were warm, their houses were intact, they didn’t need to cut down their own fruit trees to heat their homes.

I had a very interesting conversation with a progressive Yerevan family the other day. They talked about how the first few years were dark and difficult but that everyone helped everyone else, they got by in hopes of what was to come. Now it is every man fo himself. People are rude and distrusting. The family says this is because it has simply been too long. People have been in survival mode for so long that are just shutting down and looking out for themselves. I’d have to agree.

electricity (such novelties)

2007-04-04T04:27:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I look in the mirror and I think “hey, I’m an adult,” and that surprises me. I am afraid that I am transforming into the helpless child that everyone seems to view me as. I am not sure how I will react when I can solve simple problems for myself again. This week has been an electronic nightmare. My water heater won’t stop breaking, the last of three times taking the entire fuse box with it. The old soviet rotating fuse contraption that looked as if would open some sort of trap door when turned finally gave up the ghost. The electrician replaced it with a modern fuse with twice as many amps! Of course, my whole apartment is still connected to this one fuse. The brilliance of the whole day was that they had to call my “electreek” (the guy who reads my electric meter, I guess) to turn off the power in the entire building so that they could work on my fuse box. I am sure I am very popular with my neighbors right now.

Of course a shiny modern fuse doesn’t solve all of my problems. I now need to call the guy who originally installed it and get him to move the water heater (which is mounted on the wall above my bathtub) and all of its associated hoses, pipes and even the faucets, several feet to the left. This is because the regulator inside isn’t working (or is set too high), effectively turning my water heater into a steam blaster. The panel that opens the water heater is against the wall prohibiting anyone from actually fixing it. Of course it is…

Oh yeah, and my lamp broke too. In trying to ascertain if it was simply the bulb that needed changing (it wasn’t) I replaced it with a working bulb that I somehow managed to cross-thread and now can’t remove. It seems I can’t even replace a light bulb. I need to get out before I cause serious damage!

The good news is that I am getting out. In less than two weeks I am off to London and Paris with Joe and I am very excited!

Vacuum cleaner!

2007-04-04T04:26:00.000-05:00

I never thought vacuum cleaner could make me so happy. I mean, something that was once a chore is now a reminder of an easier life—a healthier, cleaner life for that matter. There is something therapeutic about aggressively sucking up 20 years (probably more) or cobwebs, dust and dirt. I breathe easier now…literally. But there is something bigger involved as well. I did something small—bought a piece of technology—to make my life easier and more comfortable. I took control over the situation and made it better. But what if I can’t afford to spend 40 dollars on a piece of technology like most of neighbors cannot? My landlord called me again the other day to ask for the rent money early. This time she was much nicer about it and explained that what she wanted to buy was flour, food, and gas for cooking. They were out of all three. As I sit here feeling sorry for myself because my water heater broke and I am heating up my bath water on the stove that puts things back in perspective. I still want my water heater fixed…

I have begun my winter preparations already. It is fall now, but winter is not far behind. Already the produce is changing, the nights are chilly and I have put away the tanktops in favor of the long underwear. That is actually the reson I bought the vacuum clearner—I bought a rug to help keep the room and my poor little feet warm in the winter and I thought I should be able to keep it clean. My neighbor came over the other night and in the midst of admiring my new rug she saw the vacuum and told me that is was a good “style” of cleaning. I’d have to agree.

I had a friends mother in town help with my canning for the winter months (I bought the produce, sugar, and gas for cooking and supplied the jars, she did all the work). I am now the proud new owner of a shelf full of canned tomatoes and peppers, peaches, and raspberry jam. I’ll buy the rest throughout the winter. Dry goods remain year round, as do canned goods such as corn, olives, mushrooms, peas and jams and juices. Most are unaffordable for the average Armenian so they do all their own canning when the produce is so cheap people are practically giving it away. I’ll certainly miss being able to buy a kilogram of tomatoes for less that 25 cents.

I am now working with my counterpart to try and write a grant for trashcans for the city streets. It already has it problems, but if we can accomplish it we will have done a major service to a community that has nowhere to put their trash other than on the ground. The trash service is so unreliable here that most trash gets dumped locally in rivers, etc., and the idea of putting trash in your pocket until you find a trash can is unheard of, probably because there are no trashcans.

We have figured out a system so that people won’t steal the trash cans (problem #1), now we have to figure out how the trashcans will be emptied (the trash trucks don’t work so everything has to be done by hand) and who will do it (the trash truck drivers don’t want to). We also have to figure out how many we need and where exactly to put them. There is also a fear that people will put the trash from their homes in the trashcans because pickup is so unreliable and that the trashcans will overflow onto the streets and stink and look bad. Not that vayk is free of that problem currently….

beans

2007-04-04T04:25:00.000-05:00

I was walking through the crisp newly fallen leaves, bathed by the evening’s perfect moonlight. It dawned on me how at home I had become. Even in the darkest of shadows I knew every crack, bump and step in the sidewalk. The route was as familiar to me as the one I drove to work for years in Bloomington and yet more so because I knew what it felt like and smelled like. I had gone to visit with my host family. It seems that about once a week these days I am headed to their house for dinner, tea, fruit and conversation. I had not gone as a guest, but rather as a strange blue-eyed member of the family. My host mother and I shelled beans and engaged in small talk while my host brother hurried through his already unbearably cold bucket bathing routine.

getting sexual...

2006-10-30T12:43:00.000-05:00

I have been a terrible writer lately, but don’t worry, I have plenty of excuses. For one, I think things just plain stopped being funny or surprising and I started to think that nothing worth writing about has happened to me lately. Not true….I mean just the other day I sat in on a sexual education seminar that some of my fellow volunteers had put on in Yeghegnadzor, where we were asked in complete seriousness if someone could get a disease from NOT having sex (of course, only if they had been having sex already because they were married and then their husband died or something). The seminar was given to room full of young women, aged 16-30, all very eager for information. We passed a condom around the room for demonstration purposes (wrapped, of course) and it went around like a hot potato as if holding it too long would take away ones virginity. We had asked if they wanted to see it prior to passing it around…the answer was a resounding yes. Virginity is very important in this culture and throughout the entire seminar and older women kept admonishing the younger to “remember that you are Armenian” which was all that needed to be said. Still, one young woman wanted to know if there was a way to have sex and still be a virgin. This led us into a very giggly conversation about the different types of sex and about one’s personal definition of sex. One might imagine how that went. In fact, our translator refused to translate part of the conversation. When talking about the birth control pills we were asked what the different colors meant. One of the volunteers explained that during the menstrual cycle the pills are sugar pills to mark the days. This was translated as “during the menstrual cycle the pills have a sweet taste.” Maybe that is to help the chocolate cravings….

In addition to sex education seminars, I have had my hands full in Vayk lately. Suddenly everyone has figured out all at once that I exist, and I am literally being chased down the street by people asking for help or for grants, etc. Even my counterpart seems more into working with me. Maybe she has figured out that I more than half done already. We are currently working on a grant for (much needed) trash cans on the streets and near parks, schools, etc. We still have a few more obstacles to tackle…i.e. can we actually get the trash truck guys to pick the garbage up? How do we make sure that they aren’t stolen? (we are cementing them to the ground) How do we ensure they are actually used? And so on. Still it is a start, and with some added education and city clean-ups we might actually make a small dent in the enormous trash problem in the city.

Another teacher in the community asked me help with a project that she is interested in getting started in Vayk. As it turns out, her boyfriend is the proud new owner of an empty room (old store), which he has renovated and is looking to put to use for the community. What I was able to deduce from our meeting is that she wants a center. I don’t think she really cares what kind of center, just a center, maybe a youth center, maybe an information center, maybe a fitness center, you know, whatever grants are out there, she’ll do that one. Normally I would run away screaming, but for some reason I have decided to try and help her. I think she has a genuine interest in doing something good, she just has no idea where to start or how to go about it. I can help her with that. Her boyfriend sold his father’s car, which he had inherited, to purchase and renovate the room, so that shows me he is dedicated and has already made a serious contribution. So, now we have to decide what kind of center and start the grant writing process. What fun!

My sitemate decided that Peace Corps wasn’t for her and early terminated her service last week, which has led to whole new slew of interesting interactions with community members. It took me about 30 minutes to perfect my speech about why she left, that it wasn’t anyone’s fault locally, that it was her decision, blah, blah, blah. The host family has taken it especially hard as this was their third volunteer and they don’t understand why this time should be any different. They are a little worried about having extra food now stored for winter. I told them not to worry…I would come and eat it. They seemed to accept that. If anything, I hope that this experience allows people to think a little more seriously about the potential difficulties of being a Peace Corps volunteer in their town. I have to travel a little farther to find American friends now, but I am no worse for the wear.

The person who is fast becoming my closest friend in Vayk is an Armenian named Zara who had been an LCF (Language and Cultural Faciliator) for Peace Corps before going to the Netherlands last year to study for a masters in TEFL. She is back now, more westernized than ever, with impeccable English. She has become my new Armenian tutor and we are having a lot of fun with lessons and with talking about cultures in Armenian and English. She asked me to find a movie for her the other day because there was a phrase that she wanted to remember. Turns out that the phrase was “I busted my butt,” to which Joe suggested that maybe we should be using different movies to introduce her to American culture. Hmmmm.

Vayk is quickly cooling down…I turned on my heater on for the first time last week. Winter approaching means a lot more time inside huddled around the heater, and maybe, just maybe, a few more blog entries. I’ll see what I can do.

camp recap...a little late

2006-09-30T04:38:00.000-05:00

Wow. It dawns on me that the summer is over, September is nearly upon us, and I have hardly written a thing….in fact, I think the last camp I managed to write about was the first one. My apologies. Here is the catch up blog (sorry if it is boring…you can always skip).

The second camp was held in Gavar at the local special school (A special school is a boarding school for kids with various disabilities. Interestingly enough, the school was in no way accessible…but that is a tangent for a different day). The staff was kind, helpful and grateful to have a camp in their city. The kids were very well behaved and arrived with a multitude of talents that were displayed throughout the week. One boy was a very accomplished singer and would randomly start singing opera or the national anthem and everyone would stop to listen. Another brought his tin whistle and literally led the other children around like the pied piper, a third decided mid-week to bring his dudook (a double-reed Armenian instrument) and he and the tin-whistle boy started doing duets. Then, a violin showed up. By the end of the week kids were dancing and singing and playing instruments as if this were music camp instead of ecology camp. Not that it matters a whole lot—the kids get a lot out of the lessons and leave with new ideas of how to respect and care for the environment, but more importantly they get a summer camp experience and new friends and adults who care for them and attention from foreigners. That makes a little go a long way.

The next camp was in Martini, where the kids were equally as well-behaved, if not better, although perhaps not quite as musically talented. They were pretty good at belting out the camp song: boom chicka boom…most likely familiar to American camp-goers out there. Every week as I watch these Armenian kids sing the same American camp song twice a day, and beg for it even at the end of the week, I think about American children of the same age, most of whom are way too cool for boom chicka boom. These camps are difficult, cumbersome things to organize, especially in another language and a culture not used to what we are doing. And yet the kids as a whole are so grateful, so well-behaved, so interested in what we have to say and what we are going to do next that the camps become easy….or at least that much more worthwhile.

Martuni was not easy. We earned our sense of satisfaction and every single movie-star moment at the end of the week. It was somewhat of a murphy’s law camp where if there was even the remotest possibility of it going wrong, it did. Some of this was due to miscommunication, some to people not doing their job or not showing up, some to people not taking things seriously, and some to just simple bad luck. I expect for things to go wrong, just not so many things and not all at once. I spent good deal of time actually yelling at people in Armenian who were trying to rip me off or wriggle out of some commitment or who were simply not doing their job and didn’t really seem to care. Unfortunately for me, my Armenian gets really bad when I get angry and I start using all the wrong tenses in all the wrong places. This does not help my case.

I was thinking I could enter this into my tutoring regimen. My tutor could give a topic to be angry about and I could practice yelling at her. Of course I would then have to hope for these annoyances to reoccur but the reality is that they probably will anyway. According to a neatly organized little graphic the Peace Corps handed out to us during training in our first or second month we are currently in a “negativity stage.” The actions of my colleagues and my feelings seem to corroborate this statement but I can’t help but wonder if there is more to it than just the fact that we have been here for a full year and are perhaps starting to get a little sick of it.

It has been an interesting month of what can perhaps be best described as getting too comfortable here and letting my guard down. A series of incidents (of the fairly non-threatening kind that can be mostly laughed about after the fact) have lead me to this realization, and also to the process of putting my guard back up…however one does that. I am still comfortable here, and happy in that fact, but in getting to know my community and learning the language and being known to many people where I live, I have perhaps forgotten that I look like an orange in a sea of apples. Now that tourist season is upon us, I look like any other unsuspecting foreigner, and unless the perpetrator is to strike up a conversation before, say, stealing my wallet, then he/she doesn’t know any difference. Not that said perpetrator would necessarily care if I were an unsuspecting peace corps volunteer instead of an unsuspecting tourist. Although, an unsuspecting tourist probably would have a bit more cash….

The last two camps went equally well, especially considering the level of burn out that was upon those of us who spent the whole summer in this rewarding yet exhausting pursuit. The good news is that the camps are now over!!!!! And were wildly successful in all senses of the word. We were fortunate enough to collaborate with the Birds of Armenia project in two of the camps and took the kids on bird watching excursions after experiencing an interactive bird identification course the day before. I have to say I was skeptical at first. I couldn’t imagine 40 5th and 6th graders getting into sitting quietly and watching birds for hours, but then again I was thinking about kids from the US. It works great in Armenia. The kids loved it and so did the adults. We saw water birds in Martuni and forest birds in Dilijan, and in both cases the kids were correctly identifying them by the end of the day.

Hrazdan and Dilijan (the last two camps) certainly were not immune to the bumps in the road of the other camps. In Hrazdan we had to kick out a boy on the first day after repeated bouts of not listening (blatantly ignoring, actually) his counselors. As was our luck (or misfortune) his grandmother worked for the school and was helping in our kitchen. We asked her to come talk to him and he told her to “shut up.” After a few more similar incidents it was decided that it was time to go. At this point nearly every Armenian adult was in an uproar over our decision. We had already told the boy “one more chance” enough times to render our words ineffective and yet all the adults were begging for “one more chance and then he’ll go home….but he’ll behave this time.” The only reason he had stayed as long as he did was the contradictory messages he was being sent. We were firm even as we were begged every day, by new people each time until the camp ended.

As it turned out, the boy came every day anyway with his grandmother and hung on the outskirts and watched and occasionally helped us run errands. In this capacity he was very helpful, getting the one on one attention he needed, and not having to participate in organized games with other kids, which was not his strongpoint. Unfortunately, these points were lost on many of the adults we were working with, partly I am sure due to the utter lack of discipline for boys in this country, and partly due to an unawareness of any type of behavior modification other than verbal and physical abuse. Since we don’t allow either at Green Camps, our resources were a bit more limited. Maybe he would have responded to being smacked upside the head, but I wasn’t willing to find out. I can hope that he walked away from the week thinking that consequences for actions may exist after all, but who can say.

Now I am back in Vayk catching a few minutes of rest before my parents arrive for a visit. I am swamped in paperwork but welcoming the opportunity to sit and breath…. Soon I get to start thinking about what my next project(s) will be, but for now I am looking forward to showing mom and dad around Armenia and to our upcoming trip to Prague. More later…peace!

Vaytavor the water holiday

2006-07-27T02:06:00.000-05:00

Today, Artur tried once again to kill me. This time with a bicycle. It was only a 35 kilometer ride (we are guessing) but none of it was flat and over half was off road. I was thrilled to be on a bicycle again and even happier to realize that I haven’t forgotten how to mountain bike. I was not, however aware of how far we were going (perhaps neither was he) and we were without water, food or sunscreen. Fortunately (and also unfortunately) it was vartayvor—an Armenian holiday where kids throw water at everyone in the streets, and also at passersby on bicycles… I was the proud recipient of a 5-gallon bucket at point-blank range. I suppose I should feel fortunate that only my sunglasses ended up in the ditch rather than all of me. Artur was protected by his video camera around his neck, but the American girl behind him was far more interesting anyway. Come to think of it, I must have been quite a site. An American in a tiny village past Ashotsk that rarely sees foreigners, let alone a woman clad in shorts riding a bicycle with an Armenian man who looks like he might as well be a foreigner with a little blond boy sitting on the luggage rack behind him.

It was somewhat of a wild goose chase that we had embarked upon. We were in search of an old (possibly 10,000 years) village called Astaditaran that had recently been rediscovered. Artur had heard about it and knew "approximately" where it was located and suggested we take his newly acquired mountain bikes (bought from a peace corps volunteer who recently finished her service) and try to find it. I thought that sounded like a good idea… During the ride Artur told me that during the genocide the Turks knew there was a village around there but couldn’t find it to destroy it, and thus it remains an ancient piece of history.

We made our way off the main road, passing through successively smaller villages until we arrived at a tiny old church and graveyard that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. There was a group of people there slaughtering a sheep and the children had smudges of blood on their foreheads. Artur asked around and it was determined that the remains of Astadiataran, the village we were search of was on top of/behind the large mountain looming directly in front of us. As we had already been riding for two hours without food or water we decided to turn back and try it again another day. Maybe with a jeep.

It was on the way back that I ran into water the troubles (namely being drenched), which felt good at first but as the wind picked up started to get a little chilly. Fortunately it was easier going than coming and minus the head wind and the last long gradual climb, it felt like we were back in no time. Which was good as I had just enough time to change clothes and drink some water before I was whisked off to a vartayvor picnic with Artur’s family. His mother and sister and her family were there as well as a relative from Tblisi, and it was really quite an enjoyable time to hang out with the family in what almost seemed like a normal family holiday celebration. It was relaxed, the kids all played together (and threw water on each other and their parents at times), the grown-ups talked a prepared food and talked. I was a guess and wasn’t allowed to help with preparation, so Artur’s mother walked me around her garden and showed me all her fruits and vegetables and flowers. Turns out a lot of the Russian names are the same as English.

After eating I took a much hard-earned nap and then enjoyed coffee and fruit and pastries in a kitchen that in many ways reminded me of my own grandmothers’. Later Artur’s sister brought out the Peace Corps cookbook that an old volunteer had left behind and I translated recipes into Armenian, which was, well, interesting. Apparently it worked because that evening Alla made oatmeal cookies from memory of the translation and they turned out pretty good.

This trip was the first time I had been to Ashotsk alone without the benefit and companionship of fellow volunteers (who have studied Armenian longer than I have). I was a bit nervous about the conversation aspect, wondering what we would talk about, how well I would understand, etc. It turned out to not be an issue. Artur is a very patient man who is content to tell stories and ask questions that drive the conversation without me having to say a whole lot. He knows when he is using a word that I don’t perhaps understand and is able to explain it and he understands what I am trying to say when I am using the wrong word in the wrong tense in the wrong place.
Language is a funny thing—an equalizer and a divider. I think of this a lot, especially when I am speaking to Alla whose first language is Russian. She learned Armenian as I did, living here and trying to figure it out. Thus when we speak to each other we are speaking in a common language that also happens to be a second language to both of us. Sometimes I know the word she is searching for, sometimes she helps me, and Russian and English end up scattered everywhere in between. This seems to be an experience not many Americans encounter and yet it is so common here and I am assuming the same of Europe, Asia, etc.

A few weeks ago I was riding with Artur and Alla on their way to pick up their new bicycles. We passed a few cyclists on the road near Dilijan, honked and waved, and then suddenly Artur slams on the brakes and jumps out of the car. "I know these guys," he says in Armenian "They road through Ashotsk a few days ago." Sure enough. Turns out Artur knows a bit of German as well, which I realized as he began to speak to one of the riders. I began speaking to the other in English (our common language), and when Artur had trouble with a word he said it to me in Armenian, I translated it into English to the guy I was talking to, and he translated it into German to the guy who was talking to Artur. Later that same week in Gavar an Armenian man walked up to me and my friend Katy and started speaking Spanish. Having both learned Spanish in high school we were able to understand what he was saying (miraculously perhaps) but having spent so long studying and speaking Armenian, only Armenian words would come out of the foreign language department of our brains. And thus we conversed—the man speaking Spanish and us responding in Armenian.

Artur and Alla are resilient, flexible and driven. They know multiple languages, they are talented athletes and accomplished coaches, and above all they are kind, compassionate people who only want to see their kids (both their own and the ones on their teams succeed.) It saddens me to see people with such a passion for something and such a willingness to share be beaten down time and time again by a government and fellow countrymen with little foresight or appreciation for things such as sport in their country. This weekend I watched a group of pre-teenagers and teenagers training twice a day on roller-skis on the main highway that runs through Ashotsk. They get up early in the morning and train for an hour and half and then come back and do it again in the evening. In between they train on a homemade circuit training station that Artur welded out of scrap metal. These are some of the top athletes in the country and they get no support, many of them hardly have tennis shoes to wear on their runs.

Artur starts telling me stories. He shows me a video of a huge party thrown by another family, the tables laden with expensive food and drinks. The he tells me that their other son needs ski boots because Artur doesn’t have the right size for him but the family says they can’t spend the hundred dollars because they don’t have any money. Artur estimates that they spent at least several hundred dollars on the party for the other son. They also have a computer that the kids only use to play games, but ski boots are not a priority. Skiing is probably the one constructive things these kids have going for them. I have seen it with my own eyes and yet somehow the values of exercise, hardwork, competition, and healthy lifestyles slip by unrecognized. Artur will probably end up buying the boots for this kid like he does for many of them. Not because he is rich, but because he believes in them.

He tells me of another girl who arrived at their door step for training knock-kneed and so out of shape she could barely run 100 yards. They worked with her, helped her, and she became a champion. In response the parents took their daughter, moved away and told everyone about how they themselves had made their daughter into a champion. Artur and Alla never got any credit. Time and time again, and yet they continue. Kids stay at their house before competitions so they can train properly and maybe more importantly eat properly and get a good nights sleep.

I want to help them, to give them everything I can, to shove them into my suitcase and take them to America. Of course the best I can do right now is to spend time with them, help them to get the equipment and supplies they need, and maybe someday find Artur a job somewhere else….

catching up

2006-06-12T02:51:00.000-05:00

So much has happened in the past month or so since I have managed to produce an entry that I hardly know where to begin. Time is flying by now, and is marked by milestones such as the first camp of the summer, the arrival of the A14s (the new group of volunteers in Armenia) and the beginning of the departure of the A12s. It is hard for me to believe that I have already been here a full year. It seems like so long ago that we stepped off that plane and met a mass of cheering volunteers and staff members, and yet it seems like just yesterday, I remember it so clearly. Now suddenly I am a part of that mass, and have knowledge and wisdom to offer the next generation. In some ways it is difficult to let go of our status as "the new volunteers" and in other ways it is a refreshing reminder of just how far we have come in such a relatively short period of time.

I have spent much of the last week working with habitat for humanity and helping to translate for a global village group that came to work in Armenia from one of my sitemates’ family’s church. It was rewarding work, albeit tiring, and at the end of the week, not only did we have a finished house to corroborate our efforts, but also a number of new friendships and exchanges between Armenians and Americans. Suddenly I feel more Armenian than American in ways as I am looked to by the Armenians for help and assistance in communication.

The homeowner began talking my ear off as soon as he figured out that I spoke Armenian, and in many ways reminded me of my host father—a joy to be around. I arrived at the work site towards the end as I had been occupied with the first Green camp, and found myself painting trim for the better part of the day. The homeowner asked me if I had ever done that sort of work before and gave me a quick lesson. Then he told me that if I did a good job he would take me to Russia with him to work there. He ended up giving me a "5" (the equivalent of an "A") but I don’t think I have to go to Russia…. Later when the cement was poured for the sidewalk, he drew small figures of us working and we signed our names in the wet cement. He explained to me numerous times that in ancient cultures they drew pictures of animals and of their lives in the rocks….we are doing the same in front of his house. I am about to go down in Armenian pictograph history as Jill, the stick figure with the paintbrush.

The group’s stay ended with a joyfully tearful house blessing ceremony, in which an Armenian priest blessed the home, the family and the workers. Emotion was high as the family, who had lived in a metal temporary housing unit not much bigger than a bus for
the past ten years, finally had a home for themselves and their two children. Toast after toast was given to the foreigners who had left their own homes to come across the ocean to build someone else’s home, to people who are not workers, but are here working for people they don’t know, are not related to, were not previously friends with. I have never seen as much physical gratitude, as when the woman homeowner accepted a gift of a photo album commemorating the week of work on her new home.

This, in combination with the completion of the first week of Green Camps, has effectively made up for any lack of productivity I have felt during my time here. I had spent so much time and energy preparing for the camps that I had forgotten what I was preparing for. Going back through the photos and looking at the smiles on the kids’ faces is enough of a reminder, but actually being there to listen to the singing, to join in on the soccer games and to watch the activities taking place gave me the high I need to make it through 14 more months here. The week was hard, really hard, and by the end of it I was so deliriously tired that I hardly knew what end was up, but the sense of accomplishment was enough to override anything.

The first camp was held in a small village of Ijevan, comprised of ten or so apartment buildings. There was not a single separate house in the village—an oddity in a country where villages are usually defined as being exactly the opposite. This particular village was a factory village at one point—constructed exclusively for the purpose of housing the factory workers. The factory has long-since closed and the village has become one of poor pig-farmers.

The camp drew crowds every morning of villagers curious about all the singing, chanting and shouting. The school director and some of the teachers stood on the front step of the school in the heat of the afternoon, watching us for hours on end. The kids arrived for camp two hours early every day to play with each other and with their counselors. The shopkeepers and adults in the village thanked us for coming and for giving this opportunity to their children. The mayor brought ice cream for all of the campers one afternoon and expressed his gratitude to the counselors and staff.

Each camp day begins with the children lining up in their groups and chanting their group names. We do some announcements and then sing "boom chick a boom," an old-fashioned American camp song that is now sung in villages all around Armenia. To someone who is familiar with American summer camps, this all seems very routine, but in Armenia just getting the kids in a line goes against everything they have ever learned. By the end of the week however, they do it without being asked. Seeing big American men singing boom chick a boom at the top of their lungs while acting like a flaky girl might have something to do with it….

The children of the village have rarely had an opportunity to go anywhere else, and although the village boasts a nice school, educational opportunities have been limited. The scheduled field trip for the camp was to Lake Sevan and to several well-known monasteries in the northern region. Sevan is considered a national treasure and is much talked about, but these children had never actually seen it in person. Excitement was high as we boarded a large tour bus for the long day ahead. Long bus trips, being another first, mixed with children, tend to result in motion sickness. We stopped almost ten times in what should have been a 2 hour trip at the most for someone to get off the bus and throw up. Along the way, our route took us through a long tunnel that has recently (in the past few years) been constructed. Some of the kids had heard from their parents that there was a tunnel, and one child even brought a flashlight. Their eyes were open in awe through the darkness, and the whole bus erupted in applause when we entered into the daylight once more.

The rest of field trip was full of more firsts. Many of the kids had never been to monasteries or churches…only heard about them. We saw jet skies, and a ship on the lake, BMWs and jeeps and tour busses full of foreigners. But, perhaps the most excitement of the day was a soccer game with a 5-liter plastic bottle…sometimes it doesn’t take much. We returned the kids to their village after 12 hours of pure exhaustion and they practically sleep-walked off the bus (the counselors weren’t faring much better).

The camp ended in celebration and a ceremony for parents, figure heads from the village, and other people associated with the camp. The kids had prepared skits and then brought flowers for all of their counselors and the camp staff. On my way out I was asked if Peace Corps would be back next year to do this camp again. I deferred to the local organization we were working with, who happens to be doing their first camp on their own later this summer (this was the second camp they had done with Peace Corps). Our goal is training every organization we work with to be as self-sufficient as this one and to be able to do camps without our assistance in the future. The woman who was asking sort of shrugged and said "we want the Americans to come back." It is nice to be wanted.

moldy moldy moldy

2006-06-12T02:46:00.000-05:00

My lovely new apartment, which has been a haven for me despite its obvious character flaws, has lately become haven for other things, namely mold. Just as I thought I was running out of things to go wrong with this particular apartment, I returned from Yerevan a few weeks ago to find a coffee table covered in murky water and a roof that was leaking in no less than 8 different places. Acting as any competent peace corps volunteer would, I quickly straightened things up so as not to bear witness to the wrath of my landlord and crossed the hall to see if my neighbors were having the same troubles as I was. They weren’t. They did however gasp in horror and parade one after the other into my apartment to gape at the damage as well as at my computer, guitar, exercise ball, dvd collection…well, enough said.

After I herded them all back out, the father of the family called my landlord for me. My phone wasn’t working (surprise, surprise), and even if it was, my landlord doesn’t have a phone, but he knew what to do. Pretty soon, my neighbors had called my landlord’s neighbor, who sent their son to tell my landlord that my roof was leaking and within a half hour she showed up at the door. Gotta love the village grapevine—at least it comes in handy sometimes. She arrived with a homemade ladder and work clothes under her going-out clothes, lest anyone know that she was about to do some work. After stripping off the first layer, and taking her own shoes off in exchange for my Birkenstocks without my noticing (still a little bitter) she climbed up on the roof. Just like that, I didn’t even know where she had gone as my neighbors were insisting that I eat, eat, eat.

After my meal I followed her up the ladder and found her scurrying around on the actual rooftop. There is an open space between my roof and the roofing of the building where one can walk around, and little exits to the actual roof, which is where I found her, rearranging the shingles. Apparently somebody moved them to install a satellite dish. Go figure. The first thought that entered my mind when I climbed into the open area above my apartment was "there’s an awful lot of daylight up here." I helped my landlord to fix some of that, but I can only wonder how long it will take to become a problem again.

We returned to my apartment where I got a brief lecture about how I should have called sooner (apparently 10 minutes off the marshrutnie wasn’t soon enough). Not that she listens to a word I have ever said. Then she left me her daughters cell phone number and took off, leaving me with a very damp apartment. I opened windows and ran fans and prepared to leave for Yerevan again in two days, very concerned about what I would find upon my next return.

My worries were justified.

What I found was an apartment just as damp as I left it, and a brand new colony of mold about 2 feet by one foot. It had grown into a white fluffy carpet on the ceiling and had begun to fall on the floor and furniture, creating a thick layer of dust around the room. So, being a self-sufficient volunteer, I decided to clean it. I tied a handkerchief around my face and put on my sunglasses and brushed it all down, scrubbed the ceiling with bleach, swept up the dust and mopped and bleached the entire room. I was feeling pretty good about my efforts and then two days later it grew back. Feeling slightly less self-sufficient, I went to my neighbors house and asked them to call my landlord (phone still not working). They, of course, wanted to know why, and I was able to fairly successfully explain it to them so that they understand. A few minutes later, after the grapevine had taken effect, my landlord called back, demanding to know what the problem was. I did my best to explain it again and eventually ended up handing the phone over to my neighbors who told my landlord what I had told them.

Upon arrival, she took one look at the mold, began laughing and told me that it was not mold. Then she became very condescending and told me "not to be afraid, mold is only green." I had no idea what to say to this logic, and while I stammered, she began knocking it down from the ceiling, creating a huge dust cloud and white layer all over the room once again. Not what I had in mind. While she swept she told me her husband was coming back from Russia soon (she didn’t know when soon was) and that he was going to remodel the apartment when he returned.
Having exhausted my options in Vayk, I went to Yerevan, researched mold on the internet, and talked to our doctors. I showed them some digital pictures I had taken, and they agreed with me that it was mold. We arranged for one of the PC staff members and a driver to come to my house this week and talk to my landlord. This was one of my more brilliant moves. I called my landlord to tell her they were coming. "You told them?!?!" She says in shock. "Ok, fine, I’ll be there."

I rode in the PC land cruiser to my landlord’s house to pick her up. After the obligatory offers of coffee and fruit, we managed to get her into the vehicle and buckled in. It can be struggle to get people who are not used to seatbelts and never use them in day to day to life to understand that they are required in PC vehicles. We arrived at my apartment where the spiel began
"whenever Jill calls I come and fix the problem, there aren’t any problems here, just this one little one, that’s it."
"This isn’t mold, you are Armenian, you will understand, she doesn’t. Mold is only Green."
"maybe she just doesn’t want to live here. She wants to move."
Fortunately, there was someone with a bit more fluency in the language than myself to combat all of this. She was eventually convinced (or simply gave in) that it was mold and that she needed to fix it or I was leaving. She was given two days to find a worker and until the end of the month to have it fixed. She is here right now methodically knocking chunks down off the ceiling, so I think we are off to a good start.

Before she left, she decided she had one more issue to attend to and dragged me into the back bedroom. I knew what was coming and asked the program manager to accompany me. Sure enough, she had decided once again to make a big deal out of the fact that the blankets were wrinkled on the beds. At this point I started yelling at her, which was probably quite amusing as it does nothing good for my language skills. Then I turned to our staff member and switched to English. I explained that she always asks this question whenever she comes and that I don’t understand what the problem is. She says to him "you are Armenian, you will understand (the theme for the day, I suppose) we are Armenian, we like things to be pretty." Apparently large colonies of mold growing in your living room is okay, but wrinkled blankets are just out of the question. My staff member savior told her that I live here now (novel concept) and that when she lives here again she can make the blankets pretty. Then he told her to leave.

Miracles Happen

2006-05-05T02:29:00.000-05:00

First of all, a huge thank you to everyone who helped out, or thought about helping out. An amazing thing happened this weekend...I met an Australian Armenian at the hostel where I was staying in Yerevan. He heard our story and agreed to fund the rest of the project. The website is not reflecting the donation yet, but we are fairly certain that it will go through. Sometimes things just work out....

I am very excited to know that this project will get off the ground this year. Repeatedly, volunteers have cited camps as some of their most meaningful work during their service, and thus far I completely agree. We completed a succesful training this past weekend and were able to send full sets of camp supplies to five communities in Armenia. Camps will begin in less than a month! I'll keep you updated on our progress over the course of the summer.

Once again I appreciate everyone's help and support both in the project and personally. I wish you all the best!

Please Help!

2006-04-30T06:59:00.000-05:00

I am in the throes of preparing for 5 separate ecology-based day camps for Peace Corps Armenia. The camps will begin in June and we have already completed the trainings and started purchasing supplies etc. Half of our funding comes from a Peace Corps Partnership Grant, which I wrote and was posted to the web earlier this Spring. We have still have approximately 1500 dollars left to raise and we need to do so in the next two weeks. I am starting to get a little worried... Any amount of money that you would feel comfortable donating would really help to ensure that these summer camps make it off the ground this year. As part of each camp, 40 children are provided with education about the environment in a novel setting (camps aren't very common here) and they are provided activity materials, nutritious meals and t-shirts (also not always so common).

Donation, is quick and easy, web-based and tax deductible. You decide how much to contribute and do it yourself via credit card.

Go to www.peacecorps.gov

Click in the lower left corner

Select

Select "Green Camps, Armenia"

Thank you in advance for your generosity. Please let me know if you have any questions. There is an additional write-up about the camps on the website, and I am happy to send more information your way.

The following is a copy of the Concept Sheet:

Green Camps
Peace Corps Armenia

The Green Camp program is an annual summer camp for Armenian children focusing on the exploration and study of the natural world. Camps are conducted in the Armenian Language and are located in traditionally underserved regions of the country. Through structured environmental education activities, Peace Corps Volunteers and local organizations provide children with:
· a safe and positive outdoor experience
· exposure to the local natural environment
· an introduction to basic ecological concepts
· new methods to explore the environment
· an opportunity to practice environmentally-conscious critical-thinking and decision- making skills
· team-building and leadership skills development
The program also serves as a training in which Peace Corps Volunteers teach local organizations how to design and implement a summer camp. These local organizations in turn commit to providing continuing environmental education in their communities. This year Green Camps will reach over 200 Armenian children, and over 40 adults.

Mission
To raise awareness of the diverse relationships between human beings and their natural environments, with the intent of increasing appreciation for and understanding of the flora, fauna and natural systems of Armenia, thereby creating a heightened sense of personal and community responsibility towards the protection of the natural environment.

Goals
1. To raise awareness about local environmental problems and inspire communities to find appropriate solutions.
2. To educate children about local ecology and increase their appreciation for the environment.
3. To provide local organizations and community members with skills and knowledge to conduct effective environmental education.
4. To encourage and show the benefits of volunteerism within local communities.
5. To reach out to traditionally underserved communities in rural regions of Armenia.
6. To develop friendships between Peace Corps Volunteers, local volunteers, and children.

Camp Specifics
Size: 40 children, 17 staff
Age Group: Campers 11-13 years old, Counselors 18 and up
Duration: 5 days, 6-8 hours per day
Number of camps: 5 per summer (including 1 training camp)

Short History:
Green Camps have been in existence in Armenia as a Peace Corps project since 2001, when the program was started under the moniker of Eco-camps. The first year there were three camps held in a 3-day/2-night overnight format. In 2002 the number of camps was increased to four, one of which was carried out as a day camp. In 2003, there were four fully-funded sites and one partially-funded site. Beginning in 2004, Peace Corps began working with a Yerevan-based environmental NGO called Women for a Green Way for Generations, and the name was changed to Eco-Adventure Camps. This partnership lasted 2 years, with five camp sites each summer. With this organization well-versed in the management of a summer camp, we have shifted our focus this year to locally-based environmental NGO’s, with the intent of providing training and guidance this year so that next year these organizations can carry out youth-focused environmental activities in their own communities. Once again, the change in structure has brought a change names--hence, 2006 Green Camps.

In an effort to reach as many young Armenians as possible, Green Camps have been located in towns and villages throughout Armenia. These locations have included: Martuni, Dilijan, Yegheghnadzor, Sevan, Tatev, Vanadzor, Voratan, Berd, Stepanavan, Urtzadzor, Gharusali, Goris, Akunk, Ijevan, Artik and Navor. This year, camps will take place in Martuni, Harzdan, Dilijan, Gavar, and Ijevan.

How you can help:
We need to raise $3,265 by May 10, 2006. This sum is in addition to $2,000 already pledged in support from the Center on Agriculture and Rural Development in Armenia (CARD), formerly USDA. Approximately $3,000 worth of support is also coming from the local communities themselves. The camp budget goes toward nutritionally balanced meals for the campers, activity and sports supplies, training materials for local organizations, including a comprehensive camp manual in English and Armenian, and t-shirts for each camper.

Donations can be made through the Peace Corps Partnership Program, located at www.peacecorps.gov
Choose the link for the Peace Corps Partnership Program, from there you can search by country (Armenia) and project name (Green Camps). The link should be active by mid-April, 2006.
Donations are accepted via credit card, are tax deductible, and a transmitted via a secure forum. Once our goal is reached, a check will be sent to the Peace Corps Volunteers managing the program.

Your help is greatly appreciated as we strive together toward a brighter future in Armenia!

Contact:
Jill Overholt, PC Volunteer, 2006 Green Camp Director
jroverho@yahoo.com

“Eco Adventure was one of the most satisfying experiences I’ve had as a Peace Corps Volunteer. This was one of a few times during my service that I was sure we were making a difference; I know our campers learned so much about their environment and changed their attitudes about nature. I really hope the directors of Eco Adventure focus on capacity building at the local level so that these camps will become sustainable. With the experience they gained at Eco Adventure, my counterpart organization would love to conduct camps on its own. Peace Corps can participate in the creation of environmental camps all over Armenia. Let’s take advantage of this opportunity!”
Morgan Ruelle, A12 Peace Corps Volunteer

Georgia, The Country

2006-04-20T06:15:00.000-05:00

Georgia is different enough to be considered a vacation and yet similar enough to be familiar. The joys of being in a larger, more developed, more colorful, more modern city, mixed with the realities of increased petty crime and a decreased sense of security. I wavered between jealousy of the Georgian peace corps volunteers and an actual sense of appreciative longing for my home away from home.

I left for Georgia from Gyumri, after spending the weekend in Ashotsk. I had discussed my impending vacation with Artur, who managed to sufficiently scare me about the security situation in Tbilisi. With an immediate look of concern, he began interrogating me.
“Are you going alone?”
“No,”
“Who are you going with?”
“Another volunteer.”
“A boy?”
“Ummm…..yes,”
“Oh, good.”
That seemed to settle matters, but he still warned me to carry my backpack on my front because people will cut it open with razor blades and steal the contents as they fall out. I didn’t actually witness any crimes of this or any other nature, but I did meet a few Georgian volunteers who had been the victims of petty crime in the capital. It turned out to be no different from any other large city I have been to, only with the small exception that I couldn’t speak the language or read any of the signs… Still, basic city sense and some guidance from the PC Georgia office got us safely through the trip.

We traveled via marshurtnie—it took us about 5 and a half hours to get there from Gyumri, the return trip proved much longer. The scenery was enjoyable, and the trip itself was relatively painless. When we arrived at the border, we (the Americans) were told to get out and walk to a small white house located in the border no-mans land. The road was mostly deserted, and feeling like we should have some Deliverance music to accompany us, we slipped into the little white shack. Once inside we began speaking Armenian and simply became a point of interest…what are we doing in Armenia? Where do we live? Why are we going to Georgia? We got our stamps and were quickly across the border in Georgia.

The marshurtnie drivers, although Georgian, spoke Armenian, and were kind enough to find us an Armenian speaking taxi driver once we arrived in the city. This is where our language luck ended. We had made reservations at a guesthouse in advance, fortunately, but had banked on the taxi driver knowing where it was, or at least knowing the street. Bad assumption. After driving around the city in a few different wrong directions, James was able to direct him using the small, poorly-drawn map from our guidebook. We found the place, but it had no sign or any indication that it was a guesthouse. We knocked anyway, and a nice woman who spoke nothing but Russian ushered us inside. James had studied Russian for a few months in Vayk and managed to have a very basic conversation with our host, which reminded me quite a bit of conversing with my host family during PST.

Our next task of the day was to find the Peace Corps office, which we had planned to visit first except that the taxi driver didn’t know that street either. We knew that it was very close to our guest house and decided to ask. The directions we received involved hand gestures, grunting, and the word mountain, from which we ascertained that we needed to turn left, left, and then right, and something about a mountain… We thought maybe we should call the Peace Corps and have them give us directions, so we asked for a phone. The woman thought we were asking for the phone number and kept saying she didn’t have it. Eventually she called her nephew, who spoke just enough English to tell us that we needed to turn left, left, go up some stairs (this must be our mountain), and then turn right. We decided to try it. We had to ask for directions twice (enter James and minimal Russian skills), and we discovered that the next door neighbors of the Peace Corps didn’t even know that the building existed, but we found it successfully without too much more adventure.

After jealously oogling their nice, big office, with showers for the volunteers, we headed out to dinner with a few Georgian PC volunteers. They took us to Korean barbecue (a Georgian specialty…right). We get enough Georgian food in Armenia that we didn’t mind too much to be missing out on Georgian food in Georgia. For the sake of principle, we did eat Georgian on our very last night at the Hingali House. The rest of the time was everything else that we can’t get in Armenia—McDonalds, good beer, Korean food, etc. After all, we were on vacation. I never thought I would be that excited about McDonalds, but we want what we can’t have, therefore, I wanted McDonalds. I am somewhat ashamed to admit that we actually ate there twice in three days. Just pretend you didn’t read that part—two visits to McDonalds in 10 months isn’t so bad…right? They just happened to be two days in a row.

Three days was just enough time to see the sights of the city, do a few walking tours, and see a lot of churches—Georgia and Armenian both have more churches than most normal people can stand to visit. I think we went inside 9 churches on the first day before we decided to just look at them from the outside and move onto other things. Ironically, one of my favorite churches to visit was the Armenian church (like I don’t get enough of that). As much of a sight as we were to begin with, simply being American tourists in Georgia, we were even more of a sight as Armenian-speaking American tourists in Georgia. Needless to say, the woman at the little candle booth was just thrilled with us when we began to speak to her. Possibly, we were just as thrilled to finally be able to speak to someone with relative ease. When speaking in Armenian becomes the thing I do with relative ease, I know I am outside of my league…. We also visited the Turkish sulfur baths, which are not Turkish, they are Georgian. Regardless of their nationality, it was an enjoyable, relaxing experience. We opted for the private room over public nudity, but maybe next time I will be braver.

On our last full day we decided to go to the train/marshurtnie station to try and find our marshurtnie. We were told the Yerevan marshrutnie leave every morning, from 8-1 when they fill up. We wanted to make sure we could find it so that in the morning we weren’t frantically running around the city trying to explain in broken Russian that we wanted to go to Armenia. It was a good thing we went early. The station was huge. We wondered around for almost an hour looking for a marshrutnie with a Yerevan sign (in Russian, of course) until we decided to ask someone for help. We picked out an older woman shopkeeper, because she looked friendly, and James began to prep his Russian. He explained that we wanted to go to Yerevan. Somehow, in the midst of their stilted Russian conversation I picked up that the woman spoke Armenian! I am still not sure exactly how I figured that out, but I began to speak in Armenian and she began to get very excited, and she told us exactly where our marshurtnie was located and to come find her if we had any more problems. Then the questions…why are you here? Why do you speak Armenian? What do you do there? I have never been so relieved or happy to be answering those questions.

The next morning we arrived bright and early at 9am ready to head back to Yerevan. We were promptly informed that that marshrutnie would not be leaving until 1pm. Great. Four more hours to sit in the marshrutnie without it even moving. We were also informed that the ride was more expensive than we had been told. Since we had wanted to leave without exchanging money, we spent everything except the exact marshutnie fare. At least a trip to the ATM would help pass the time. While withdrawing money we found ourselves surrounded by a group of women who had obviously never seen such a profound thing as a machine that gives you money (this makes me wonder if they have been walking around Tblisi with their eyes closed, but that is a different story). I have accepted the fact that ATM etiquette is not what it is in the US on this side of the world (i.e. if you give the person using the machine any space at all other people will assume you are not waiting and will cut in front of you) but I have never had an actual audience of people all craning their necks to see what will happen next. A funny thing happened...I entered my pin code, and money came out. Just like magic.

The remainder of the ride home (once we got started) was slow, but not too painful. That is, with the exception of a random hour long stop for the drivers to eat dinner, without informing anyone in the marshutnie that they were doing so. Border crossing was actually more difficult going back into Armenia than leaving, possibly because we were at a bigger border crossing than the small village station on a dirt road where we entered. While waiting in various lines to give people my passport repeatedly, I entertained myself by watching the bird flu “precautions.” By precautions, I mean a man in a white haz-mat suit with no gloves or head protection, spraying some sort of substance on the outsides of each tire. Thorough, I know. Its okay though, Armenia has people stationed at the borders shooting the birds as they fly in—there’s no bird flu here.

thirsty?

2006-04-10T01:39:00.000-05:00

We were sitting in the living room, relaxing after a hard morning of skiing. The television was tuned, as usual, to some European sports channel, and we had just been served coffee and fruit. Artur brought out a number of wines and liqueurs he had made, the most recent sample including a bouquet of fruits, herbs, nettles and garlic. It was good, really. Suddenly, out of the discussion of these interesting blends of home brews, came the question:

"Would you like to drink some blood?"

I turned to Morgan with his superior language skills. "Did she just say what I think she said?" Morgan was asking the same question.

Yup, we were just asked if we would like to drink some blood. Before we could protest Alla had disappeared into the cellar and returned with a glass bottle of a very dark red liquid. I had been warned about this….

"It’s good, it’s sweet," she said, grabbing a few glasses.

"No, no, that’s okay," Morgan and I stammered in near unison, choking back nervous laughter and exchanging meaningful glances that only two Americans who have just been offered blood as a refreshment can appreciate. Our protests worked, and somewhat disappointedly I am afraid, Alla gave a small drink of the blood/fruit mixture to her five-year-old and returned the bottle to the cellar.

Alla is very knowledgeable about home remedies and has a lot of different teas and concoctions on hands for various ailments. Some probably work better than others. The remedy in question was one for women, especially, who have "thin blood" (low iron, I am assuming). I am sure it probably works, but a bit relieved not to know first hand.

In addition to home remedies, and cross-country skiing, which was probably the last of the skiing for the season due to warm, slushy snow, we were treated to a tour of Ashotsk by Artur. This was partly due to a lack of other options as skiing was only possible in the mornings, and partly due to Artur wanting to show us around and maybe show us off (just a little). We had spent the first morning repeatedly falling through the snow, so a walk was a welcome change. We visited Artur’s mother, and enjoyed the traditional Armenian spread, complete with Sea Buckthorn jam—a new one to add to the list of fruits I didn’t know the name of in English before I knew them in Armenian. We walked the streets and looked at some of the sights in the earthquake shattered town, with a current population of probably less than 1,000. Artur estimated it between 6 and 7,000 before the earthquake. The majority of residents are still living in the small "domeeks" that were provided by European nations over 15 years ago as temporary housing. Some have been added onto, reinforced, or remodeled—this is the case with Artur and Alla’s home—others are merely small dilapidated looking wooden shacks.

As it was April fools day, we entertained ourselves by telling the locals that we were from china (none of us were) and that our eyes had become round from eating too much dolma. As expected, this drew some confused looks, with lots of people pulling at the corners of their eyes to make them squinty. This was the manner in which they informed us that we did NOT look like "chinamen." Okay, so cultural sensitivity is perhaps a bit lacking… This was entertaining in its own rite, but the highlight of the day was visiting the nesting storks—there are five pairs in Ashotsk, with giant nests perched atop telephone poles. We were able to get very close to photograph them, and even saw one pair mating.

Ironically, not even including the magnificent storks, I think I saw more wildlife in the snow around Ashotsk than I have in most of the rest of the country combined. Animals and flowers alike were just beginning to poke out of the melting snow, and we were witness firsthand to a mouse, a dragon fly, a number of birds and some insects. We were also able to track a wolf kill—the footprints first led us to the fur outline of what we determined to be a small goat perhaps, and then on to the horns, and later the jaw. Artur is very knowledgeable about the local wildlife, and even more excited about sharing his knowledge. This, of course, was a stretch of my language skills, but a welcome relief from the simple ignorance and fear that prevails among most Armenian citizens, especially where wolves are concerned.

Once again, the trip to Ashotsk was wonderful and wonderfully relaxing. I certainly never thought that staying with another Armenian family for a weekend, and speaking nothing but Armenian would seem like a vacation, but I leave feeling refreshed, relaxed and healthy—three things that aren’t so common in Vayk. The new apartment helps, but I am still constantly tackling new challenges as I try to do new things. For example, today I flooded my bathroom. Turns out, the drain in the floor is decorative. On the bright side, the electronic agitator works, one of the few things in the apartment that has worked on the first try. After learning how to use it and doing some of my laundry, I decided that I could empty the water out of the machine into the floor drain. After waiting about thirty minutes, I started bailing with buckets. Lucky for me, my bathroom floor is half caved in and holds a good deal of water easily. My new six dollar mop finished the job. That investment pays more dividends every time I use it.

I was treated to another visit from my landlord yesterday. She brought me chocolate and retrieved some old clothes from a suitcase in my spare bedroom. Then came the meat of the visit. She told me, with great seriousness, that I am not to open the door for the water man, who comes every month to collect the water bill. Every apartment in Vayk is now required to have a water meter and she can’t afford to put one in, so the solution is to look through my peephole and if I see the waterman, not to let him in. It seems a little wrong, but she says that she will bring a water meter and install it. Of course, she didn’t say when….

Spark column: unabridged

2006-03-29T02:02:00.000-05:00

The following is a column I guest wrote for the 100th issue of the Spark, my high school newsmagazine. I owe much to the time I spent in the cramped lab of Lakota East High School, and I am pretty sure that I wouldn't be writing this blog right now if it weren't for that influence. As journalism goes, quite a bit was cut from the original piece for space. Here is the article in its entirety.

Here I am again. My bedroom is a balmy 34 degrees, I unpacked my suitcases while wearing my hat, scarf and new winter coat. There is a thin layer of ice on the bathroom floor and the water is so cold it hurts. Washing my face will have to wait—I am not that brave yet. I am jet-lagged as hell and have arrived smack in the middle of the most Armenian week of them all…the six-day New Year’s celebration. Yes, six days…actually, seven. The parties begin on New Year’s Eve and continue until the Armenian Christmas, January 6. Every day repeats itself right now. I arrive at some Armenian’s house and sit down to a table laden with types of food that never appear except for this one week. With the traditional diet in the regions consisting mostly of potatoes, rice, and bread, I think I have eaten an Armenian year’s worth of meat in the past 4 days. People yell at me to "eat, eat, eat…try this, have one of these…you don’t want it, why not?" It has been one never-ending dinner ever since I stumbled off the plane in Yerevan.

I had tried to mentally prepare myself for this as I sat in a Viennese café, three fourths of the way back to my temporary home in the developing country of Armenia. I have lived there for the past 7 months as a Peace Corps volunteer, and now, after a brief Christmas visit to the states, have 20 more months to go. As I savored one last cup of good coffee, with real milk, one last opportunity to sit in warmth and comfort and watch the snow fall gently outside, one last moment of "civilization" before the final plane departs, I took some time to reflect on my experience thus far.

It was good to be home, difficult to depart. And yet, amidst the thrill of hot showers, a house warm enough to be barefoot (sometimes), a car available to take me places, and all the Chinese take-out and Mexican food I could ever want, I remembered why I made the decision to join the Peace Corps in the first place.

It began as a romantic vision of living in a straw hut near some tropical rain forest, surrounded by giggling children and working toward the ever idealistic goal of peace on earth. As it turns out, that’s not exactly what I signed up for. Instead, I am living with a host family in a stone house with electricity and running water. I am in the middle of the desert, high in altitude, with cold winters and scorching summers. The only people giggling are those laughing at me and my clumsy speech, and the notion of peace on earth has been shunned for immediate monetary relief and movement towards Westernization. I am supposed to be an Environmental Education volunteer, but before I make any progress in that department I have to figure out how to convince these people to take some responsibility for the land outside of their front gate.

I am often simply seen as a rich American with a fancy car and more money than I know what to do with. This is a difficult position, given my volunteer status. At this point in my life I have no car, and a lot of college debt, but I am still rich compared to these people who are lucky to make 100 dollars a month. My work is different than that of traditional relief organizations that often fund projects and provide grants. Very little money is ever involved in my work, unless the people raise it themselves. We are helping them to help themselves; at least, that’s the theory. The people I work with are strong-willed and capable, but reticent to try new things and pessimistic about their future. I often ask myself "who can blame them?" In the last century they have endured genocide, Soviet rule, Soviet collapse, war, trade blockades, a disastrous earthquake, and finally a "democratic" government that doesn’t seem to have totally left the old system behind. Corruption abounds and the people feel helpless to do anything about it and seem content to leave it that way. It is a sort of learned complacency that is difficult to break through, especially as a young single female who has single-handedly defied all traditional gender norms.

During my vacation, people have repeatedly asked me "is it worth it?" The short answer is, yes, of course. The longer answer involves me reevaluating the way I take in new experiences, the way I view the world, and the way I see success and accomplishment. It has been a tremendous growing experience to find myself virtually dumped in a foreign land where I had to start from scratch: a new language, a new alphabet for that matter, a new social code, a new job, new friends, and a new family to live with…who speak no English. Even if I were to pack my bags right now, I think I would approach things differently than I would have a year ago. I have more confidence, more empathy for others, improved communication skills, and a less ego-centric view of the world.

Of course, I can’t always view my experience this rationally or philosophically. There are times when I simply need a release or a break from this world that I now call home, at least temporarily. I have found that one of the best ways to cope with my nearly unrecognizable lifestyle is to write. It is not only cathartic for me, but also allows others to share in my joys, frustrations and discoveries. Writing has always been important to me, but as with many things, it wasn’t until I began my tour in Armenia that I truly appreciated its value.

It was this very magazine that gave me that start nearly eight years ago. Writing for the Spark gave me a broader perspective of the world. It allowed me, at a relatively young age, to see beyond the finite opportunities of high school romances and teenage soap operas. And, while acknowledging that these too are an important part of growing up, I was able to enter the adult world with more grace and poise than that of the typical 17-year-old. I credit the Spark in many ways for opportunities that have opened up well past these formative years. Never before have I appreciated freedom of speech as much as I do now, and never before have I been as concerned about the level of apathy and disconnectedness currently present in the United States. It is comforting to me to know that entities such as the Spark exist to educate young people and to empower them to take an active role in the future. In the United States, as in Armenia, it is the action of the people and the education of the youth that determine our eventual destination.

cross-country paradise

2006-03-29T02:01:00.000-05:00

I am still walking with a bit of a limp, but the fact that I earned it through physical exertion makes it somewhat of a badge of honor. I spent the weekend in Ashotsk, a small town north of Gyumri, near Arpi Lake where I had participated in a camping trip this summer. Ashotsk is the home of two Armenian cross-country ski champions, who are trying to turn their home into a bed and breakfast/cross-country ski resort with the help of some Peace Corps volunteers. My role was to go spend the weekend there and see what I thought of it in terms of accommodations, pricing, etc. A weekend of cross-country skiing? With Olympians? Fine. Twist my arm into it.

Artur and Alla are the owners/teachers/coaches/skiers. Alla was the soviet union cross-country ski champion. They both participated in the Olympics as recently as Nagono. In addition to starting the B&B and giving ski lessons to foreigners, Artur coaches two youth cross-country ski teams in which his two sons participate.

From the minute I entered their home, they immediately stole my heart. Here was an Armenian family that was laughing and smiling and enjoying each others company. They sat on the floor (!) and watched sports together, the father played with the kids, and they interacted easily with the four Americans who just walked through their front door. Granted, they had already spent two years with a volunteer living across the street, and enjoyed a brief stint as a host family earlier this year, but I felt as if I had always known them after the two and half days I spent in their home. Beside the fact that these are well-traveled people, and that Alla is Russian, I couldn’t figure out what made them so different from the Armenian families I interact with everyday. Then it dawned on me. These people have passion. They are passionate about skiing and sports, and they are actively pursuing that passion every day. It shows in everything they do, from the way they interact as a family to the way they decorate their house, to the things they eat. What a difference having purpose in ones life can make.

The first evening we arrived late and spent our time hanging out and chatting. I had brought my laptop, as our weekend was going to be a joint ski retreat and Green Camp summit, and had pulled it out to check on something. Artur was sitting next to me and
was immediately attracted to the picture I had as my desktop background—snowshoeing with CORE in Utah. Before I knew it we had gone through hundreds of my pictures from CORE, IUOA and other outdoor excursions. He was not only interested, but he understood the things that I was showing him! I discussed ice-axe self arrest with him (in Armenian of course, with some Russian and English scattered about). I can’t do that with many Americans. When we finished looking at pictures of caving, mountaineering, winter camping, rock-climbing, snowshoeing, and paddling, he brought out a few of his photo albums. He and Alla showed me pictures from Russia and from Armenia, of places they had hiked, camped, skied and run (yes, they run…and they are the only Armenians I know who do). For that matter, they are the only Armenians I know who do any of these things, and it was so refreshing to see and to discuss and to make such a deep connection so quickly.

Alla began asking me how I trained in the US, and I did my best to explain in broken Armenian. Then I told her that I have gotten weak since coming to this country because it is so hard to exercise here. She told me to flex. I did and she felt my weak little bicep and then showed me up. On a number of occasions I felt like I needed to just start doing push-ups and begging mercy. I love that Armenians can make me feel like that instead of telling me that muscles are unsightly (not pretty) and that water will make you fat. She did tell us that we couldn’t drink water during or after meals (only before), but I don’t think it had anything to do with fatness. I am not sure what it did have to do with, other than the very weird perceptions of water in this country…but that is a different story.

The next morning we hit the slopes. Yes, I know we were cross-country skiing, but Ashotsk is big country, and it is certainly not flat. On more than one occasion I was definitely convinced that I was about to kill myself. Artur, impressed with all my outdoorsy pictures (none of which, by the way, had any skis in them) gave me the very skis that Alla had worn in the Nagono Olympics. I was impressed until I put them on my feet. After about the fifth time on my rear-end, I was frightened. That morning we worked on the very basics and then took off to a nearby mountain. The fundamentals were done on a ski course that Artur has set up for the teams he coaches. This included a loop, an up-hill section and then a very long down-hill. I am 100% positive that I have never gone that fast on cross-country skis. The journey to the mountain was nice, and after some pictures and goofing around, we headed back to the course. The last leg of the journey involved another steep hill, this time without a clean-run out and tracks to steer us in the right direction. We were told to make S-turns, like in downhill, a skill that I had not yet mastered on XC skis. Then we were told to snow-plow, another skill that was eluding me on the long, fast skis I was wearing. I ended up going painfully slowly side-stepping all the way down. That evening I switched to some slower skis.

The evening ski was a beautiful journey into the sunset, towards a river and a natural mineral water spring. We brought plastic cups and enjoyed the naturally carbonated water against the orange and purple backdrop. This trip also required a downhill portion, and being tired and sore from the morning’s festivities, I was still having trouble turning and stopping. Not to worry—Artur linked his arm under mine, we both lifted our poles off the ground, and he steered both of us down the hill. It was one of the most impressive feats I have seen in quite a while. This was the first time Alla had skied with us and she was enjoying skiing circles around us while mildly taunting us (we were enjoying it too). After all that, she beat us all home and managed to have dinner on the table by the time we walked through the door. Olympian. Must remember the operative word here. Olympian. Mother of two. Maybe I should do some more push-ups.

Meals were traditional Armenian salads, pasta, potatoes, soups, etc., but they were healthy, cooked with very little oil and well-balanced. Once again, a refreshing change. That night I nearly fell asleep in my soup. But the day wasn’t over. We still had hot showers (!) and time to socialize and watch more sports. I learned all about the ski and shoot biathlon. The next morning we woke early to a healthy breakfast and then hit the ski course, but only after the youth team had finished practicing at 10am (they started at 8—now there’s dedication). At that time they had finished skiing and were putting on tennis shoes to begin running. My heart went out to these kids and this family. I wanted to give them everything I have, and probably will give them a significant portion of my stuff when I leave.

I was pretty sore in the morning. I had trouble making it to the breakfast table, and I wasn’t sure if I would ski that day. At the last minute I decided to go out to the course and ski a little. If the rest of the group wanted to ski somewhere, I would go back to the house. I ended up staying out on the course with Morgan, Nick and Artur nearly three and a half hours. We spent the entire time working on technique. Artur would work one-on-one with us and then we would practice while he worked with the next person. I learned an amazing amount about cross-country skiing, including the fact that everything I had ever done was pretty much all wrong. Shows me. I will be returning in a few weeks before the snow melts, but after my body has mended, in a desperate attempt to not forget everything I have learned.

I know where I will be next winter.

landlord woes

2006-03-29T01:52:00.000-05:00

I am the proud new owner of a new, used toilet that has no seat and still doesn’t flush. How lucky am I? I bought the three-dollar toilet seat in Yeghgeghnadzor and installed it myself a few days later. You would think they were scarce or expensive or something with the lack of them in this country. I had already had enough of the "hovercraft" as one of my brilliant sitemates so aptly put it. But this was only the beginning of my weekly excitement….

Last week I was graced by a visit from my landlord, who has some "business." An hour or two is what she said on the phone. I agreed, and was home at 2pm, a little weary of what my landlord wanted to do in my apartment for 2 hours. After wandering around for a few minutes noting out loud every change I had made to the place since her last visit (and there were a lot), she pulled two candles out of her purse. Large, tall candles. She also removed two pictures—one of her and one of her husband, who is in Russia, and pulled an old plate out of one of my cupboards. She placed the pictures on my table, the plate on top of the pictures and then the lit the candles and stood them on the plate. Then, she explained that the candles must burn all the way down to the plate for good luck and success. Did I mention that these were big candles?

I resigned myself to an afternoon with my landlord and sat down to do some work while she read a book (For the record, the first Armenian I have ever seen read for pleasure, but that is probably because I don’t have a television). The quiet lasted a few minutes until she started wandering around again. She wanted to see the new toilet, so we went to the bathroom and after glancing at the new toilet (of which I had paid for the installation and advanced her the money for the toilet itself, and the new wall, which I also paid for), she promptly began freaking out about how it was an old toilet. Well, yes, its old. That’s what happens when you tell me that a new toilet is 50 dollars and then say that you will pay up to 20 dollars. I actually had nothing to do with the arrangements, as James’ landlord did most of that and explained to me the terms of the deal. Now my landlord is saying she didn’t agree to that. This, for the record, is why I went to her house four times in one day to try and confirm the situation before going out of town. She doesn’t have a phone, which is so convenient. I never did get a hold of her and finally decided that it would be fine—Varton had it under control

After being reminded that she had, in fact, agreed to the old toilet, she says "well, Varton said maybe you would help me." Lets rewind to me paying to have it installed and paying for the new wall and advancing her the money for the toilet. Not to mention all of the other things I have installed, replaced, fixed, cleaned and paid for in this apartment. Oh yeah, and I am paying rent at more than double what any Armenian would pay. If only I could help... I tried to talk to her about it for a while, but she just kept saying "no, I understand, you don’t understand." So, I gave up and called James. He talked to her and then later talked to Varton, who nearly spit out the food in his mouth when he heard the story. At least I have some supporters.

This blew over within an hour, at which point I realized that we were nowhere near being done with the good luck candles. In fact, my landlord ended up sitting in my apartment for seven hours. Seven. Can we say awkward? After four hours of just me and her, I called James to help cut the awkwardness and give me something to do. We decided to make some dinner and watch a movie. We started dinner around 7pm, made French onion soup and blue cheese pasta, while checking on the candles waiting for them to finish. About halfway through, we were joined by the landlord’s daughter, who also came to watch the candles burn. At 8 we finished making dinner, but couldn’t eat because I still had Armenians and candles in my living room. We reheated dinner 3 separate times (false alarms) before the candles finally burned out and we were left alone. Towards the end, the landlord began to see some humor in the situation (thank god) and we were talking a bit about Armenia, this apartment etc. We were joking about the candles never going out, when I said "after the candles go out the plate will start burning, and then table, and then floor," as a joke, of course. My landlord took me very seriously… "no, we can’t do that. That’s what the plate is for, so only the candles will burn." You think? Oh well, I am just a dumb American.

declaration of independence, part II

2006-02-19T06:36:00.000-05:00

Two days ago I gained my independence for the second time in my life. It was reminiscent of my 18-year-old foray into college life, and yet far more people seemed convinced that I would survive as a newly independent 18-year-old, than as a 24-year-old who is much more well-versed in life’s little intricacies. Of course, I was certainly greeted with a number of new challenges that dorm life doesn’t come close to matching, starting with trying to communicate with a landlord in a language that I have only studied for 8 months. This, only to be compounded by the fact that the landlord has never been a landlord before, is very nervous about all of her belongings spontaneously breaking, and has never really interacted with an American before. The day I moved in ended with her seeming very frazzled, and me wondering if I had made the right choice in apartments. That question arose over and over this weekend.

I was fortunate to have the assistance of four other volunteers, and James’ landlord, Varton, who allowed me to use his jeep—his son drove and he also helped moved stuff. I had no idea how much stuff I had actually accumulated in this country until I packed it all up. It was almost embarrassing but I am assured by my friends it is normal… Miraculously, everything fit in the back of the jeep (the back seat was out) and we only had to make one trip across town. Approximately 15 yards from my host family’s house, the jeep broke down. After lots of fiddling it was determined that it was out of gas. Someone found some gas and we were on our way again, the volunteers on foot and Varton and his son in the jeep.

My landlord, Manik, met us at the apartment and promptly began freaking out about her stuff and her list of things she had counted. Landlords are supposed to write down what they have provided in the house for later reference in case things break, etc., etc. Well, Manik wrote a book—literally—she bought a school copy book and wrote pages and pages of everything she owns. She even counted her Armenian books, which are safely in a cabinet, and I had already assured her that I wouldn’t touch them, let alone read them. She then asked if I would like to check it. Reading Armenian handwriting is near impossible for me, and I had no concern about being cheated by her, so I told her that I trusted her and I would sign the list and she could hang on to it for later. That’s where the trouble started. She got upset and I started to say “its okay, I know what I have and I know what is yours and if I break anything, I will replace it.” I managed to get to “I know what I have” when she interrupted me and starting freaking about this being about her things. Thankfully Cat was there with her super Armenian skills to translate because frustration does not aid my language abilities. We finally got things straightened out and Manik out the door after about an hour, at which point I started wondering if I dare touch anything in the apartment for fear of the aftermath.

It didn’t take me long to get over that and I was soon scrubbing every corner of the place with bleach. One word…disgusting. Manik said she would clean before I moved in, but if that happened I have no idea what it was that she cleaned. Not only were shelves and cabinets carpeted in dust and dirt, but all the dishes needed washed, floors cleaned, rugs shook, and the kitchen and bathroom needed complete top to bottom scrubbings. I spent an hour on my hands and knees in the bathroom with a sponge and a scrub brush, and after the fourth time through, gave up…at least the sponge had stopped coming up black. I managed to get it clean enough that I felt comfortable leaving my toothbrush in there and hanging up my towel. Of course, in addition to all the dirt, I was gifted with all of the belongings that the family decided they didn’t need when they left for Russia—old toothbrushes, used razor blades, clothing tags, empty candy boxes displayed on shelves, 5-year-old opened bottles of vodka, old slippers, nasty stuffed animals, you name it. I moved through the house throwing all of this randomness into boxes, mentally preparing myself to explain WHY I didn’t want these things as I had already done with a lot of other ridiculousness that was more prominently displayed on move-in day.

Manik had made a big deal on more than one occasion of walking through the apartment and asking do you need this? How about this? You only need this little pot right? Finally I just started to tell her to leave everything and made a mental note to go through it later. Did I ever get my wish. Of course, my favorite, is when she would pull something out of a cabinet and say “do you need this? Because if not, I am going to just leave it right here,” and then put it back where it came from. As it turned out I ended with almost everything except for closet space, which was a point of contention.

I have a three room apartment (two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and two balcomies, one enclosed) and only one closet. Actually, wardrobe is a better term for the free-standing piece of furniture with three doors. Two doors open into a typical closet space with a shelf at the top and a bar across the width, and of course very few hangers, the other door opened to a series of shelves. First, Manik wanted to lock the closet part and leave the shelves for me. When I protested, she said she would put her stuff in the shelf side, lock it and give the other side to me. This wasn’t much better but I could see that if I didn’t agree to this, she would lock an entire room so I compromised. The next time I visited, she showed me the closet, first the locked side and then the other. On the floor of the other side was stacked two suitcases and a large cardboard box, which were taking up more than half of the available space. She points to the items and says “I am just going to leave these here. Don’t disturb then, okay?” I became so frustrated I couldn’t speak and finally yelled to James to help translate. He did, and the suitcases were moved to a cupboard in the living room—one of the few she had emptied in there, and as it turned out, the only one tall enough to accommodate my books and manuals. I eventually moved them under a bed and Manik hasn’t said anything so I am going to assume I am safe.

Of course, the dirt and the landlord’s belongings were only the beginnings of my struggles. The Thursday before I moved I visited the apartment to find James’ landlord and Renee’s landlord installing my peephole, new locks and light outside my door. They also turned on the water to the toilet and we checked the phone, which wasn’t working. I was promised Friday. On Saturday, when I moved in it still wasn’t working, I was told Monday. On Monday morning, when my landlord arrived because my toilet was leaking, it still wasn’t working. Finally, Monday evening it was turned on, and the water to my toilet was turned off to take care of the large puddle that had formed on my bathroom floor. As it turned out, the toilet bowl was cracked, quite visibly, but because the light had stopped working in the bathroom we couldn’t see it. I later come to find out that the landlord knew this, and didn’t say anything when the water was turned on, thus creating a constant trickle of water over the back of the toilet bowl and eventually leaking onto the floor. Now that the water is off, I am flushing with a bucket until I get my new (used) toilet installed on Saturday. I think there is a market here. Additionally, I am personally paying for the workers to close off the top part of the wall between the water closet and the room with the sink and the tub. As it turns out, not being able to flush your toilet paper creates quite the aroma in any room it has access to. Not so pleasant when you are brushing your teeth.

I will also be receiving my peace corps gas stove on Saturday. I was told that the electric stove and oven worked (they don’t) and that there was also a gas stove that I could use if I had any problems. The day I moved in, I sent James and his landlord to fill up the gas canister for the gas stove, only to find out when they returned that the gas stove also didn’t work. So, we took a trip to the bus stop/shops and bought a small single burner stove on top of a propane type canister—sort of a camping stove on steroids. We also bought some food and proceeded to make some lunch. The next day, while making dinner, the new stove stopped working. Well, it actually turned into somewhat of a flame thrower. I took it back to the store and exchanged it for a new one (fortunately we bought it from my language tutor’s mother, so there were no questions asked) and so far that one is doing okay, although I am not holding my breath. In the mean time I borrowed a new regulator from James and we hooked up the landlord’s gas stove again, but one of the burners leaks gas. Sigh.

I also bought some new light bulbs to replace the one that promptly burned out the day after I moved in and to install in the fixture in the second bedroom where there was no bulb. By fixture, I mean bare socket hanging from a wire in the middle of the room. The light works now, but only if you stand in the doorway and hold the switch halfway between on and off. Convenient, no? In the same trip I purchased a kilo of sugar, using the word for sugar I had learned in PST. I am pretty sure that I will now never forget that the word we learned for sugar in PST actually means sugar CUBE. Not quite sure what I am going to do with a kilo of sugar cubes….guess I will be drinking a lot of tea. Of course, it would be helpful if my kitchen sink were working properly. Right now I have a trickle that I can’t turn off or on any higher. Maybe later.

On the bright side, Manik seems to be coming around quite nicely and has relaxed considerably from our first few meetings. Now that I have unpacked she is beginning to realize that I actually do need all of the space I asked for things like books and clothes and desk space. I think she is also realizing that many things in this apartment are being upgraded on my bill on account of me being here. I am additionally fortunate to have Varton as my go-to man if anything goes wrong. He has consistently been on top of making sure everything works as it should. Renee’s landlord is the one who does the electrical and plumbing related things and he seems happy to help as well.

As I write this, my phone has once again stopped working, but all in all I think I have made a good choice in my apartment search. I managed to get some posters and pictures up the other day and it is really starting to feel like home. And, I am pretty sure that no amount of inconveniences can trump the feeling of freedom I have now that I cooking my own meals, making my own decisions, and not feeling guilty whenever I decided to do something that didn’t involve staying at home with my family watching Russian television.

chickens

2006-02-02T06:20:00.000-05:00

Today I sat down to dinner in front of a cast iron skillet full of organs. An organ medley if you will—hearts, lungs, and livers, if I’m not mistaken. It has been a good way to learn the Armenian words for organs anyway… My host family got scared recently about bird flu and decided to slaughter their chickens, all 19 of them, yesterday. While still on the small side, they all seem in good health so I am not too worried. We had a big chicken feast last night and then tonight they ate all 19 of the chickens’ organs, sautéed with onions. There was also a plate full of chicken necks. I stuck to the relatively safe chicken with noodles. I kind of feel like Forest Gump….chicken, baked chicken, boiled chicken, chicken soup, chicken hearts, chicken lungs, chicken wings, chicken necks. Well, you get the picture. The remaining 17 or so chickens are being preserved with solidified fat and salt. I have eaten beef preserved in this manner and it looks pretty gross, but doesn’t taste too bad—somewhere between beef jerky and pot roast.

Just to put everyone at ease, as of now there have been no reported incidences of bird flu in Armenia. Of course, with Turkey being our neighbor people are getting a bit concerned. Now every time the news covers the bird flu my host family all stops what they are doing and turns up the volume. I have a sneaky suspicion however that it was the Jehovah’s Witness magazines that convinced them to slaughter all of their poultry in one day. No more eggs for me. Regardless, the Peace Corps has issued a travel advisory: we are no longer permitted to travel to Turkey. I am still not sure if was only my family that took this measure, but it is comforting to know that there is at least an awareness and a desire to comply with measures to prevent the spread.

All chicken business aside, the New Year is officially over—all 7 days, and the old New Year too, and it back to work for everyone except the teachers and administrators at the schools. Snow began falling steadily soon after the New Year. We have been getting several inches at a time on and off for the past few weeks, with quite a dumping over the last several days. I spent a few days in Stepenavan working on the eco-camp manual and then attempted to return to Yerevan this past weekend for some initiative meetings. The weather had other plans, and even nestled in our 4-wheel drive Niva taxi, the ride was, shall we say, harrowing. We made it safely, although we missed our meeting, thanked our lucky stars that we hadn’t tried to travel via marshurtnie and camped out in Yerevan that night. The roads were clear down south the next day, so I headed home, and I am now snowed-in down here.

Even the Vayk desert has turned into a winter wonderland. The snowcapped mountains are quite pretty, especially at twilight as they reflect the setting sun. Fortunately for me, that time of day is getting later and later. It is completely dark around 6:30 now. The icy sidewalks have had me quite thankful for my newly acquired yak-traks, which allow me to get around with relative ease. There is no salt, no snowplows, and very few shovels, which usually consist of a square board attached to a stick, or a dustpan. Sometimes people sweep snow with brooms as well, but usually only in front of their own house, rather than on the sidewalks.

Kids have been out by the dozens with their sleds and their friends. There are a number of runner sled that look like they would do fine job of impaling a small child in just the instant. Of course, if the sled doesn’t do it then the busy roads they sled into and on might just do the trick. Traffic is scarce right now, but cars don’t slow down when trying to get up icy hills or sometimes when trying to stop…. My new favorite winter pastime however has to be the pointy-shoe slide. School-age boys seem to have this down to an art form. They squat and slide down hills on their little pointy shoes—they can even turn and sometimes stop. I can hardly squat standing still on a sunny day!

I learned a new interesting fact yesterday: if you drink tea and then drink cold water, you will get sick. My host father (who is sick right now) asked for a glass of water after we finished tea last night, and he was denied. He and my host mother argued and finally deferred to me. I said that it is okay to drink water after tea. “What are you, a doctor?” says my host mother. I figured this was as good of a time as any to tell them I was an EMT in the US. Soon thereafter my host father has a glass of water. Hopefully he doesn’t get sick….at least they listen to my advice.

I don’t want to jinx myself, but I have some leads on a few possible projects for Vayk and I am feeling good about their prospects. It just suddenly all came together today. I have youth development background, I work for a primarily youth development related organization, and my counterpart wants me to work with these two youths that she brought to our meeting today. Hmmmm… Ironically, I was thinking about approaching these two youths on my own to see if they wanted to work with me. I am thinking that maybe we can start a youth group and focus on English, and easy thing to do that everybody wants to be involved with and then also do environmental and health related lessons.

Other than that, I have been keeping myself entertained while counting down the days until I get to move out into my own apartment (two weeks as of right now). I bought a guitar from another volunteer this weekend, which thus far has been the highlight of my week. Finally I have the time and I am developing the patience to actually teach myself how to play. My previous attempts in the states were often thwarted by impatience. In other words, if I can’t play well NOW, then I am just not going to do it. So there. I am hoping that by the time I leave here I will be able to play well, and for now it provides a wonderful creative outlet that only music seems to be able to fulfill.

School will be starting again soon, I will be moving out, we have some upcoming conferences, and eco-camp stuff is getting more pressing, so I am thinking I will be busy in short while. Until then I am enjoying the reminder of my time with my host family and working on my language skills while I still live with people who can help me out.

Christmas in Armenia

2006-01-12T01:35:00.000-05:00

I am finally starting to settle back into the routine that I tried so hard to establish before I left for America. It is hard to believe that nearly a month has passed since I was readying myself to leave Armenia, and here I am, back again. Thanks to the sparse schedule of flights out of Armenia, I found myself booking a flight that put me back in country very early in the morning on New Year’s eve. What I have learned is that this is a terrible week to choose in terms of readjustment. It is hard enough that I am simply coming back from two weeks at home with my friends and family and hot showers, and cars, and good food, and freedom. I had to go and compound that by picking the most Armenian week of them all to return to.

I arrived in Vayk on the evening of the first, still groggy from the jet lag and the long taxi ride from Yerevan. I was fortunate that my host family was thinking I would come on the 2nd and thus had already eaten, taking some of the pressure off of me to EAT EAT EAT! (note to self…) The table, however, was still set with all the New Year’s trimmings, and James and I sat to down what would the first of many New Years dinners over the course of the coming week. Dolma (cabbage or grape leaves stuffed with meat), sliced meats, olives, bread and lavash, a salad of peas carrots, potatoes, and meat diced and covered with yogurt, and fruits, chocolates and pastries for desert with coffee or tea, your choice. The amount of food was really quite overwhelming, not only because I learned that jet lag messes with your appetite as well as your sleep schedule, but because this kind of spread is totally out of the ordinary for the rest of the Armenian year.

Also overwhelming was my bedroom. After running the heater 4 or 5 hours the night I retuned, I was able to raise the temperature to 5 degrees Celsius. It dropped back to 2 while I was sleeping. It was several days until I was able to get a steady 6 at night, 9 or 10 during the day. This alone was enough the shock me into reality, yet there was still the icy bathroom floor, and frigid tap water to contend with. My hands physically ached the first few times I washed them. I think I am getting used to it now. Just yesterday I finally got up the courage to start washing my face with that water. Brrrr. Refreshing. That first night I began to unpack while wearing my coat, hat, scarf and gloves. I have been sleeping in my mountaineering sleeping bag, and tend to wear 3-4 layers in the house. Surprisingly enough, it has just become part of the routine.

It is entirely possible that I ate more meat this week than I have thus far in Vayk combined. For an entire week the normal meals of bread, rice, potatoes and pickled vegetables were replaced with the traditional (and expensive) food of the Armenian people. I shudder to think what kind of debt these people have gone into to feed all of their friends, family and neighbors for this one week.

But it is the idea of feeding everyone you know that is central to the celebration of Nor Tari (new years). Starting on December 31st and going until January 6th (Armenian Christmas), the same foods are prepared in every household and people go from house to house and eat and toast and eat some more. I personally had New Year’s dinner at my own family’s house, my host mother’s sister’s house, James’ counterpart’s house, my counterpart’s house, Renee’s counterpart’s house (and my Armenian tutor), and with the family of one of our LCF’s who is currently studying in the Netherlands. I also managed to get out of going to a few other houses for one reason or another. In addition to what was served at my host family’s spread, I ate goat, beet salad, blinchiks (sort of like a Russian eggroll without vegetables), chicken, chicken salad, mushroom salad, cake, nuts, dried fruits and figs. And then, of course, there were the juices, sodas, sparkling water, cognac, wine and vodka. Being a woman, I was able to get off with toasting with cognac or wine instead of vodka which was a welcome relief.

I am exhausted just from all the eating. My stomach hasn’t been the happiest either, but by the end of the week it had recovered enough from the jet lag and who knows what else to really enjoy the last dinner we ate. Although it was somewhat traumatic to try to readjust to Armenia during this intense week (not to mention to try and remember Armenian again), I am glad to have been here to experience all that I have heard about. I learned that the stories are mostly true, but that it isn’t as bad as I had imagined. It was a good reminder of the friends I have made and the distance I have come in the six months I have spent in this country so far. It took me about 3 days to get my Armenian back to the point where I could actually converse with people rather than simply saying “good” when I was asked how America was. At this point, I think it actually might be better than when I left. A short break combined with a week where I had to talk to people all the time actually helped, I think.

It is now nearing mid-January and people are slowing heading back to work. The kids are still on break. School ended on December 24 and won’t resume until February 15. This is slightly longer break than usual because there isn’t enough money to heat the schools this year. I finally managed to meet with my counterpart today…for the first time since the first week of December. I was actually able to converse with her for almost an entire hour, which I am pretty sure is some sort of record. Not only that, but we actually made some plans for possible projects in Vayk. Whoa. We’ll see how long this lasts. For now, I am going to feel good about the little progress I have made. Baby steps.

I have also been occupying myself by doing some apartment hunting. I have been faced with the mixed blessing of the Peace Corps deciding that we can move out starting at the beginning of January if we like. I would like, but I have told my family that I will be here until February 15, and I have mixed feelings about reneging on that. Now that I see the light at the end of the tunnel, I am more anxious than ever to get the hell out of here and start living on my own. At the same time though, I have been so blessed to have this family and I really enjoy their company, and don’t want to hurt their feelings in any way. That, and I think they could probably use the money. So, I haven’t decided what to do, but if I don’t decide soon, then I will be definitely staying until mid February.

The good news is that I think I have found a good place to live. The search was entertaining…what about my life isn’t right now? First, I should mention that apartment hunting here is nothing like in the states. Duh. Okay, moving on. Apartments are owned by people individually, rather than the landlord owning a whole building with the specific intent of renting to people. The apartments (or houses) in question, come fully furnished, with everything the person who lived there owned…dishes, books, blankets, clothes sometimes, you name it. They are usually vacant because the person who used to live there is either in Russia, Yerevan, or living with other family members in Vayk or elsewhere in Armenia. So, the first step is to locate a vacant apartment, and then locate the owner, heretofore referred to as landlord.

My host father is the gas-man in Vayk (he goes from door to door reading meters and collecting bills), and thus knows nearly everyone in the town and where they live. By default, he also knows a lot of the empty apartments, and has been working on finding me a place to live. The first place he found was a two room apartment (meaning a living room with a nook off the side big enough for two beds, and another room, plus the traditional galley kitchen, and two room bathroom (one for toilet, one for sink and tub). What I didn’t know was that when I arrived to look at it, there would be a young family—mother, father, and toddler—who were not only living there, and going to be kicked out if I moved in, but were present while I walked around the apartment looking at all of their stuff. Talk about awkward. My first concern was of kicking a family out of their home. As t turns out they both have parents with houses in Vayk and are getting ready to buy their own home, but it still doesn’t seem right to kick them just because I am an American, and by default and Peace Corps precedent, will pay more for rent….like more than double. That, and it wasn’t a very nice place.

Next, my counterpart thought I could live in the house next door to her (and somewhat connected). Since she, being married to the vice-governor of the reason, and being a doctor, has one of the nicest houses in Vayk, we thought this might not be so bad. Apparently it was. I never actually saw it, she looked at it and told me it wasn’t good. In the mean time James’ landlord had found a nice three-room place on the fifth floor of a building near the bus station. We looked at it and it looked nice, and I have subsequently decided to live there, but first I wanted to wait and see if anything else would pop up.

Things did: Gero found a two-room place but the landlord was in Yerevan. “I could maybe see it in a week or a month.” Then James’ counterpart found a place: one room, fifth floor, very prison cell-like, with absolutely nothing inside. Nothing. No furniture, no appliances, no telephone, no rugs, no weird Armenian carpet hanging on the wall. Nothing. It was hard for me not to laugh while we looking at it. The landlord said she would put everything in and make it “pretty” in two weeks if I wanted it. Right. Two weeks. I can’t think of anything that happens in two weeks in this country, let alone apartment remodeling. The Gero found another place, three rooms, and gas—a definite plus. Problem was that the mother agreed to renting it but the son didn’t. Strike three. I told Varton (James’ landlord) today that I would the place he found. We’ll see how it goes.

This place needs a few things, like electricity and a phone line, but it shouldn’t be too much of a problem. The owners have been in Russia, and thus nobody has been living there for the past few years. The wife is back now, but has decided to live with her daughter and rent her apartment to make some extra money. It is a very nice place, although I will be heating all of my water on the stove and it is a long walk from my sitemates. Those are the major drawbacks, but overall I can see myself being very happy there.

Christmas in America

2006-01-12T01:34:00.000-05:00

My trip to America began at the Yerevan airport baggage check.
“Your bag is too heavy. You have to put it in two bags.”
“But I don’t have two bags,” I said, upset at the inconvenience, but not really caring as I was on my way to America. That sentiment was doing a good job of overriding everything else. At least until I ran into the lovely Armenian customer service.
“Well, its two heavy, it has to be in two bags.” Says the woman behind the counter in stilted English.
“I understand that, but I don’t have two bags. I just have this one.”
“Well, then you have to pay.”
This, I assumed…. “Okay,” I say “How much is the fee.”
“I don’t know, I have to check.”
I guess this doesn’t happen too often, I think as I wait for the woman to saunter back. At four in the morning nobody seems to be in too much of a hurry. Not that they probably ever are.
“The fee is 25 dollars,” says the woman I have been talking to, and then promptly goes back to fiddling with my tickets. I say okay, which is met by a blank stare, and then a few minutes later she asks “so you are going to pay?” No, I am going to put half of this suitcase into my imaginary other bag. Yes, I am going to pay.
“Do I pay you?”
“Hold on, I have to ask,” she says leaving the counter once again. Sigh. All of my traveling companions are finished by now. “You have to go up there,” she says, pointing to a small office door on the floor above us.
“Okay, do I leave my bags here?” I ask, getting impatient now.
“Yes, here are your tickets, your boarding pass is inside.” At this, I leave flustered, only to get 100 yards away to hear “wait, you forgot your boarding pass.”
I head up the stairs to the door that was pointed out to me. The Austrian Airlines office. I enter the small room, resembling a closet, with two clustered desks and a woman sitting at the further one. The room is filled with cigarette smoke and a smaller back room is housing with what I presume to be lost luggage. I offer up a quick prayer that my suitcase doesn’t join the ranks of these. One trip here is enough. Finally it is my turn. The woman at the desk looks at me quizzically.
“I have to pay the overweight fee,” I say, barely masking my frustration.
“Its 25 dollars,” she says, and so I open my wallet and hand her 25 dollars. She looks at the money and then at me. “It has to be in drams.”
“Well, then how much is it in drams?” I ask, my frustration no longer masked. I don’t care. She tells me and I pay the fee and leave, this time nearly convinced that my luggage isn’t coming to America with me.

I join my friends in the line for security and customs. Security was a breeze, and after the woman at customs looked at me and then at my passport and then at me and then at my passport, and then at me…..at least six or seven times, we were ready to sit in uncomfortable chairs for the next hour. We passed the time eating fruit and comparing the airport to a spaceship from Star Wars until we were approached by one the airport employees. Walking directly up to my friend Chris, she says “I need your boarding pass.” I don’t think she even asked his name. When Chris asked why she said “we have changed your seat. Chris says “okay, but why?” She responds “the representative told me to,” gives him his new boarding pass and walks away. We were left to ponder who the representative was….

The remainder of the trip was fairly uneventful, and 24 hours later I arrived in Chicago on the same day…exhausted. The trip was short and sweet, but I managed to see and do almost everything that I had planned. Two weeks, a few movies, a lot of relatives, some Mexican food and a lot of good coffee later, I found myself boarding a plane back to this side of the world. Once again, I had a 13 hour layover in Vienna, giving me time to head into the city. Unfortunately, it was cold, windy and snowy, and after walking for about a block I decided that sitting in a café sounded nice. I sipped a Viennese coffee, ate a fruit torte and contemplated what the next week or so would have in store for me. I am not sure I could have ever fully prepared myself.

I arrived in Armenia at 4:45 am on New Year’s eve. I was blessed to have a fellow volunteer meet me at the airport with a taxi thus negating the need to immediately speak all of the Armenian I had forgotten while in the US. We stayed at the hostel that day and went out to celebrate New Year’s in Yerevan that evening. We found the streets mostly bare, and the few open bars the same. We rang in the New Year at one of our favorite establishments with a total of 5 Peace Corps Volunteers, two bar tenders, and two other Armenians. I left around 1:30 or 2am. I am told that it picked up considerably after that. Apparently Armenians stay with their families and then go out later. We did have the privilege of walking through Republic square, where there was a giant artificial Christmas tree, several people dressed as Santa, about 30 of those machines with the claw where you try to grab a stuffed animal, and pony rides…right through the middle of all the people. Later that evening three Coca-cola trucks with Christmas lights showed up. Eclectic, I know.

Happy Holidays!

2005-12-16T02:35:00.000-05:00

It is dawning on me that nearly a month has past since I began writing the previous entry. Oops, guess I kind of forgot to get it posted. Time really does fly, in an insidious sort of way. I am headed to America tomorrow and can’t wait to see what my country has in store for me. The countdown to Christmas vacation has been both painfully slow and unbelievably quick. A direct reflection, I suppose, of my Peace Corps service as a whole.

In some ways I am still groping for things to do, in other ways I have become quite busy. Language tutoring continues to go well and I have begun to teach some lessons in the local region (still not in Vayk, but we are getting closer….slowly). I think my counterpart has gotten a bit jealous that I have branched out and has become more diligent about finding things for me to do. Of course, this happens at the same time that I suddenly become very busy with eco-camps. When it rains it pours…

But enough about that. I AM GOING TO AMERICA!!!!!! And I am a little excited about it. I have been in Armenia over 6 months now, strange, I know, and I am ready for a well-deserved break and some decent coffee (among other things). For those of you I will see during my short stint home, I am very much looking forward to it. For those you I won’t, I wish I could….

I want to wish you all a warm and wonderful holiday season, a Merry Christmas, a Happy Chanukah, and a joyous and successful New Year. Thank you all for your support, even if it has just been keeping up with my adventures through reading my blog, it has meant a lot and has gotten me through many of the rougher times in my adjustment.

Yesterday, as I waited an hour for a non-existent internet connection, I began to think about the multitude of things I am thankful for. There are so many and being far away in a developing country has really helped to emphasize and accentuate the list.

I am thankful for:

Having fathers, husbands, and brothers who are able to live in work in the same country, rather than being forced to chase down seasonal jobs in a distant land.

My good health and strong teeth, the knowledge to maintain health and hygiene, and competent healthcare for when more than maintenance is necessary.

A government that we may not always agree with, but are given the right to disagree and the power to exercise our opinion through various channels.

The freedom of speech and culture, and the ability to be ourselves rather than the impetus to be one of the masses.

Having the means to live comfortably and to buy items that enhance our quality of life.

Warm houses, hot showers and a variety of nutritious foods.

The ability, as a woman, to make my own choices toward who I will marry and when, and the freedom to date and explore my options.

For learning independence and critical thinking as a child and having the ability to apply those concepts to my daily life.

For the opportunity to travel and learn about other cultures and ways of life through first hand experience, and for the knowledge that at the end of two years I have a secure country and life to return to with multiple opportunities for jobs and further education.

For my friends and family and their invariable support.

The best of the season to you all….

Return from the Netherworld

2005-12-16T02:29:00.000-05:00

I have found the difficulty in leaving site, even for a week in Yerevan, which is still technically Armenia, although a world apart from the place we live as Peace Corps volunteers. A week of hot showers, warm bedrooms, good meals and freedom to come and go and make my own decisions without having to check in with my “parents” was a welcome a relief. And very difficult to leave behind again. On the one hand it is good practice for my return from my upcoming trip to America, on the other hand it is a sure sign of what is to come once back in Vayk….

More than ever I have found myself questioning my purposes and intents and this country and the actuality of accomplishing anything truly worthwhile. Nothing has changed really, the people are doing the same things, I am doing the same things, my host family continues along their trajectory and my counterpart continues to be around off and on. The lack of change coupled with a reminder of how I use to live my life—meetings, multi-tasking, conversations, things to do, places to go, an alarm clock set with a purpose—brought me back to my American life. Something that I need to let go of at least for the time being. I am certain that my memory has been tainted by a case of the “good memory” syndrome, that is to say, I only remember the good parts of the life I left behind and not any of the number of “American” things that used to drive me nuts. Hell, I even find myself craving McDonalds from time to time (usually after seeing a Russian McDonalds commercial) but I really have no desire to eat or have anything else to do with McDonalds. Like it or not, it is simply an etched symbol of my culture.

My culture, a short-lived hodgepodge of so many other ways of life, brought together in one country that has slowly developed its own over-arching pace and style of life. One that so much of the world looks to, whether that is good or bad is left to personal decision, both in the way it is looked upon and the end result of that deference.

I find myself alternately hating Armenia and loving it. Alternately hating my own culture and loving it. I miss it, but I am reminded of our over-indulgence, greed, and self-centeredness as I watch our ideals spill over into developing nations such as Armenia. I watched in disgust as a brand new hummer drove down the road in Yerevan the other day. The driver smug in his power and luxury, refusing to choose a lane, to obey ordinary traffic laws (not that anyone does). The last things Armenia needs right now is Hummers, and yet the bigger is better mentality has made it across the ocean. This country needs trash cans and trash trucks. It needs landfills. It needs suitable housing for it’s residents in the regions. It needs people to take responsibility for their own lives and begin to change the backwards ways that have become entrenched parts of life. It doesn’t need Hummers.

I settle back in slowly, a repeat of the process many months ago of slowing down, finding a routine. I remember that when I walk down the streets I will be relentlessly chased by children saying “Hello, vat is your name?” over and over….and over. The other day I said hello to a group of a girls and they said hello back. Because I was in a hurry I continued walking and one of them followed me and said “Good Morning.” It was 2:30 in the afternoon. I said “good morning.” I was in a hurry. I got about 300 yards away and I head “vat is your name?” Not wanting to scream my name across all of Vayk, I kept walking. They kept following. And every time I was about 300 yards away…”vat is your name?” Finally I turned around and waited for them to catch up. When they were near I said (in Armenian) “what do you want? What?” They stared. Mouths hanging open. Silence. I waited, and then continued walking. About 300 yards later… “vat is your name?”

This is my routine. I forget sometimes to embrace it. I enjoy learning a new language, trying to adapt to a new culture, learning more about myself. Life is good, really. It is. The time creeps, but when I look back it flies. The days seem to extend infinitely, and yet the weeks tick by. Already 3 and a half months in Vayk…soon I will living on my own in an apartment with considerable more freedom over myself and my diet. What a difference that will make.

Until then I want to continue to immerse myself in this culture, to learn the language, to make friends. I went to an army party the other day—the traditional celebration held before a young man begins his mandatory military service for the country. Hundreds of relatives, friends and neighbors had gathered. The women were crying, the men dancing and singing. Tables were piled high with dolma and meat and potatoes, pickled vegetables, strong cheese, lavash (the traditional flat bread), olives, cakes, cookies, soda, mineral water, and of course, bottle after bottle of vodka. The tables extended all the way around the large hall. Every place set, food spread out all along the tables, plates stacked on other plates, everything within arms reach. Giant speakers towered in the front of the room, microphone ready for toasts and speeches and singing, stacks of audio cassettes, all rewound or fast forwarded in advance to one particular song. Waiting for the masses to begin dancing in the middle of the room. When the music starts men and women, boys and girls find their way to the middle, arms up, hands waving, feet keeping the beat. Somebody yells “uppa.” Its My Big Fat Greek wedding right here in Vayk.

Before I know it I am dancing, my host father has my coat and my camera, he keeps a watchful eye. Some host nieces and nephews are escorting me through the maze of pin-striped young men with pointy shoes and their well-dressed female counterparts. My Birkenstocks are certainly out of place, but I still can’t embrace the pointy shoes, that part of the culture will have to simply be observed. And I am dancing. Hands up, on my toes, the beat gets faster, we evolve into a circle dance. I think about learning these dances with Peace Corps. I hated it, but am glad I did. The Armenians are impressed, small children watch with interest. A young man somehow related to my family, a nephew I think, about my age, tells me I dance well. Beautifully, in fact. Before I know it we are dancing to a slow song and having a conversation. We are screaming over the music, which helps when I don’t understand, I can just pretend I didn’t hear, and yet I am realizing how much my language is improving, even when it seems it isn’t. I feel comfortable suddenly and I am enjoying myself. I think, this doesn’t usually happen at Armenian parties, but the support and care of my family made it possible.

These are people who truly have my best interests at heart. The men take care of me and make it clear to other men who I belong to. This helps as interactions with men is such an enigma in this country. I am not supposed to even look men in the eye whom I don’t know, which just feels rude to me as I walk down the street. I am used to having men as my equal and it is nice to have some who can joke around with me and converse with me freely. My host father even guards my shot glass for me when other men are over. Mostly to humor him, I drink about a quarter shot of homemade vodka at dinner if he is drinking. We toast, drink and then that is it for me. He knows, doesn’t even ask anymore and always fills my glass only a quarter full. This, by the way, is very un-Armenian, but very appreciated by me. Other men, who don’t understand the routine, will always try to refill my glass after we do the first shot. Usually my cries of “no, no, no” are ignored, but Gero wills sternly say no, and they will put the bottle down. How useful.

Life as Usual

2005-11-13T11:42:00.000-05:00

I could see my breath as I stepped into the bathroom, and shuddered at the thought of taking off any of my layers (let alone all of them) to bathe. But I needed to, I wanted to…even though I didn’t. The hot water caused my skin to steam, even as I soaped and shampooed and filled the bathroom with such a thick haze that I could barely see my feet. Isn’t winter fun? I stepped out and hastily toweled my hair, ever the more thankful that I had finally gone ahead and cut a good six inches off. Actually, one of the other volunteers did the cutting, probably the first home haircut I have had since I was six or seven years old. It looks quite nice and even more important, I didn’t have to feel it wet and cold down my back as a struggled to get dressed enough to move back into the warm part of the house.

Last night we headed up to the village above Vayk. This is the village my host mother and father grew up in, as well as my counterpart. The small car was to come at 6, and at 6:30 we all piled in—7 full grown adults and a toddler. The ride up was more pleasant than the ride down, me with a headache, crammed into the back seat with three other woman and the squirmy toddler, who had entirely too much chocolate (and a little vodka, licked off of fingers), my host father in the passenger seat, with his nearly six foot tall son in his lap, very drunk and talkative, and the driver who kept stopping for various reasons…to chat, to look at the city in the dark and so on. At least, I reasoned, if we were to get an accident, it is very likely that it would be physically impossible for me to move, let alone get thrown though the windshield or something. This was comforting.

Still, I am settling into my life here, and things seem normal. I realize I crave things, not because they don’t exist in this country, but simply because they exist in this family. Simple things that remind me of home, but are beyond the means of this simple life. These people are isolated from the rest of the country, the part with wealth, and it is easy to forget about each respective world when living in the other. It is easy to forget that I view 1000 dram (about 2 dollars) in a starkly different way than the vary family that I live with. I enjoy the simplicity but I miss the freedom that seems to be mutually exclusive when living with a family, even one was wonderful as my own.

I have finally summoned the courage to begin making my own breakfast (oatmeal…extravagant I know, but better than bread), after battling fears of insulting them, shaming them, or embarrassing myself. I have done quite a bit of the latter, which I am much easier able to accept than the former…I have had quite a bit of practice at this point. Still, I look forward to the day when I don’t have to sneak around making oatmeal when the family isn’t home so as to perfect my technique to avoid eliciting the much unwelcome “help.”

Freedom will increase and my health will certainly improve with some control over my diet, and over all I think I will be happier, but I will also very much miss this family. I catch myself often nowadays in some sort of a waking daydream mixed with reminiscence. It is as if I briefly forget that I am not at home. I am sitting here and it is finally warm, the new heater silently casting blue light and much welcome warmth throughout the living room, and we have just moved Gevorg’s bed in here (he sleeps in the warm room in winter), and Gero and Alvard and watching television, and tea is boiling on the stove, and things seem normal. Like next week will be Christmas break and we will put up the tree and make cookies and bake a ham. But it isn’t normal. There will certainly be no ham, and all my interactions are in Armenian, and the television is speaking Russian, and my sheets are dirty because I don’t know how to wash these giant things by hand in a tiny little plastic basin, and the family is taking their weekly bath (if that often for some of them), and we just had beet soup for dinner. But it still feels like home. And that is the bottom line. And I am really, truly learning the meaning of home and family, and it doesn’t have anything to do with the building or the city, or even the country, and blood relations don’t really matter in the end. I have lost quite a bit of independence (although I have gained a considerable amount since PST if that tells you anything), but this time I consider it to be a worthwhile trade, at least for a while. My language, my cultural knowledge, my ability to eat strange meat, my confidence….these things have all improved while living here. We don’t always understand each other, in fact we often don’t understand each other, but we laugh and laugh, and dance and sing, and eat and drink, and badger and pester, and laugh some more, and slowly I feel a part of something bigger than me, more important than me, and ultimately representative of my mission here in the first place.

2005-11-13T11:40:00.000-05:00

My muscles are sore, and although it hurts to move my head around too fast, or to lift my arms, I am happy because I know I have done something. I don’t think the Armenians really understand sore muscles—they would probably be busy smearing yogurt all over the skin, soaking bandages in vodka, and drinking tea. I, on the other hand, know the true cause—productivity. A day of working at a Habitat for Humanity site in a nearby village. Although my work consisted of merely passing metal buckets full of rocks down an assembly line (a full discourse on Armenian building techniques to come later…), for the first time, I felt that I was really doing something useful. An important project, with a tangible project at the end—a house.

Certainly this is important, but the reality is that truly any Armenian over the age of six could be doing the work I was. There is no reason for me to fly half-way around the globe to pass buckets in someone else’s country—at this point there is more than enough work of this type at home (unfortunately). The difference, or what makes the difference, is that volunteerism is a foreign concept here (literally in many cases…). The importance of my work lay not in the actual house, although the home-owners were certainly grateful, but instead in lay in the example we set as Americans in our willingness to help, to perform hard, physical labor, simply because we want to help and feel that is the right thing to do. More and more I see that the best thing I can do here is teach the Armenians how to help themselves, they have the resources, they just need to figure out how to work together for the greater good, to rearrange their thought patterns, and to exchange complacency for self-directed betterment.

Sometimes our American ideals get the better of us, plunging us into greed and gluttony, but it is there same values—hard work, efficiency, independence, strength of character, resolve, desire to improve, initiative, that have so quickly launched our country to the powerful leadership position it is in. Perhaps now we find ourselves with too much of a good thing in terms of the state of our international affairs (I am still somewhat connected via Newsweeks and news in Russian—the former more helpful than the latter). Simultaneously I find myself in a place with too much of a different style of government.

One of the best things we are doing right now is encouraging young Armenians to get involved in their communities and to begin volunteering their time towards productive entities. Rapid change in a country like Armenia can be good and bad—we have to try to steer the urban explosion and mass migration to Yerevan back towards the good end of the spectrum. I am pretty sure the only way to do this is to make other places in Armenia appealing in terms of a place to live rather than a place to escape from.

Yesterday the volunteers (peace corps) outnumbered the Armenians, but there was a small showing from the local university, and we did our best to make it a fun day in hopes that these few students would spread the word. Habitat for Humanity Armenia, is a little different from that in the US (as you might imagine). Instead of starting from scratch, they use housing structures that already exist…there are lots of shells of houses to choose from, salvage what they can, and rebuild the rest. This means that houses can be built relatively inexpensively (by US standards anyway), often a “new” home is finished for $5000. Of course, all of the typical Armenian building techniques are employed—cement floors, single pane glass windows, no insulation (I must be thinking about the cold). And hence, the buckets of rocks--we filled the entire house with a layer of large gravel, upon which the cement will be poured.

Meanwhile I have managed to get involved in a few other micro-projects and I learning more about what I need to do here and how I can possibly go about doing it. Some of this has come through deeper interaction through my Armenian friends (who speak English and thus enable me to have a conversation of some depth). I have spent some time with some of my LCF’s in Yerevan, and interacting with them outside of PST, in what constitutes their day-to-day life had been enjoyable and educational. It is nice to be able develop friendships with host country nationals on this level. These, however, are people who are used to working with American, who understand the Peace Corps very well, have traveled outside of Armenia themselves, and who in general, have a positive outlook for the future of their country. They are certainly the exception rather than the norm.

Through these LCF’s I have had the opportunity to work with some English language clubs in Yerevan, and to actually teach a lesson on the environment for one of the clubs. Due to the fact that an American was coming, 44 students, ages 17-18 showed up for the lesson (I was told “I don’t know how many, but probably more than 20”) more than 20 indeed. Fortunately, we were able to start with a 30 minute question and answer session about why I was in Armenia, what I think about the country and what exactly I am doing here. I am not sure of all the answers myself, but I guess I made stuff up pretty well. Then we discussed the environmental problems of Armenia (there are many) and what we can do about them as individual citizens.
This group of students taught me about the way their generation thinks about Armenia and about the problems that plague their country. There is an obvious recognition of the problems, but also an underlying resignation to the inability to do anything about it. How can I give these kids hope while at the same time instilling the message that they are the hope? I did my best to convey this message and provide some optimism (although one of the two male students in the room did his best to do the opposite). I am planning to go back in the future to do more lessons with this group and hope to bring them information about places where they can get involved and hopefully impel them to do so.

Ararat Dreams

2005-11-09T14:50:00.000-05:00

The sun rose spectacularly this morning, casting the clouds in brilliant shades of red, orange and purple… The rolling hills of desert and stark land formations staunchly contrasted the colors of the morning sky. I watched the scene unfold from the back window of a marshutnie as we stiffly bounced along scantily paved highways, plowing our way through the occasional herd of farm animals—sheep, goats, cows, old Armenian men with sticks, who vaguely alternated between chasing their charges off the road in the face of oncoming traffic, and idly chattering about whatever shepherds have to chat about in the early morning chill.

As I was contemplating the subject matter of Armenian shepherd conversation, my eye was caught by a break in the sun-bathed clouds. There, in the distance, stood the newly snow-covered flanks of Mt. Ararat, magnificently aglow in a burning shade of yellowish orange. The scene was startlingly crisp, and sent a small chill down my spine—half out of sheer the awe, the other the return of the itch to climb. To experience, first-hand, the cold searing my lungs, the ice crystals stinging my face, the morning sun creeping through the shadows, turning the ice crust into soft, wet mush. Communing directly with nature and thus feeling directly its brutality and harsh realities somehow makes it that much more beautiful.

The two white cones dominated the landscape—the large monstrosity and the smaller replica, rising serenely above the cloud layer, basking in the rising sun. It was one of those scenes that resonates in memory, that can be matched by something different, perhaps, but never replicated. That, in one simple glance, defies those who lack appreciation and understanding, and for the rest of us, creates an excitement about the natural world that can only be quelled through direct interaction.

Perhaps I will never again see Ararat in today’s glorious form. I have no pictures to commemorate the event—they would have merely distracted from the experience anyhow. Only a memory sharply etched into my mind as tangible proof of creations true glory.

Nature is a strange entity—separate in its existence from our day-to-day lives, and yet intrinsically and inextricably intertwined in everything that comprises the amalgamation of civilization. At its gentlest it is a time-marker, ticking off the years in snow accumulation and thaw, autumn color changes, spring blooms and summer breezes, at its most menacing, a force well beyond the scope of human control. Perhaps a well-needed reminder of forces greater than ourselves and an opportunity for introspection towards the state of humanity. A poignant opportunity for selflessness and a simultaneous invitation to the malicious, but which prevails?

I find I am given the opportunity and the catalyst to contemplate such issues while in Armenia, where the snowfalls mark more than just passing time. They mark a time that is better than the last, but still not good enough. The snow-crested mountains signify the end of the canning season, the final harvest, the last chance for laundry to dry before it freezes. They signal the beginning of cold nights, poor nutrition, short days, layers of clothing, evenings passed drinking tea and huddling around the heater. An experience I am sure not to forget. Normally the new snow falls are exciting for me, but now they linger with a newfound sense of a dread, and perhaps a newfound sense of respect for the power of nature over the human condition. This time I can’t some home from my camping trip to a nice warm house and a long hot shower. I am living it, a two-year commitment regardless of the season and the lack of pizza delivery.

Head Soup

2005-11-05T12:41:00.000-05:00

What a week it has been. James left for America, and I was entrusted with the key to his apartment—and the responsibility of letting his land-lord’s wife in to clean, because (and I quote) “James doesn’t clean, his apartment is very dirty, but it’s okay…he’s a boy.” And so I sat, reading a book, listening to this woman shuffling around a muttering under her breath about the dust bunnies and filthy corners and the unswept floors. In addition to being the bearer of the key, I was also a translator of all things American. In her quest to find something to clean the bathtub with, she brought me sunscreen, odor eaters foot powder, cockroach traps, and shampoo. Not knowing the words for these items, I could only say “for the sun,” “for your feet,” “for big bugs,” and so on. I guess she eventually found what she was looking for.

No less that seven hours later, I was back home, feeling less than stellar. My plan was to eat and go to bed, but my stomach was not so excited about the eating part. After fending off pleas to eat more for several minutes, I broke down and said I was a little sick. There was some gasping and looks of panic, and then my host mother and father sprung into action, brining me blankets and pillows and tea and honey and jam and vodka. Yes, vodka. Vodka cures everything. I managed to get away with only one sip of the vodka, one spoonful of honey, one bite of quince jam and one cup of tea. Although, the tea conversation went something like this:

Gero (father): bring jill a cup of tea
Gero (a minute later): bring jill two cups of tea
Me: no, bring jill one cup of teaGero: bring jill two cups of teaMe: bring jill one cup of tea
Gero: bring jill three cups of tea
Me: bring jill one cup of tea
Gero: bring jill three cups of tea

I ended up with two cups of tea, although I was saved by my host brother, who came home also feeling sick. I gave him my second cup of tea and told him it was for him.
After answering repeated questions about why I was sick, where I got sick, when I got sick and whether I mersoomed (got cold), where I mersoomed, if there were windows open at James house, if I got sick at the Halloween party, if my bedroom wasn’t warm enough, and on and on, I went to bed and slept a good long time.

I woke up this morning feeling a bit better, although not one hundred percent, and went to the kitchen to make my breakfast. Where I was greeted by a tongue. A big, long, fatty tongue, sitting on the counter. I did my best to ignore it and continued making my tea. I was enjoying my tea, when I turned around to see my host mother roasting a head over the open flame of the burner. A big head--cow head I think. I tried not to look to close and decided this was cue to take my leave. We will be having Khash again soon, although this time instead of being hoof soup it is going be head soup. MMMmmmm.

The tongue, on the other hand, was served for lunch, in little tongue slices on a platter. I felt obligated to a least try one little tongue slice. I don’t like tongue. Later, I got the opportunity to try seom brain—served on a lisce of bread. Brain is kind of a browninsh paste, strange tasting and nopt really something I ever want to eat again, to be honest. At least I tried it. As I was leaving for yerevan this weekend, I got a peek at the still cooking khash (head soup, with vodka). My host mother lifted the lid of the pot for me to look, and there, sitting in the midst of boiling broth, was a giant skull. MMMmmm skull soup. I am happy to be Yerevan eating pizza, thanks.

I was thinking about all the strange encounters I have had while in Armenia the other day, and perhaps more importantly, about how normal these things have become. It makes me wonder what will happen when I get back to the states.

I was thinking that when I come back to America I will start chasing people down the streets and screaming their nationality at them, and perhaps, just for good measure, I will throw in a few other similar nationalities. For instance, I could be walking through campus and see someone from China—I would take off running behind them yelling “Chinese, Chinese, Chinese, Chinese,” and then maybe throw in “Japanese” every once in a while…just in case.

I also think that I will point to pimples and blemishes on people’s faces and ask “what is that?” And, if people are really lucky, and they have shown any sign of weight gain, I will tell them that they have gotten very fat. When I see people who I don’t know, or who are different than me, I will get right in their face…and stare. Intently, like I am examining a new specimen, or a species thought to be extinct. Then I will ask my friends questions about this person—in their presence as if they don’t understand what I am saying.

When my friends come over to my house, I will ask them if they would like something to eat. If they say no, I will pile huge helping of it on their plate and insist that they eat. If they tell me don’t want it, I will say “why? You don’t like it?” When I talk about people I know, I will refer to them as the “the fat one” or “the ugly one,” or whatever other defining characteristic they may have—nice or not.

On the other hand, I am getting used to being able to talk about how obnoxious a person is while they are standing a mere five feet away (or less). This is going to get me in trouble some day, I know it, but for now it is just so easy to turn to my fellow English speaking friends and say exactly what is on my mind. Of course, the Armenians often do this even when they are aware that you speak their language, so I suppose I shouldn’t be too concerned. What will I do in the US where people actually understand the things I am saying and I am expected to be polite? I am in trouble.

These things have just be come so indicative of life here that have begun to be an accepted part of the way I live. The best I can do is laugh…and write about it so you can laugh, and think that maybe someday there will have been enough foreigners in this country that we cease to be as curious of an object as we are now.

deeper musings

2005-11-05T12:18:00.000-05:00

Today was one of those days where almost nothing went right and instead of a mound of frustration and fruitlessness, I am left with the realization of how my patience and perspective have grown. Markedly. I have left the world of the instantaneous, and in many cases, the sensible, and slowly I am learning to function in the realm of the deliberate, and sometimes, the insane. I came to the Peace Corps with Dalai-Lama-esque ideals and thoughts of deep meditation and learning of values through local people. Instead I have stumbled upon a region that has been ransacked by communism and then hung to dry by a desire to be somewhere else, where life is easy and the money flows. Western desires meet communist tendencies. Greed takes over. Idealism is eclipsed by the need to put bread on the table. There has been way too much waiting and false promises—of new hope and a wealthy future. These people have to think critically and work together to get out of this situation and yet critical thinking and teamwork have been learned out of entire generations. Rote memorization is the rule here.

I do not want to waste my time or the time of others in a two-year stint on this side of the world. And I know that it is not a waste of my time, no matter how slowly things seem to move at times. The intellectual and spiritual growth afforded to me here is beyond compare. Never again will I have the time and opportunities that I have now. My reading and writing have never been as prolific, but I need to focus my energy. This is the contribution that Armenia makes to me—there is no cosmic teahouse, no Buddhist monks, the people themselves do not necessarily inspire me to greatness or any sort of transcendentalism. However, my position in this country and my ability to reflect on my American life from a new position and new perspective have granted to me that which I ultimately search.

In testing my patience on multiple levels, in the startling realizations of what post-soviet really means, in the daily struggle, in the rut of seed-chewing and squatting and cat-calling, in the everyday monotony and redundancy of a culture-deprived republic, where even the name of the culture house uses a Russian word, I have found new life in myself, and an ability to appreciate that which heretofore was simply too a minute a detail to have time for.

I want to be yogic, to be deliberate and meditative and peaceful. I have bought books and taken classes and filled my home with candles and plants and nice music, and now without candles or plants or even running hot water, I find that I have spent too much time trying and not enough time doing. I crave the comforts of home and then have to ask myself ‘why?’ Deprivation is an integral part of the PC experience. It is one of the reasons I came—a part of this existential quest. And desire is a part of deprivation, in fact it is definitive of deprivation—necessary for the full experience. But I have to ask what type of experience I am trying to cultivate, and further, why I can’t simply let this one be. Be. I need to be.

A strange lesson to learn from the country of Armenia, but perhaps the country isn’t important. PC is different everywhere, but is it the same too? Certainly it elicits similar feelings of hope, desire, frustration, gratitude, indulgence, martyrdom, fortitude and even defeat. There must be a greater sense of humanitarianism coupled with wanderlust. A strong recipe for self-improvement through introspection, or simply a clean slate. A new lens on life. And yet the first thing that comes flooding back is everything old. It clings to me, defines me. Nobody knows me—the old me—the only know the now me. And this only comes though observation as I stutter through “please pass the potatoes” at dinner. My actions are so important—they don’t require tenses or affixes or definite articles. Still, I am not totally understood and possibly I never will be. I have to take that chance. Besides, it isn’t what I am here for. My growth and that of my community will occur simultaneously and most likely neither will be very evident, perhaps for a very long time. This is one of the lessons of the Peace Corps—to be conscious of and happy with my own strides. It is possible I will be one of the only ones to notice, certainly the only one who truly knows the blood, sweat and tears behind even the mildest of accomplishments. Celebrate. Victories like this don’t happen every day, and like a stone in a pond, the ripples will continue—well after I have gone. At least I can hope.

This is the interconnectedness of our actions and in a deeper sense, it is why we are here as volunteers. We are the role models—for ourselves, for each other, for the countries we serve. It may take the countries a very long time to figure that out. That’s okay, our personal growth will surface more quickly, and this we will be able to apply to those things we interact with for a long time to come. This is the timelessness of the Peace Corps. An organization as effective in its own country as it is in those it services overseas. It is a thankless job. It is an important one. And it takes a certain strength of character and personal resolve to make it work, to get through the slow times, and to derive benefit from the most peculiar inanities of a foreign land.

postally absurd

2005-10-23T13:20:00.000-05:00

Today, I would like to start with a story. Once upon a time…

I went to the post office yesterday (one of my favorite pastimes…let me tell you) with explicit instructions from my sitemate James to pick up any packages that may arrive for him. James was in Yerevan, taking the GRE, and planning to return on Friday. Being the Michigan State football fanatic that he is, his parents actually send him every televised MSU football game on DVD so that he can watch them on his computer. It was especially important that I get him this week’s game because the post office would be closed upon his return, and the game had to be watched. He had even gone so far as calling the post office to specifically tell them to give his packages to me or our other sitemate because he would be in Yerevan. He had also told me, no less than 5 times, to make sure to get the package. Dually noted. I was on it.

So, there I was, at the post office, and there was his package, sitting on the desk. The temperamental post lady was back sorting mail somewhere. Some other guy gives me James’ package, at which point, the temperamental post lady came running out to tell me, on no uncertain terms, that I could not have James’ package. I argued. The answer was no. I reminded her that James had called about this. “You may not.” I told her James was in Yerevan. “You can’t sign for it.” I got fed up, threw my hands up in the air, and left. Angry.

The very next day my host mother receives a phone call…from the post. “Jill has a letter here and a small thing (the small thing turned out to be a post card…I guess they don’t have a word for that one)…and she needs to come pick up James’ packages.” What? James’ packages? What happened to you may not, you can’t sign for it? So I went, ID in hand to get my letters, my small thing, and James’ packages. When I arrived, the temperamental post lady asked me where James was. OK, for like the 17th time this week…he is in YEREVAN. “oh, so I guess you want to take his packages,” as she heaves a big sigh, as if this was the most inconvenient thing to happen in months.

As it turned out, all of the fuss was because SHE would have to fill out a small form, instead of James, and the day before she had a headache. So much for customer service, as if such a concept ever existed here in the first place. This small form consisted of James’ name and his address. Then I signed and was on my way. How taxing. What a wonderful example of Armenian business practices.

Meanwhile on the home front, other new and exciting things were taking place. This morning I was home alone, studying and enjoying the peace and quiet. This was a fleeting existence as before long my host brother came home and while I was on the phone with jams (who had just gotten back from…you guessed it, Yerevan), noticed that one of his parakeets was missing. Suddenly we had an emergency on our hands. He asked where his mother was and I told him she wasn’t home. The next thing I knew he was running around the garden area yelling for his mother. Hurriedly, I hung up and told him where his mother had gone. He called her, but like me, she had not noticed the missing bird. We looked for a while and pretty soon, thinking it was a lost cause, I went back to studying.

A few minutes later, my host brother was yelling for me. He had found the small yellow parakeet at the very top of the tallest tree in the garden. He asked me what we should do (I was at a loss) but before I could come up with an answer, he picked up a clump of dirt and threw it at the bird (bad idea for those of you scoring at home). Small pieces of garden soil rained down on us, and the bird took off (I would too if someone was throwing clumps of dirt at me). We watched it fly right out of the garden and then promptly lost track of it. It was then that I learned that this is the third time...the third parakeet that has flown away. One would think they would fix the cage. Oh well. Now we have one parakeet to keep us company, which cuts down on the noise factor considerably. Lets just say that I am not too sad. Fortunately, my host brother doesn’t seem to be either.

To add to the strange comings and goings of the week, the annual harvest festival was held in Yegheghnadzor this past weekend. It was an enjoyable event, but not the festival that the A12’s had attended last year, and thus a bit disappointing. None-the-less, I got to experience my first Armenian festival, replete with a parade and a ferris wheel. The ferris wheel is always in Yegheghnadzor, but is typically not running. I was excited to finally have the chance to ride it, but after about five minutes standing in the blob (Armenian version of a line) getting elbowed, pushed, and shoved by unruly Armenian teenagers who desperately needed a bath….like last week, I decided the ferris wheel wasn’t worth it. I am sure the opportunity will arise again. The parade, on the other hand, involved the majority of Yegheghnadzor and the neighboring villages….sitting in an amphitheater type thing. First there were some lengthy introductions by important people, some dancing by local children and some poetry screaming by a local poet. He seemed like a cool guy, very un-armenian, very creative, but I still don’t understand why Armenians yell their poetry. Maybe if I understood the language better…maybe. Next was the parade: about 10 old cars and trucks, one from each village represented in the festival. The villagers had decorated them by piling baskets of fruits and vegetables and random vines, pumpkins and other harvesty type things on the hoods, trunks and roofs. I am pretty sure they were in no way fastened or secured to the vehicles in most cases. Then, one by one, the vehicles drove into the amphitheater, made two slow circles around the cement stage and then left. That was the parade. At some point there was also a wedding party running around the stage. I am still not sure where they came from, when the actual marriage was, etc., but there was some throwing of rice or some type of grain and some dancing with a loaf of bread. Wedding complete.
We were able to buy wine by the liter (if we brought our own plastic bottles). I also bought some goat cheese, which is an exciting alternative to the non-descript, salty, white, Armenian cheese. Very salty. The remainder of the evening was spent as a volunteer get-together, with homemade pizza, and of course, wine.

volcanic adventures

2005-10-20T08:32:00.000-05:00

I know I promised a day or two before this entry, but, well, the internet just really sucks. There is no pretty way to put it. I have been to the internet every day (either in Vayk or Yegheghnadzor) and every day there is some problem. Usually just no connection, but sometimes no power, or it simply randomly closed. Anyway, here is another late entry. I plan to be in Yerevan this weekend and I hope to have another up by then...but no promises!

It has been eventful week, replete with adventure, Armenian tutoring, and cold bedrooms. Yup, its cold now. Well, at least in my bedroom, I was actually wearing gloves earlier today. I have to take OFF layers to go outside—its sunny and warm out there. This worries me. I finally broke down and turned on one of my heaters this afternoon. It seems so illogical, when it is still so nice outside but I had to do it. I have also been trying to get myself used to the cold and to conserve electricity. When the bedroom temperature dropped below 60, however, I decided it was time. What I learned through this exercise is that one of my heaters makes so much racket that you can hear it throughout the entire house, and the other on consistently smells like something is burning. Tough choice.

On a happier note….this weekend I climbed a volcano!!! And then learned exactly how out of shape I have become while sitting around in Armenia eating bread. Regardless, I made it, and was only minorly sore the next day. We started the day at an old Armenian church, with the dome of our volcano looming in the distance. The closer we got to the actual cone, the bigger it seemed. Located near Vayk, the vegetation was similar, but with the addition of volcanic rocks, giving the area a moon-like essence. The weather was crisp and breezy, more so the higher we climbed. I strated the day with a t-shirt on while hiking and ended up with a fleece and stocking cap.

Once above the villages on our approach hike, we were awarded with spectacular views of nearly all the neighboring villages, towns and cities, as well as the mountains of Karabagh (a disputed area claimed by Armenia, but located in Azerbaijan to the East) and the newly snow-capped Mt. Ararat (located in Turkey to the west). Here, more than ever, it was evident that winter was on its way.

On the way to the summit we stopped for a rest break near some hay fields and grazing lands below the cone proper. Fresh haystacks dotted the landscape, and it soon became evident exactly how comfortable it is to lounge in the hay…and so warm. We snacked on power bars and commented on our newfound understanding as to why cartoon characters lounge in haystacks and smoke pipes. (and yes, this is representative of the educational discussions had by all peace corps volunteers in the midst of their service…)
We reached the summit by mid-afternoon to discover a huge crater, nearly the depth of the exposed cone. We circled the top, marveling at the views and the cold winds, but decided against descending into the cone via an established trail due to the late hour (and the fact that if we go down we have to come back up! Something none of us wanted to do after the grueling climb). The crater itself was mostly uninteresting, save for the remains of a church built inside the volcano. Strange place for a church if you ask me, but then, nobody did.

The descent was supposed to be an uneventful downhill walk back to the village we started from. Little did we know that in a land of seemingly rolling hills and scattered farmland, we would get cliffed out—repeatedly. Finding our way up was fairly simple compared with trying to get back to the village that we could always see but never quite reach. We finally made it to the outskirts of the village near dark, only to find ourselves on a road that paralled the village but had no connector roads with which to enter the village. We ended up walking the entire length of the village (which, mind you, is much longer than it is wide) until we were able to get to the next parallel road and walk back into the village. I’m not so sure about the engineer that designed this one…. I had nearly resigned myself to walking in zig-zag patterns up and down village roads until we were able to find the center, when we stumbled across a house with a Lexus SUV in the driveway and a satellite dish! Nice cars show up from time to time in the big cities, but to have one in a village is a completely different story. We decided that this was our house—we chose our best Armenian speaker and sent him in to ask if we could use their phone to call a cab. Low and behold, not only did this particular house have a Lexus and a satellite dish, but it had a fluent English speaker who had lived in Washington state for a while. Even more bizarre for a village. Before we knew what was going on we were drinking coffee, eating pears and walnuts (both heavily in season right now) and being offered free rides back to Vayk. Free? Are we still in Armenia?

We finished up our coffee break, much to the delight of our newfound audience (one or two Armenians sat and talked with us, the rest—nearly 10 I’d guess—lined up on the balcony above us and watched). Not only is drinking coffee a national pastime, but it is a spectator sport as well…who knew? I suppose seven Americans is a sight, especially ones who had just wandered into a village after climbing that rather large thing looming in the distance. Not only that, but we were dirty and covered in hay from our afternoon breaks. Like monkeys we hastily groomed ourselves in an attempt to look presentable…

Finally, we loaded into a Russian Jeep and a Niva ( a Russian 4-wheel drive hatch-back car thingy) and headed into Vayk. There we learned that not only did we get free rides, but we were left with grocery sacks full of walnuts and fruit. What a wonderful reminder of the capacity for hospitality and kindness in Armenia. It is not often that it comes out in a display such as this, especially for those of us who live in cities and towns (it is generally more common in the villages). This is the part of Armenian that keeps me here.

Beyond the occasional excursion up the flanks of a volcano, the past few weeks have been fairly uneventful. I have tried unsuccessfully for ten days in a row to access the internet, both in Vayk and in Yegheghnadzor. I finally had success today, but this particular entry was not ready yet. Figures. Maybe tomorrow (here’s wishing).

I have started meeting with my counterpart a bit more frequently, although I am realizing that our meetings are fairly fruitless until my language is better (she hasn’t yet grasped the concept that if she speaks slowly and clearly and uses common words I am more likely to understand…) Lord only knows what all I have agreed to lately. “Just smile and nod” has become my new philosophy in life. And, strangely enough, it usually works. I have learned when to insert the obligatory nod, uh-huh, and hmmm, in order to feign understanding. It is often easier than looking confused or saying that I don’t understand—then the speaker will launch into a rapid explanation of the word I don’t understand, using at least 6 more words that I don’t understand. It is sort of an otherworldy experience to be involved in a conversation and yet have no idea what is going on. Of course, this backfires when the statement I nodded yes to turns out to be a question, or I am asked if I understand and I haven’t followed the last twenty minutes of the conversation, save for a few words here and there. That can be awkward…. With any luck my understanding of the language will catch up with me soon.

Tutoring is actually going fairly well, now that I have two marathon sessions under my belt. We are learning the things I need to know, only at a rapid pace and for 2 to 2 and a ½ hours at a time. Its rough—especially the last half hour—but I already notice improvements. My teacher speaks English fluently and is used to working with Americans, but is also intensely demanding. In our last lesson we covered simple past, past progressive, past perfect and present perfect, all of the exceptions for each tense, and we used new verbs to boot! I walked out feeling like I had been kicked in the head. I have another lesson tomorrow, but am still working on sorting out the last one. Perhaps I can convince her to slow down a smidgen…

At least it gives me something concrete to work on. I can schedule my days around studying shifts and lessons. Throw in a few meetings with the counterpart, a trip or two to the post-office, some daily yoga and/or work-out sessions and of course, the obligatory reading, and I pretty much have a full week. Time is flying by now. I’m not sure how, but it is. I have now officially been at sight for almost as long as I was in Margohovit. PST seemed so much longer. Light years longer. Of course, I still have the winter to contend with, but I am content with my newfound schedule and ability to ease slowly into some more meaningful work while still being able to tend to myself and my personal growth. And hopefully I’ll be able to crank out a few more of these entries…if you’re lucky and the internet cooperates (that can be a big “if”)…..

conferences, meetings and macaroni

2005-10-13T14:04:00.000-05:00

I'm not so sure about the macaroni part....

Hello! Sorry it has taken me so long to get around to posting again. Amazingly enough, I have been busy...and when I finally got this thing together there was no internet connection....for 10 days. So frustrating. Anyway, the next one is nearly done as well, so hopefully in a day or two there will be more new material. Hope you are well. J

I spent my first night in Yerevan this weekend. A new experience indeed. All the places PCVs normally stay were full so I ended up at a "bed and breakfast" with four other volunteers, which was actually someone’s apartment that had beds, and you guessed it, breakfast. The apartment had two bedrooms—the hostess slept on a couch—and I even got the luxury of a bucket bath in the morning, which was good because I love bucket baths. Right. Our host did have CNN in English, which allowed us to see some of thee hurricane coverage in a language that I could understand (most international news in this country is in Russian). My host family will translate the Russian into Armenian for me, but even then, my understanding of their understanding is sketchy at best. That, I am not sure how comprehensive Russian coverage of American news actually is....

The reason for my venture to the big city was a host of meetings for projects or potential projects that I am involved in (or potentially involved in). I now have more opportunities, seemingly unlimited time, and a language barrier. I have still not heard from my tutor, and am about to start the search for a different one if I don’t start something soon. My language continues to get better, but I am anxious to be able to actually communicate with my counterpart and to stop having conversations with people like the one that follows:

Neighbor: Will you get married in Armenia?
Me: A little later.
Everyone: Laughter
Neighbor: You speak Armenian badly.

Of course, the neighbor talks like he has a mouth full of marbles and I can’t understand a word he says. This conversation was later related to me, in Armenian of course, and I understood everything that was said. Perhaps after some tutoring he will stop coming over here to tell me how poorly I speak. Its not really that motivating.

What was motivating was the time I spent in Tsakhadzor for a post-PST counterpart conference. Not only was my counterpart able to see me interact with peers who speak at the same level as I do (I think she finally realizes that I actually speak pretty well for four months of studying...), but we were also able to come to a mutual understanding in terms of work schedules and goals, with the help of a few translators and my Program Manager. The event also functioned as a nice reunion with my LCF’s and some extra motivation to study a little harder.

I am, of course, still waiting for tutoring to begin. I have now spent six weeks trying to establish this relationship. I was waiting for her to call me and set something up, but today I received a call from one of the other Vayk volunteers, relaying the message that I should call her. Getting closer. Slowly.

It is a good thing I am patient, but perhaps I am too well trained. Armenians do not know how to wait in lines. Their preferred method is to mob whatever it is they want, while elbowing women and children out of the way until they have reached their goal. Never is this more evident than when trying to catch a marshrutnie from a bus station. While trying to get to Gyumri, I stood at a bus stop for over three hours watching over and over the same scene: a marshurtnie pulls up, loaded with people coming to Yerevan, the people literally start chasing it through the parking lot until it stops, at which point the door is ripped open and people start stuffing themselves in. Notice I didn’t mention the people already on the marshutnie getting off…that’s because it hasn’t happened yet. Elevators are the same way, people rush in without letting those already on to get off, which is not only inconvenient, but greatly minimizes the amount of room available for new riders. Hmmm. I am becoming better at aggressively pushing myself onto public transportation, but I am so trained to wait my turn that I am often stuck waiting and waiting and waiting. My new technique, developed while trying to get off the subway in Yerevan, is to check people with my backpack as they force me farther back onto the train instead of allowing me off. It works pretty well.

I am happy to report that I have finally gotten busy enough to necessitate a calendar! I have still not begun regular meetings with my counterpart but am becoming involved in more community events, meetings, committees, etc. Yesterday I had the privilege of attending the opening of the new maternity ward at the Vayk Hospital. For a small no-name town like Vayk this was a big deal, and resulted in the presence of the American Ambassador, his wife and others from the embassy, as well as several NGO’s, Yerevan based news crews, and of course citizens of Vayk (and the Peace Corps Volunteers).

I did not have the privilege of viewing the hospital before the renovation, but I have seen other floors of the hospital as well as the before and after pictures of the ward in question. I think it is safe to say that we were all astounded by the shiny white walls, new tile floors, flushing toilets and generally cleanly appearance. There is still a ways to go in terms of sanitation of sheets, blankets, etc., but this was a huge step in the right direction, funded in part by a community self-help grant through the embassy. The hospital transformed from a place that I would be reluctant to camp in, to a place that I might consider going to as a hospital…if I was in dire need ....or something.

Not only was it nice to see facilties slowly rising to western standards, but also it was encouraging to see the community and staff involvement in such a large project. The unfortunate flip side is that this tends to be the only type of project many Armenians are interested in—the kind that gives them money. I am fortunate to be paired with a counterpart who is very influential in the community (and happens to be the director of the hospital ward in question). It is my hope that through her influence and eagerness to produce change we will be able to have impact without the aid of thousands of dollars of grant money. I suppose time will tell.

enjoying the slow life

2005-09-18T11:34:00.000-05:00

Most likely by the time I get around to posting this entry I will have been at site for a month. Time passes slowly and yet the weeks fly by. With an obvious lack of work right now (so far I have met with my counterpart once…she is very busy right now, of course, I find myself wondering when she won’t be busy, but that is a story for another time) I have been doing quite a bit of reading, writing, and even some studying and working out from time to time, although not nearly as much as I should, especially with the amount of time I have on my hands.

I finished reading Into the Wild the other day (my fifth book in this country…two were during PST—I am now on my sixth). The book somehow works its way into my soul and strikes a resonating chord within. It reawakens the part of me that brought me here in the first place, the part that searches for meaning apart from materialism, that longs to commune directly with nature, to wipe out all of the distractions of the modern world. As Peace Corps Volunteers it is my sense that we all share this longing, this wanderlust, in some form or part and all have tucked away somewhere a romanticized version of our lives abroad.

And yet, here I am, typing on my computer, enjoying electricity and hot water the majority of the time…wandering what exactly it is that I am here for. What kind of good will I actually be able to do in this society? Patience is a crucial element in this delicate phase. I am “integrating” and learning about my new community, practicing my language (lord knows it needs it), and perhaps the thing I am doing the best right now: getting to know my site mates.

I am pondering this element of my service as I once again find myself packed into the back of a hot marshurtnie, squeezed between my American sitemate and an old Armenian man who keeps spreading his legs out, thereby taking up half of my already tiny seat. We bounce and swerve as only marshutnies can, the back door, only half-closed rattling about, threatening to spill the burgeoning pile of luggage onto the winding mountain road behind us. A heavy cloud of exhaust hovers over the back seat. I think I might be sick. I drown out American pop-star hits of the early 90’s with my headphones and drift into another intellectual mini-battle in my head.

The desert landscape and the mountains looming in the distance remind me of past jobs. Fulfilling, meaningful experiences with concrete expectations and defined goals. And then I think of the amorphous, ill-defined task that lies ahead of me now. I wonder if I can do it. My supporters say yes, in fact they have unnaturally high hopes for me. I wonder what they would think if they saw me this weekend driving an old-fashioned bumper car, gleefully ramming into my fellow volunteers. Or perhaps during one of my ill-fated encounters with the post office employees. Contrary to popular belief, no matter how many times you yell something rapidly in another language…I will still not understand.

It amazes me how such a little bump in the road, such as not being able to mail a simple letter….makes me question my existence in this country. It is as if I am going along just fine, collecting all of these insanely frustrating experiences, and then when the most minute inanity of them all pops up, I lose it.

Not to worry, the day got better. I actually met with my counterpart for the second time. Now I have met for one and a half hours!! Again, my language skills are less than desirable. Although she did figure out that if she spoke slower (quite a bit slower), then I could understand and actually participate in the conversation rather than simply nodding my head to everything that was said.
“Jill, how are you”
“yes”
“How is you host family treating you?”
“yes”
“What are your ideas for vayk?”
“yes”

So it’s a bit of an exaggeration, but not much… We did have a good meeting, and I got the chance to see the orchard and garden run by the NGO. Children work in it to raise saplings and grow produce to give to the poor. It is, at the very least, a viable platform to do something with in the future. Once I figure out how to say something besides ‘yes.’

Which brings me to another accomplishment for the week—getting further in my quest to start Armenian tutoring. I have now had two meetings with my potential tutor to try to establish this relationship and now we have gotten to the point where she will call me and set something up. Sigh. Things do move slowly here.

But in the process of learning to live in Vayk, I have learned to live more deliberately, to be more patient and not to expect instant results. Sending three emails and making one phone call takes three hours. That’s all there is to it. Which, in some ways is good, as it eats up the hours in my otherwise not so busy day. I am also learning to be unproductive. A skill that heretofore I have not possessed. And really, a good one for me to practice. What is the point in being constantly busy and overworked my entire life? Slow life means more time spent with friends and family, fresher more whole foods rather pre-fab stuff, and the ability to pursue various interests in terms of books and hobbies. The lack of English television also can’t hurt here.

As I adapt to life here I can understand the difficulty that many Peace Corps volunteers face when trying to reintegrate into US society. But for now, I am going to enjoy it as I figure out how to fit my job into the equation and learn more about this society and culture. And I do think things will pick up in the future. Until then I will continue to hike, explore the region and enjoy a lull in my schedule that I don't think I have ever experienced before....

eco-camps and other assorted horrors

2005-08-31T13:48:00.000-05:00

The past week and a half or so has been awash in new experiences, opportunities, craziness and sometimes general ridiculousness. The latter is mainly in reference to the time I spent at Eco-camps working with an NGO from Yerevan. I suppose that is as good a place to start as any….although I must add the disclaimer that because this is a website I must temper my thoughts and opinions (as well as the truth in some cases) so as not to cause trouble.

With that said, I have never witnessed the level of pettiness and mismanagement that I was privy to this week. At least not in a “professional” setting. This was mainly a problem of the Armenians from Yerevan not be able to play well with the Armenians from the village. This is not entirely surprising due to the huge dichotomy between the very separate capital of this country and everywhere else, but one would think there would still be some level of respect for ones fellow countrymen. Wrong.

The problems also extended to me and my fellow volunteers, or at least a couple of us. I managed to get myself kicked out of the kitchen and nearly out of the camp on the morning of the second day for the mere (vulgar) suggestion that if dirty water was boiled it would kill the germs… “Who are you? What is your background? Well, I’m sorry, but that’s just wrong.” Oh yeah, and I’m a terrible guest, didn’t belong at the camp, wanted to poison all of the children and blame it on the NGO, overcame my responsibilities, etc., etc., etc. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth as I had already witnessed some of the arguments these women had put forth, but as I just carried at least 40 liters of water and was watching people argue about whether or not they could use it to wash dishes, I thought I would be helpful and make a suggestion.

I spent the remainder of the week (outside of the kitchen….) watching complete chaos ensue as grown adults fought like children and one woman struggled for power over all the rest, demanding “subordination” and repeatedly outlining the power structure and indicating her status as “in-charge.” Names were called, threats were made, bridges were burned, someone was accused of throwing hotdogs….as far as we know this was a flase accusation, although hotdogs were placed on the table with a considerable amount of force at once point. Somehow, miraculously, the children still had a good time and the camp was a success in that one respect. I also spent the week with my first real case of, shall we say, intestinal problems. In a village with nothing but squat outhouses. Yes, if you are picturing an outhouse with a hole in the floor and a giant pit underneath, you are entirely correct. This was, of course (knowing my luck) compounded by the fact that I had managed to take a spectacular fall down about three stairs and sprain my ankle. Well, actually the ankle rolling cuased the fall…details. The important aspect lies in the inability to squat without pain. Ahhh…village life.

I also had the distinct pleasure of heating water in a tea kettle so that a fellow volunteer could pour it over my head on Charlie’s front porch while we pretended that it was sort of like showering. Charlie, as you may have guessed, does not have running water. Or a bathroom. He takes bucket baths in his living room, which was made difficult by the fact that there were eight of us living at his house for a week. I settled for washing my hair a couple of times and called it good.

Tatev is a true village (far more village-like than margohovit): very remote and without many of the amenities of the developed world. In places that were equipped for running water, it came for about 2 hours a day, usually 11-1. At this time people stop what they are doing to walk with buckets to the nearest water source and fill up all of the empty containers in their homes. Hot water is made on the stove and bathing, dish washing, and laundering is all done with buckets. Toilet flushing too if one is fortunate enough to have indoor facilities. I can only imagine what winter life is like in this region that certainly gets its share of cold weather. I am worried enough about winter in Vayk, which is supposedly very mild. Washing clothes by hand in below freezing weather just seems like severe punishment…

In a lot of ways I enjoyed the week-long stint in Tatev. I really felt like I was in the Peace Corps that week, living somewhere really remote and having to do everything by hand. It was also nice to cook some familiar meals with my fellow Americans-oatmeal for breakfast, quesadillas, spaghetti, and lentil soup for dinners, and no mountinas of bread, or hotdogs! Still, I was happy to return to Vayk which suddenly seems a lot more civilized. I mean, I can actually sit down to use the toilet inside of the house. I still have to fill a bucket up with water to flush it, but hey, how difficult is that?

Today I did laundry for the first time in Vayk. I had been putting it off due to fear of host family over-involvement, but all went beautifully. All they did was show me the buckets and bring me some hot water and then they left. I was so surprised, I actually waited for them to come back. My independence has been so much easier to gain here and for that I am eternally grateful. Still, my luck has not entirely changed. In Margohovit it seemed that no matter what day I did laundry, by the time I hung it on the line it would be getting ready to storm. I attributed this mainly to the fact that it was the rainy season and we were in the mountains. Now that I am living in the desert and it hardly ever rains it should be better right? Guess again. I have not seen a single raindrop or even in cloud in Vayk the entire time I have been here. This afternoon, almost immediately after I hung my clothes on the line…it started raining. I give up. The rain gods hate me.

Life in Vayk is picking up pace, although I don’t have any real work yet. Fortunately I was prepared for this and it is nice to have some time to unwind and settle in. My counterpart called the other day to say that when is extremely so we will meet next week. The schools start tomorrow (sept. 1), so I am going to go see what that is like. My tutor is also busy until next week, because of school starting, so I don’t have that to do either. Instead, I have mostly been hanging out with the Americans, doing some exploring of the natural wonders of the area, and getting organized in my room. Now, I have lots of pictures and maps on the wall, which makes it feel more like home, and since it is night 98% humidity in here, it is fairly nice to hang out in.

Anyhow, things are going well now that I settling back into Vayk again, and I should have more interesting things just around the bend. Hope all is well in the states.

Vayk, Vayk, Vayk!

2005-08-18T11:10:00.000-05:00

I have lived with my new host family for two days now and I think it is safe to say that it is a million times better here! I had no idea that living with a host family could be so enjoyable…

On Monday the A13’s (my class) swore in as official Peace Corps volunteers. So there you have it, I started my application for the Peace Corps last September, and now almost an entire year later, I have the esteemed status of volunteer. The ceremony was very formal and official, and included all of the Ministers from the areas we will be working-education, health, environment, and business. We were also joined by the honorable ambassador John Evans, who is a big supporter of the Peace Corps (and rumor has it came back from his vacation a day early for swearing in). The rest of the audience was all of the PC staff, current volunteers, LCF’s, counterparts, etc. That, and just about every cameraman and news station in Armenia. The press coverage was impressive. All of these people to shake hands with, have pictures taken and to officially declare the end of the hazing!!! I couldn’t be happier or ready to begin my new life in Vayk.

I left Yerevan early Tuesday morning, but not before first concocting an elaborate scheme to buy a floor fan at the shuka (street market, basically). We had gone looking Monday evening (we being me the married couple that will be living in Yeghegnadzor-my neighboring town and internet point), but in over an hour of walking, looking an attempting to act out the word fan, we found ONE. And it was 21,000 AMD, which is like 50 dollars. Not exactly in the Peace Corps volunteer budget. We actually found two, but when we asked about the second one, a saleswoman jumped in front of it as if it were matter of life and death and told us, in no uncertain terms, that it was not for sale.

Since the married couple and I were the only ones traveling to our marz-Vayotsdzor, for those of you scoring at home-I thought maybe we could talk the marshrutni driver into stopping at the shukas so we could look for fans. At this point we knew that in mid-august this was a bit of a desperate mission and also a bit late in the season as most stores were soold out and most likely not getting any more. Additionally, I still did not know the word for fan, although I had learned that the Armenian word is very long, so they use the Russian word. Very common, but not so helpful considering I didn’t know the Russian word either. So, I managed to run into one of the LCF’s, who happens to live in Vayk, and was going to see us off in the morning because she had a bag she wanted to send with us. I asked her to ask the driver if he could stop for fans. Not only did the driver stop, but he got out of the vehicle, walked us through 8 or 9 different shops, priced the fans for us, explained to the clerks what we wanted, made the salespeople check the fans for working order (as you might imagine, there is not exactly a return policy in Armenia…) and helped us to carry them back to the marshrutnie. Not only that, but he acted as our own personal crossing guard, helpful, considering crossing the street in Yerevan is probably one of the most dangerous things I do (or have ever done). I am pretty sure I will never, ever have a marshutni driver as good as this one! At least I have a fan to remember him by.

Now I am here, in my new, dry, mold-free, and fairly cool (thanks to my new fan) bedroom. It is also quiet, and I have a real closet. Hangers, of course, are a different story. Its enough to make me wonder if there is a trade embargo on hangers…I bought four hangers today, cost me almost 2 dollars, which is far more than an average days pay for an Armenian. They are experts at putting at least 5 items of clothing on each hanger. I have also seen some interesting homemade ones…

I already feel much more a part of this family than I ever did in my previous situation. They take the time to actually talk to me and I have managed real conversations, even about abstract topics like religion. These are often fairly one-sided, with them talking and me nodding and saying yes when I understand, but it is enjoyable, and it is helping me with my language tremendously. I already feel like I speak much better. Of course, it helps that I really want to be a part of this family and genuinely enjoy spending time with them and helping out around the house. Life is more traditional here-the mother does not work, they have an average amount of money (or maybe even above average, but not like in margahovit), and daily activities are a little slower and involve a lot less MTV. They do have a television, but it comes on briefly in the evenings at a normal decibel level.

When I arrived I got the tour of the garden: apple trees, pear trees, apricot trees, grape vines, all sorts of vegetables and flowers, bee hives, chickens, and a turkey. The turkey takes care of the baby chicks so as to scare the cats away. The big chickens are elsewhere, laying fresh eggs. The pears are just in season, and I helped harvest nearly three buckets of them for muraba (like a cross between jam and candid fruit). This is done by one person climbing the tree with a ladder and shaking vigorously. The other three stand underneath with a tarp to catch the pears. I wonder why Peace Corps doesn’t issue helmets for this activity?

Later I got to witness one of the big events of this time of the year in Vayotsdzor: homemade vodka making! I have pictures, but this is an elaborate contraption like one I have never seen before. The vodka is heated up in one end and when it gets really hot, it travels down a long pipe that is inside a bigger pipe. The Bigger pipe has cold water moving through it to cool the vodka. It is strained into a bucket on the other end. I think we sat around for about a half hour waiting for the vodka to come out-the big event. Kind of like watching grass grow perhaps, but the end result is much more exciting. And 78% alcohol, I might add. I sampled a bit of the fresh vodka-approximately a centimeter in the bottom of a shot glass. I nearly died. Okay, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but I am pretty sure actual flames leapt from my nostrils. I could feel the centimeter of vodka in the bottom of my stomach for the next hour-even after cookies and pears. Note to self. But hey, I had to try it, its part of the Armenian experince for sure.

Now as I am just beginning to fully settle in here, I am leaving. On Friday, with any luck, and pending approval from my Program manager, I am headed to Sevan for a little R and R before heading to Tatev on Sunday. I will be observing the last session of Eco-camps for the summer in preparation for my role with the program next year. Having never been to Tatev, I don’t know what the internet situation is like, so you probably won’t here from for a bit. I have really been enjoying hearing from all of you and promise I will return more emails soon. Life is slower in Vayk and more relaxed, so once I get back from Tatev I should have some more time. Until then, hope all is well stateside!

The last PST entry

2005-08-18T11:00:00.000-05:00

The moon is pretty tonight. I have completed the requisite packing of my belongings into giant suitcases, drank wine and toasted with the neighbors, and now I am completing my evening routine for the final time in Margohovit. I am eager to move on and yet I will miss this place and the meaning it holds for this strange and exciting chapter of my life. One hurdle is complete and I can only imagine what lies ahead for me in this crazy country.

I take a few moments to reflect on the experiences of the past week-a fairly representative anecdotal account of my Armenian experience as a whole:
· The centipede that crawled into the shower with me this morning.
· Getting up early to handwash my clothes in the dark because the power was out, and then hanging them on the line only to get rained on…second rinse cycle.
· My host mother taking a break from chopping peaches to scratch her head with the tip of her knife, the same knife that gets wielded around wildly, pointed at people, used to scratch someone’s leg, and so on…knife safety? Food safety? Bah.
· Walking to Hasmik’s house to find my host father, the village mayor and a Peace Corps vehicle in the intersection by her house. To this day nobody knows what the Peace Corps vehicle was doing there. I asked my host father if it was a PC vehicle. He said yes. I asked why it was here. He and the mayor laughed. I left.
· Cleaning my fingernails after eating sunflower seeds with the neighbors. They are practically the national snack, and if you ask me, more of an event than a food item.
· Listening to 50 cent for the hundredth time….the things you never expected to hear in the Peace Corps.

The list goes on...perhaps I can continue to ennumerate at a later date. For now, suffice it to say that one chapter is closing as another begines. I am ready to start a new life in Armenia and excited about what is in store for me.

PST 12

2005-08-10T12:44:00.000-05:00

As I watch Tina dance with her father and her cousin at her birthday party, I am reminded of the things that I love about the Armenian culture: the strong familial bonds, the fierce pride and stubborn dignity, the affection children show for their parents, even as teenagers. It is a vivid reminder of the place I really am, even in the world of degenerate housing meets MTV. The underlying strength of this country rests with its people and I firmly believe that they will achieve success. And that is what we are here to help them do.

In the midst of PST craziness it is easy to forget where I really am and why I am truly here. Right now I am living like an American in an Armenian village. This is PST dictated: hours and hours of classes, session after session on central day, projects, tests, homework and presentations. In order to succeed, we have to rely on American values of multi-tasking, efficiency and priority. But, in order to be successful in Armenia we have to be able to balance this American whirlwind with the slower paced, more social atmosphere of Armenia. Yeah, we’ll have our meeting, but first we’ll have coffee and chocolate and talk about the neighbors. The ability to act like an Armenian in Armenia will help narrow the dichotomy of cultures.

Peace Corps in itself is an experience that will probably never be duplicated or mimicked, that I could never have totally prepared myself for, and will keep me guessing for the next two years. My struggles for the past few weeks, well, 9 weeks to be exact, have taken the form of a rite of passage—one that will continue on with me during my next months and years as a volunteer. It is my sense that the Peace Corps experience contains a number of these rites of passage, one being PST in itself. The training has tested my limits in a number of ways and created growth on many planes. I am sure this is of purposeful design, intended to push the envelope and stimulate reflection and introspection towards two years of service and the commitment that entails.

I have done my share of the former and feel renewed confidence in my abilities and priorities while here. Meanwhile, our group members are dropping like flies: we are now up to four early terminations. All have their reasons; PC wasn’t right for them for one reason or another. Watching members of your group leave is difficult, regardless of the reason and has provided plenty of opportunity to reflect on my own commitment and fortitude.

I have found both to be strong, although tested at times. I am grateful to my host family for opening their home to me and taking good care of me while I am here, but I am ready to move along. It is comforting to know, however, that I am not simply being an oversensitive American—many of the Armenian staff members are in agreement that this is a bit extreme. I was actually rewarded today for being “the most patient trainee with my host family,” by the very Armenian who was there to witness me break down in tears over my stress levels last week. Although my stress came from many different sources, my host family ended up with most of the blame due to the fact that they are where I go at the end of the day. And, at the end of this particular central day, I simply couldn’t face the idea of going home to be on display any longer. The wonderful PST staff helped to temper my family’s interactions with me and I am doing my best to remain patient and enjoy the good aspects of my family for the next week and two days (not that I’m counting).

8-09

Today I am enjoying a tremendous sense of relief after completed both my Community Project and my LPI. They both went well, which was especially surprising regarding the community project. I honestly thought that our village was doomed to failure, or at the very least mediocrity. To my surprise (and relief) it was a smashing success. And, much to my dismay, I actually learned quite a bit and can see the underlying benefit of such a torture device. I hate it when that happens! Because our village is all EE volunteers with the exception of one TEFL (our other TEFL ET’d) we decided to do a follow up on our EE lessons that we had done earlier in the summer. We invited a bunch of kinds (nearly 30 showed up—one of the pleasant surprises of the day) and sent them on a scavenger hunt for trash in the village. We had devised a fairly comprehensive list, including a show, piping, a battery, glass and plastic bottles, tin and aluminum cans, items of clothing, food, cigarettes, etc. The kids were totally into it and nearly raced out of the building. They were only allowed to pick up trash from nature and the streets, and I think they ALL managed to find everything on their list, which was quite a testament to the condition of the streams and streets in the village. When the kids returned we talked about each item they collected and how long it takes to decompose, then hey drew pictures about what they learned and made a big poster.

While this is a fairly simple and common lesson in the US, I think it was groundbreaking here. They just don’t have education about the environment and don’t know any better. The kids really enjoyed the lesson and hopefully they will think about other things they can do with their trash instead of throwing it in the river or the streets. Unfortunately, the only options Margohovit currently has are the river, or burning it. People say there is a “landfill” but we have yet to see such a thing. We have, however, seen (and smelled) lots of piles of burning trash and the piles of garbage on the river banks. We have been told that “it is okay because it goes to Azerbaijan.” Hopefully we can begin to instill some environmental values and knowledge that will eventually lead to action….

My LPI was this afternoon, and I really think it well this time (as opposed to last time where I managed to forget everything, including my sisters name…). I don’t know my score yet, but I think I did nearly as well as I could have, so I am happy. Now we have a few central days of wrap-up, a ceremony for our host families, and it is on to bigger and better things! There are things I will miss about PST, but the for the most part, I am ready to move on.

PST 11

2005-08-05T14:52:00.000-05:00

I lied, I made it to the internet today instead of next week...enjoy!

I can the whispers before I round the bend…. “Jeeluh, jeeluh” (Jill is coming), and the children momentarily stop all of their important playing on the broken down farm machinery to congregate in front of the wagon. As I come around the corner they are assembled in straight lines, bright smiles on their faces, and in unison “barev jeel, vonts ek?” (hello jill, how are you). I answer that “I am well thanks, and how are you?” To which they take their cue to EACH ask me individually how I am doing. I answer as many of them as I can while I walk and when I am almost out of sight, wave and say goodbye. As this is a daily occurrence, and while endearing, could take my entire day if I were to stick around and greet every child individually, each and every day. It is a small joy in my day to see the children, in an otherwise trying phase of my training and time in Armenia.

It seems that the longer I am here the more often I am reminded that I am here, in a place where nothing can be done simply, easily or quickly, and is often wrought with fraud or at the very least, backwards thinking. That is the thing about this country—it carries a façade of being more developed and forward than it actually is. This is in part due to the fact that it was once a developed nation (with the help of the soviet union). Now with the soviet collapse and the help of a disastrous earthquake, it is a developing nation, with a long way to go. This façade is illustrated beautifully by daily scenes of BMW SUV’s passing pig farmers, the influx of western media to the country and the European feel of the capitol city. Meanwhile, there are villages that remain veritable shanty towns from the earthquake destruction, and there are major social issues that the country is facing. Issues that seemingly don’t belong in this country on the verge of modern civilization and yet are widespread and largely not attended to for one reason or another—mainly financial.

I think the most frustrating thing I am going to encounter is the inability on the part of Armenians to recognize the potential solutions to their problems. They see the need for change but often do not accept a solution unless it is a proven success (which often can’t be proven until it is actually done…). Much of this is due to the Soviet mentality and teaching methods in the schools. People here are used to being given what they need and told how to think. In many ways, although they appreciate their newfound freedom and the idea of democracy, they are still stuck in this mentality. Concepts such as personal responsibility for village streets, trees or trash are virtually non-existent. The people recognize that there is a problem, but don’t identify it as being their problem: it is someone else’e job to fix it. This is a large part of our job as PCV’s--to bring new ideas and then to somehow convince the Armenians to change their thinking long enough to try something new. It is truly a grassroots effort, starting at the village level. This is also what separates PC from other forms of aid and NGO’s that are established in Armenia—the majority of these are concentrated in Yerevan, and although they are doing great work, the people in the villages (who need aid the most) often never see it. Armenia is actually currently the recipient of one of the highest amounts of per capita foreign aid from the US in the world, and is hosting such organizations as USAID, USDA, WWF, Heifer Project, Habitat for Humanity, Unite for Sight, as well as many others from the US, Great Britain, the Netherlands, France, Germany, Norway, Canada and so on. It also receives a large amount of monetary aid from diaspora (mainly people who fled the country during times of persecution and are now permanently living abroad). There are many more Armenian Diaspora than there are people currently living in Armenia. This is exacerbated by the lack of jobs of Armenia—there is also a large number of men who work outside of the country (mostly in Russia, but also the US and Europe for the majority of the year.

We have met representatives from many of these organizations in our endeavors these past eight weeks and have learned quite a bit about what is going on this country. Still, the amount of information coming in right now is obscene, especially with language training on top of it all. I have been studying Armenian for 8 weeks and can actually form complex sentences in past, present perfect, present, future (2 different kinds), imperative and subjunctive conjugations. I am impressed, and overwhelmed. Our first (official) Language Proficiency exam is next week already—this is where all the work for the past two months will be evaluated and recorded for posterity. Yikes!

Last Thursday I got a detailed reminder on the subject of my location. I started my day by receiving a package…without its contents. The Peace Corps was very helpful in the matter, but certainly not very enthusiastic about the possible outcome—I learned why soon enough. The PC logistics coordinator drove me to the post office, where they were very kind and helpful in telling us that we needed to go to the other post office. The other post office was equally kind and helpful in telling us the person we needed was not there, but worked in the main office. By the time we made it to the main office the man that we needed to talk to (who was very busy doing his crossword puzzle) told us that there was nothing he could do…because the package was sent in an envelope. Apparently, according to some strange logic, because it is in an envelope it is a letter, and so it is okay to open it. He is very sorry. But next time, it would be better if it was sent in a box. Note to self. Although this was probably not a huge monetary loss, it was the principle of the matter, combined with the sentimental value of the package that made it very upsetting. Especially when the Armenians shrug their shoulders and say “this happens.” Of course, they also say “not as much as it used to,” which, I guess is comforting…

Add to this the fact that I managed to accidentally delete about 50 songs from my iPod thanks to apple’s ingenious piracy protection, and I can’t get them back until I connect my computer to the internet to register it with iTunes. This is one of those things that sounds a lot easier than it really is. Just hook up to the internet…simple. So, another learning about Armenia: The first time you try to fix a problem and it doesn’t work, you still have hope. The second time, you are frustrated. The third time, downright pissed…”can I get ANYTHING done in this country??” The fourth time, you just shrug your shoulders and ask “why should it be any different this time?” The firfth time…well, I tell you after I ehar back from itunes tech support. I have a strange feeling that this problem won’t be fixed for quite some time. Sigh.

On a lighter note, we just returned from an all EE camping trip to Arpi Leech (Lake) in the Northwest section of the country. For those of you with access to a map it is north of Gyumri and close enough to the border to see both Turkey and Georgia from the tops of the peaks (a short climb form the lake, which is already high in altitude). All in all a nice destination, but truly Armenian in that the scenery was beautiful, but the lake was heavily polluted and there was quite a bit of grazing and misuse of resources. The island in the lake is supposedly a breeding ground for the endangered Dalmatian Pelican, but all we were able to see was a swirling mass of seagulls. A big mass. Regardless, it was a good weekend, and nice to be sleeping outside again under the canopy of stars, which as nothing short of amazing. One type of pollution that doesn’t exist in the majority of Armenia is light pollution, and on clear nights, the skies are mesmerizing. It was also nice to meet the other EE volunteers currently in country and talk about their projects, trials, tribulations and successes.

Actually, we got to bond with them a little too intimately during the obligatory marshrutni adventure. So, just to refresh your memories, marshurtnies are basically minivans, that have been retrofitted with bench seats close enough together to seat 15. They are little longer than our minivans, but certainly not anywhere near as large as a fifteen passenger van. 15 people is already what you might call a bonding experience, especially if anyone is especially large, or hasn’t showered recently (a common problem with riding public marshrutnies….). So, here is today’s quiz: How do you fit 19 people, 19 packs, several tents, a few miscellaneous sleeping bags, a cook stove, a PC water filter (large white bucket like contraption) and a watermelon in one marshrutni? Well, since you asked….you start at the back—4 people sit in the back row and then you pass back as many packs and bag as they can fit under their seat, at their feet, and in their laps. Then you fill the next row, placing a small wooden bench in what used to be the aisle, thus permanently trapping the people in the back row. I got to sit on this small wooden bench with another male volunteer. Fortunately, we were so packed in that the bumping and lurching of the marhsutni resulted in little to no movement of the small bench. Similarly, you pass as many packs and bags into this row as possible. The next row is filled in similar fashion, only there is no small bench for the aisle, so you pile up packs and bags high enough to form a seat. The front row seats as many as possible, and the driver and two more sit in the very front.

Now this, is a clown car. I took pictures, but it just doesn’t do it justice…. The funny thing is, although entertaining, it really doesn’t faze me as much as it probably should. It is simply another part of life in Armenia. Traveling is not simply a means of getting from here to there, it is a complete choose your own adventure novel, replete with suspense, drama, and plot twists.

A not very exciting post

2005-08-04T09:40:00.000-05:00

Hello all,
I have managed in my current frenzy to leave the nice long post I recently typed at home. The next time I will be in vanadzor will be next week after community projects and Language proficiency exams are over. I can't wait!!! Less than a week and a half at this point until PST is complete and we move to our new site. Times have been trying, but the end is in sight and I am excited about the prospects of Vayk and the potential to do good work while I am there. Thank you all for all of your support and encouragement along the way--it means a lot. And I promise, I will write you all back when things settle down (If I haven't already).

A big thanks to my techno savvy father for posting these lovely pictures of Armenia for you all to see. I am still working on getting the captions right, but basically if it is lush and green it is Margohovit, and if it is desert like, it is Vayk. I will have him post some more pictures later on, but these should give you an idea of where I am right now, at least terms of the nature, which is beautiful! The cities and towns sometimes leave a bit to be desired....

More news to come later. Have a great week!

Pictures II

2005-08-03T09:25:00.000-05:00

Top: my street in margohovit

Middle: another street in margohovit--the dirt piles are the way they "fix the roads" Men have been working for weeks to fill in the holes with new dirt, and the first time it rained the streets were full of ruts again....

Bottom: One of the main highways on the way from Yerevan to vanadzor

Pictures

2005-08-03T09:22:00.000-05:00

The infamous truck

Welcome
to Vayk

Vayk Mts

Margohovit
wild flowers
Margohovit village gardens

Historic
Zvartnots
Temple with
Mt. Ararat
in background

Margohovit wild flowers

Margohovit
Village

Historic Zvartnots
Temple

PST 10 (I am running out of semi-creative titles)

2005-07-29T14:24:00.000-05:00

Times continue to fly and I now find myself beginning week 8 of PST. As I am more than ready for PST to be over, this is a good thing. I am however faced with the fact that our village has yet to complete our community project (or really even make any progress) and, as you may have guessed, it needs to completed before we leave Margohovit. Novel thought, I know. Regardless, as a traditional overachiever, I am stressed about it, and yet there are so many other, seemingly more important things going on, that I still do nothing.

The last two days have enabled me to see more of Armenia via a bird watching trip with the Birds of Armenia NGO and large group field trip to Haghpat Monastery. Armenia is home to more than 2/3 of all of the bird species in the entire former soviet union—something like 300. We were able to quite a few different birds of prey including buzzards, falcons and hawks. Our guide was nothing short of amazing—every time the marshutni broke down (we hardly even notice anymore…) he jumped out of the vehicle and found nests or flying birds of prey. Haghpat was also very cool—it was built in 900 something, and has so much history and culture. Very impressive.

Both trips were very enjoyable and educational, but I am still trying to recover form the marshurtni rides—especially today’s. We traveled by marshrutni convoy today instead of by charter bus, which is our normal mode of transport during large group activities. It is my sense that the act of traveling in a convoy exacerbated the normal driving, shall we say, issues. Allow me to elaborate….

We arrived at the school in Vanadzor this afternoon and piled into 5 or 6 marshurtnies—about 15 people per vehicle. As we pulled out of the school parking lot, the jockeying for position began. Watching the line of white marshrutnies bob and weave through traffic, I was reminded of errant ducklings trying to follow their mother. Sometimes we were two abreast (in one lane), sometimes we were swerving around potholes, sometimes we were facing oncoming traffic, often we were passing on blind curves….but not to worry, the driver honked his horn…its all under control. It was as if we were in a race to get there, both against everyone else and each other. Everyday I amazed that there aren’t more accidents in this country. Especially since seat belts are nearly unheard of and jaywalking is safer than crosswalks. I was in a Peace Corps vehicle the other day (where seatbelts are not only provided, but also mandatory) and we stopped to pick up my Armenian counterpart. She is also required to wear a seatbelt in a PC vehicle, but first we had to teach her how to use it…she kept trying to put her head through it and couldn’t figure out the buckle. Unfortunately, the transportation is a fact of life here, as scary as it may be. Therefore, I have found it best to try and not watch—it is totally out of my control, so its better to just look at the scenery and try not to fall out of my seat when the driver slams on the brakes to avoid hitting the vehicle he is trying to pass on a blind curve with an oncoming truck. They are not all this bad…but this is not an exaggeration of today.

I find myself somewhere in between being totally fed up with my current situation and being excited and thankful to be here. The constant ups and downs don’t help. I find sanctuary with my friends and then I come back home… It is easy to forget why I am here and what my goals of this experience are while I am swamped in work and fighting to keep my status as an adult in the Armenian world. I have hope for my next site, but it too will bring its challenges. I told my host mother yesterday that after 6 months I will be living by myself instead of with a host family, and her response was (while reading the follow statement, please imagine a very high-pitched, incredulous, perhaps even panicked voice) “but Jeel, how will you live? You can’t cook, you can’t make coffee, you can’t bake bread, you can’t make a cake, how will you do it?!?” After restraining myself, I said very calmly (and for the record, for the sixth time or so): “In America, I lived by myself for 5 years. I will be okay.” To which, she responded, “but how did you get your food, can you shopping?” The last part was in English, and word for word…can you shopping? It doesn’t matter how many times I tell them….they still think I am absolutely helpless. And it doesn’t help that they talk to me like I am two years old. I don’t know what to do other than to grin and bear it. Hasmik wants to help, but I don’t even know what she or I can say to them. “You treat me like I am stupid, and really, I’m not, so please stop?” It is cultural, and although I think my particular family is some strange extreme, I don’t think it will go away. I do think that I am going to start telling them that it is rude to read over my shoulder while I am working. Especially when I am typing an email or a blog entry and they are trying to sound out the words, or when they take my notebook away, while I am writing in it, to show the neighbors that I can write in Armenian. And then there was the other day when I made the mistake of wearing my glasses outside of my bedroom. My host brother took them right off my face and put them on, made a bunch of funny noises and then started passing them around the room so other people could look through them. I finally managed to get them back (for those of you who don’t know, I am perfectly blind without them). Then my mother tells me “Jeel, I have. I have (and makes gestures to indicate glasses). I have and Ashot, father have.” What I am supposed to say to that? “Good for you.” “Great, glad to hear it.” “shnorhavor! (Armenian for congratulations)”

As I become more frustrated and more stressed with other obligations and language difficulties, I become more cynical and less able to laugh off some of these things. I laugh about them later with the other volunteers, but when they are happening I simply find myself at a loss for words. Especially of the Armenian kind. I recognize the potential in these situations for learning and teaching, but right now I don’t have the vocabulary or the patience. It is also hard to forgive things that are simply cultural norms here but would be considered quite rude in the US. People are very direct here—to the point of telling you that you are fat, or your language sucks, or you have a pimple on your face. And they like to compare everything to everything and then tell you the results. So and so is a better speaker than you are. Your Armenian is really bad today. She is prettier than that other girl, and so on. After looking through some pictures the other day my host mother told me “American students are all fat but Armenian students are skinny.” I just looked at her blankly (which, she of course interpreted as me not understanding and proceeded to act out being fat), I simply didn’t know how to respond to that and still don’t know if it was a compliment or and insult. The people in the pictures weren’t even fat. Armenian kids are skinny, but the adult population in not especially so. Of course, my host mother has told me, with pride, that “you can only eat a little, but I can eat a lot!” Again, “ummm, good for you?” Maybe?
The other day a few of the volunteers came over to my house to watch the last day of the Tour de France (I am one of the lucky ones in a home with satellite, which means such treats as “Married with Children” dubbed in Russian. It was bad enough in English.) We were only able to find the tour in Italian, which we decided was okay as the alphabet is the same and se we could read the names, etc. My host family, however had other ideas. After commandeering the remote, a friend of the family was able to find a different European sports channel in English. They didn’t seem to understand that it was not the tour, so therefore we didn’t want to watch it. “but its in English—why don’t you wan this one?” After some shouting and much irritation, we convince them to change the channel back to the Italian Tour de France.

Honestly, why? At the same time, I am reminded of how much these people like us and appreciate our being in their country. This, even if they don’t quite understand why we have chosen to come are what we will be doing. My host mother commented the other day after looking pictures of my house that I have sacrificed a lot and she is touched. Thanks to Hasmik for translating that one. I am also reminded that I am lucky to have the facilities that I do in a country with so much variance, and that the cultural exchange I am currently experiencing is part of the PC package. When I read between the lines I know that my host mother telling me that I can’t do anything useful and thus will never survive on my own, is her way of worrying about me and wanting to take care of me. Even so, it is a hell of a way to say such a thing.

new address--check your email!

2005-07-21T12:01:00.000-05:00

I will apologize in advance for the lack of the creative, insightful, and side-splittingly funny entry that you are no doubt searching for right now. Instead, I have another entry full of business. Well, maybe I can slip in a little extra here and there…we will just have to see.

The first order of business is that I have a new address and you can now send me packages if you like. Yay for packages! Unfortunately, I cannot post my new address here—the information is too specific, and thus Peace Corps’ guidelines are prohibitive. Not to worry though, I just sent an email to everyone in my address book with the new info. Please let me know if you have not received the email and would like it—I would be happy to send it your way. We have 4 weeks left of PST, so continue to use my current address for another week and then switch to the new one (July 25 or so, I guess). It is currently taking things 2-3 weeks to get here.

I will however post some guidelines for packages (I know you want to send me something….). This has also been included in my email to all of you.

Send them USPS air mail--the customs fee has been waived for Peace Corps volunteers, all other services have a 20% customs fee
Include a list of package contents
Tape up the box really good (duct tape isn’t a bad idea)--they get pretty banged up on their way here
Don't send any white powder, or like, stuff that will explode...or something

Here are some things that would make me really happy if they just happened to arrive in Armenia in a box with my name on it.....
Peanut Butter!!! Really hard to find and really expensive here.
Pictures of family and friends
Granola bars/clif bars
Kool-aid packets and other drink mixes
crackers/peanuts/dried fruit/other snack items that are semi-healthy
sauce mixes (the powdered kind), taco seasoning, etc.
tuna packets
mints, candy
gummi things (bears, swedish fish, worms...)
markers, colored pencils
nice smelling candles, lotions, etc.
if your feeling really adventurous....DVD's, music,and whatnot. I do have a computer with me to look at files, listen to music and watch movies.
Later on…coffee, I am hoping to get my hands on a French press at some point
Anything else that you think someone living in Armenia might miss about America....

And of course, please don't feel obligated to send a thing. I just thought I would make the process easier for those who are thinking about it. If none of this sounds appealing to you, just send me a letter or an email, I would love to hear from you!

PST 9...maybe, I am losing track

2005-07-21T12:00:00.000-05:00

PST is drawing to a rapid close—we are already on week 7. Time is such an amorphous thing here—one day it feels like I just arrived in Armenia yesterday, and the next it feels like I have been here forever. Regardless, I find myself asking where all of the time has gone. I can only hope that things will move along as quickly during the rest of my service. I have learned that too much time to sit and contemplate that realities of life here is a bad thing. There is a delicate balance to strike between productivity and reflection. Right now we are erring on the side of productivity, or at least busyness. Perhaps too much so. Maybe I have said before, that PST has been compared to hazing, and that things will slow down when we arrive at our sites.

For now, my one and only priority is to learn the language, well. I want to be fluent now, but more realistically, I am hoping to be functionally fluent by the end of my first year. It is a realistic goal, but certainly not one that everyone obtains, or even many people obtain. There is very evidently a large range of language abilities amongst volunteers, due to many different factors. I have a good start but need to keep at it. I have had some questions about the intricacies of the language, and so I thought I would enumerate a bit here. If this is something you aren’t interested in please skip ahead!

As you probably are already aware, Armenian has its own alphabet (a very old one), and so we have had to start over in terms of learning how to read and write. I am now sounding out words at about a first grade level I would guess. Well, actually, I am getting better, its just slow. The blessing lies in the fact that the grammar and the structure is fairly easy and in many ways is similar to Spanish. It is a language that uses auxiliary endings instead of prepositions and pronouns. These items exist, but everything is added to the end of a conjugated verb. So, actually in Armenian we have postpositions instead of prepositions. This means that we have to learn how to conjugate the verbs and which ones are irregular, but actually making sentences is easier than I originally thought. It also helps that there is usually not only one way to structure a sentence. So, in English we might say "I am going to the store now" But in Armenian, you could say:now, store I go....................heema khanuta gnumemI go to the store now...........gnumem khanuta heemaI go now to the store...........gnumen heema khanutaAnd it is all correct, and it uses the same three words...those pesky little articles don't really exist...as much. They do, but they are one letter, which is tacked on to the end of a word. In this case, it is the "a" at the end of khanut. What I have written above is a transliteration, or the English letter equivalent of how the Armenian letters sound. For this reason, you can find Armenian words spelled in all sorts of different ways depending on who transliterated it. For instance, the town I will be living in can be Vayk, Vike, or even Vayq.

Another tribulation of Armenian is that there are certain letters that you have to hock lugies to pronounce...kh is one of them (it is one letter, and sounds sort of like making a kh sound in the back of your throat). There is also a gh and a few others. And there are 2 other k's, 2 p's and 2 t's. In each case, one is aspirated and one is not, and in all cases, I can't tell a lick of difference, I just have to memorize how words are spelled. The flip side of this is that in Armenian there are 39 letters in the alphabet, and each makes one (and only one) distinct sound. There are no silent letters, no hard and soft c's, no combinations of letters to sound like something else...it is very straight forward. This is another reason why Armenian words can be spelled so many different ways when we transliterate them…

For the most part the grammar is similar but there are very obvious differences. For instance, Armenian uses a definite article with proper nouns. So we might say “Jill”in a sentence, whereas in Armenian, we would say “the Jill.” Interesting huh? I am such a nerd…thanks for sharing in my geek moment.
Overall, it is an enjoyable language to learn and I am really impressed everyday with how well we are all doing in five weeks of studying. We have covered far more than a year's curriculum in a college level course already. Regardless it is still frustrating, especially when we are expected to be doing productive work in villages where there is little to no English, and part of success includes convincing Armenians to think outside of the Soviet box. The brainwashing is going to be a tough thing to overcome. That, and the traditional lore:

No, drafts won’t make you infertile
I didn’t get sick because I wasn’t wearing socks
Cat hair doesn’t have anything to do with whether or not you will get married
Neither does sitting at the corner of the table
Throwing your trash in the street really is bad for the environment
The river isn’t any better
Even if it goes to Azerbaijan

Well, you get the picture. This a different peace corps experience than, say, Africa, the pacific islands, or some Amazon village. In all cases, it is more developed for the most part and one point was a fairly advanced country. In some cases it has regressed since the Soviet Regime fell, in others it has simply stagnated. In either case, progress was not helped by a massive earthquake that damaged infrastructure during a time of high poverty. More than 15 years later, there are still areas that are uninhabited due to earthquake damage. Armenia’s history is very long and quite fascinating. I will not, however, go into detail here as I am no expert. But, if you are interested, there are resources on the web.

The relatively high level of development is part of what makes it so difficult to be here at times. There is a couple in our group who were in PC in Papua New Guinea a few years ago and they have commented that in some ways it is more difficult to live here than in a country where you have a pit toilet and carry your water from the well. It is because things are close enough to what we are used to remind us of home yet far enough away to remind us that we are definitely not there. It is like everything is just not quite what it should be. I have learned a lot from living in these conditions. Perhaps this poem says it best:

I am learning…
What freedom really is.
How to be myself in a culture that is not my own.
How to suffer silently and with dignity amongst those who do it everyday.
To not take the little things for granted,
And not to neglect the big things that are important.
To live and love with all my strength, no matter what.
To adapt my mindset towards adjustment
And to embrace that which is given to me
Rather than to take and to expect that which is not my own.
Or that which simply cannot be.
And to make the best of whatever becomes
Even when (especially when) this entails discomfort and reevaluation.
I have learned…
That the things I really need, I already have.
And no matter the difficulties and challenges
I have the support of people who believe in me,
Who will enable me to find the tools necessary to succeed
From within myself and those around me,
Rather than to expect these items to be given to me.
Success is my choice.
And my obligation.

As a person who is normally fairly articulate, it is especially trying to not be able to really express myself to those around me. I find writing to be one of the best outlets for this frustration. So, thanks for being my audience, maybe you will see more poetry in the future.

Vayk, my real site assignment

2005-07-17T14:01:00.000-05:00

As promised, I am going to attempt to explain the situation I have found myself in this week. It is strange to be posting entries that happened so far in the past (a week is a really long time) it is like looking at my life from outside of myself. I just returned from a visit to Vayk, my actual permanent site. And I am comfortable in saying that I think I have landed in a good situation. The question is how exactly I got there.

As you are already aware, I was originally assigned to a small called yernjatap, which although wrought with problems and challenges, I had talked myself into going. we arrived in yerevan on Tuesday afternoon to attend a counterpart conference (the people we will be working with directly for the next two years), and then to travel to our sites to visit our new host families, places of employment, etc. I had been told when we were given our site assignments that I didn’t have a host family yet, but wasn’t too concerned because there were several other people in the same boat. We were all told that our program mangers were working hard to fix the situation and we should have host families by the time we arrived in Yerevan on Tuesday. Well, when I arrived in Yerevan on Tuesday my program manager didn’t tell me I had a host family, he told me “we need to talk.” This by the way was happening at 7:00pm, which was the exact same moment that everyone was meeting their counterparts. Only I didn’t have a counterpart....or a host family.

As it turns out, my PM (program manger) had been in yernjatap that afternoon to figure out what was going on and found that they weren’t ready for a volunteer and didn’t have a homestay for me—something that the counterpart were supposed to help ascertain. because of this, he made a last minute decision to move to a new site: Vayk. This, I have learned, has its advantages, although at the time I was feeling pretty discombobulated. I had talked myself into a different site and had started to figure out what the advantages were, etc. Not only that but everyone was having a counterpart conference but me. My counterpart didn’t know I was coming either, and she happened to be in Yerevan that day but had headed back to Vayk before anyone could get a hold of her.

I spent the evening trying to warp my head around my new situation ( as well as catching up on CNN in English and rediscovering that showering can not only be easy but also enjoyable) Gotta love the nice hotel we were staying in. Now I have completely bought into my new arrangement. So, here comes the second description of where I will be for the next two years:

Vayk, unlike Yernjatap, is in the desert portion of the country. It is located in the second to last marz, called Vayadzor, and looks quite a bit like Utah. It is very hot there right now with no humidity, but mornings and nights are breezy and pleasant. I am now going to have invest in a floor fan instead of more wool socks. The winters are still cold, but they only last for 3 months as opposed to six in some other parts of the country, which shall remain nameless. I am told that spring and fall are very pleasant and there are lots of opportunities for hiking and exploring nearby.

I have some very wonderful sitemates, a definite advantage of this new site. They have really taken me under their wing and helped to learn about my town and adjust to the peculiarities of it. At this point they both have their own apartments and it is nice to see that PCV’s can live almost normally in this country. The facilities are a little less than desirably by US standards but I have hopes of eventually enjoying the kind of life (read freedom) that I have been accustomed to. As for my host family, I have had the good fortune of inheriting one of my sitemate’s (James) host family, who seem really really cool. They are very kind, very laid back and didn’t try to force food down my throat once! they have one son who is 15 and also very enjoyable. The father has a great sense of humor and the family doesn’t seem so entrenched in typical Armenian gender roles, which is very refreshing. The son even cooks sometimes! It also helps that James has already broken them—they know what to expect from living with an American, and James knows them very well, so I can ask him questions as needed. I also have some place to go when I have just have enough of Armenian hospitality and lifestyle.

I got to enjoy this a little on my visit this week as well—Renee, James and I made tacos and brownies for dinner one night and hung out listening to music. It felt so normal....finally. So, there is hope, and when I move out on my own there will be even more hope. I am looking forward to that day, but think that I can wait it out with this family. The trade-off in this situation is that I will be enjoying less luxuries, but luxury is less important than a comfortable family to live with. I will remember that as I am flushing the toilet with a bucket....taking a shower with a bucket...and well, thats all with a bucket probably. This family does not have what my current family has in terms of wealth, but they make up for it in other ways.

My counterpart also seems like a great woman to work with. She is a doctor and is also very involved with her town. This includes starting her own NGO, which is now my organization as well. My last assignments also included a school, this will be just an NGO, but I think it will be okay. The NGO is actually more of a youth development type of organization but she wants to start some environmental work and lessons. The biggest challenges I foresee at this point area alack of time on behalf of my doctor counterpart, and what one of the PC staffers calls “mission creep.” I other words, this organization is really spread out and not focused on any one specific thing. regardless, my counterpart (Nune) has lost of ideas and I think is feasible to grab on to one or two of them to begin with and start strengthening the organization and the community,. With time, of course. And better Armenian.

Which, brings me to challenge number 2. James didn’t actually start with this host family, he moved there after two moths at site in a really bad situation with a different family. Therefore, his family (now my family) didn’t meet him until her had studied and spoken the language for almost 5 months. They met me after I have studied and spoken the language for 5 weeks. And they are wondering why I don’t speak as well as James does, who is very good with the language at this point, probably one of the better ones in his group. They don’t understand the differences between the times they met him and me. Time to hit the books even more... chem haskanunem...I don’t understand.

So, there you have it. A purely informational email. I will try to put up a more exciting one soon. Lots of love to all.

PST 7 parties and more parties

2005-07-17T13:15:00.000-05:00

The experiences just pile right up, one on top of each other. This entry will be in reverse chronological order, by the way. I am too jazzed up to do it any other way.

I just came home from Armen’s graduation party, or “bye school picnic” if you ask my family. They still insist on speaking to me in broken English instead of Armenian. “jeel, you drink coffee?” To which I say no Armenian….”Jeel, you don’t drink coffee?” The other night, my host mother served me “mis a cheek….” Mis is the Armenian word for meat, and cheek was her attempt on “chicken.” Hav is the Armenian word for chicken, which, by the way, I have known since the second week in country. Sigh. Even now that I know the imperative form, and can properly say “speak Armenian, I understand” they still revert to English if I don’t immediately catch what they are saying…and they speak very fast.

My host mother withstanding, I just had a fantastic evening! When students graduate from school in Armenian they have a big party with their class, teachers, parents and school principal. Since Armen is a graduate, my host mother is a teacher, and my host father is the principal, I attended the party as well. Somehow I ended up sitting with the men (teachers) I think because I came late. The Armenians outdid themselves tonight, I have never had so many men so attentive to me during a meal. My glass was never empty, my plate was always full. I had men cutting bananas and giving me pieces, breaking apricots open and giving me half, filling my plate with food, and all clamoring to toast with me. Fortunately, women tend to toast with wine instead of vodka. There was toast after toast, with students, teachers and principals making speeches, of which I would venture to say, I understood half of the words! Now if only I could understand the connector words to make sentences. I do know that I made it into many of the toasts as a subject, and was told that whenever I am the village they will make sure I am having a good time and am happy.

As with all Armenian parties, there was lots of dancing. I am beginning to develop some rhythm! I danced and danced, and the Armenians just loved it. I was invited to dance to a slow song by one of the graduates, and all eyes in the entire room (along with a video camera and several regular cameras) were on me and this boy, whoever he was. I do my best to entertain, what can I say? I also think that I had my picture taken with every single graduate by the end of the night. People were literally lining up to get their picture taken with me. It is strange to be a celebrity…yesterday Eric, Jenny and I were out and three random people walked up to us and asked if they could take their picture with us. We said yes, and then later…”does anyone know those people?” None of us did… I am getting used to being the center of attention. When I come back to the US I had better be waited on, focused on, and doted on constantly….just get ready!

A few nights ago was Sarah’s birthday and her host family took all of the Americans up into the mountains…in the back of a truck. Like, a flat bed truck, with gates around the outside of the bed, where we stood (and held on tight) as we bounced up the old dirt roads. It is moments like these that I really feel like I am in the Peace Corps. No doubt about it. We arrived at a picnic area and in true Armenian form, had horavats, tomatoes and cucumbers, chocolate, drinks and a beautiful birthday cake. Although we had a great time, the party’s momentum was lost when we all piled back into the truck at 10:30 (in the dark) and it wouldn’t start. Now, this was quite a large truck, and we were pretty far above the village. Not only that, but none of us had really known that we going into the mountains (we thought we were going to the village lake, which is just on the outskirts), and thus were entirely unprepared. Usually I have a headlamp, knife, water, etc, with me. That night I only had my camera and jacket. Lesson learned….worry not.

After many attempts in starting the engine, we thought if we could get the truck rolling then the engine could crank or the driver could pop the clutch. So, we all climbed back out of the truck….and pushed. All 10 of us or so. And pushed, and pushed, and pushed….finally we got the truck over a small incline and on the downhill where we climbed back in and slowly rolled downhill until we came across a car traveling up—straight at us. Did I mention that this was a big truck? With no lights on because the battery was dead at this point? Fortunately the car saw us, and the truck stopped. Somehow I was nominated to go with Jenny, and Armen (Sarah’s host brother, and the truck driver…Armen is a very common name here, and also happens to be my host brother) with the driver of the car down to the village.

The next thing I know I am sitting in the back of this car on a piece of plywood—no back seat, looking at jenny asking “what, exactly, are we doing here?” I was not worried about our safety, Armen is very trustworthy, and happens to be the village taxi driver and so has driven us to Vanadzor many times, we just didn’t know what was going on. I love experiencing incidents such as this in a foreign language…it is just like a bad dream, everything is surreal and nobody can understand each other. We arrived at Armen’s house around midnight, at which point I called Hasmik (my LCF) to A.) figure out what the heck was going on, and B.) have her call our poor host families, who were told that we would be home by 10 or 11, to let them know we were running a little late. Remember…everyone else is still in the mountains at this point. Armen spent a few moments putting his taxi back into working order (people in this country are constantly fixing their cars, they all have to be mechanics) and then took Jenny and me to our homes before going back to the mountains. We assumed that this was to bring back the rest of the volunteers. In the mean time, Jeff and another trainee had walked to Melissa’s house (the closest to the mountains, and quite a walk from where the truck was parked, and gotten Melissa’s host father to drive up to help as well.) He arrives with a car FULL of people, which if you ask me, isn’t too helpful for bringing people home… Armen also drove to the mountain with two more people. So the total number of people stuck on the mountain has just increased by six. Then, as the story goes, all of the Americans piled into Melissa’s host father’s car, only to have him drive 10 feet…and into a ditch. Brad said he was laughing so hard at the situation that he couldn’t speak for a good ten minutes. There were now three vehicles in the mountains: a truck that wouldn’t start, a car in the ditch, and a taxi, which eventually was the means of transport home. The taxi made it to Melissa’s house…and then died. Believe it or not. Anything goes in this country…it is taking a lot to surprise any of us at this point. From here, the volunteers decide to walk, and I think they made it home by 2 am or so.

I tried my best to explain the situation when I arrived home to my host mother and assumed that with Hasmik calling the families that things would be okay. I have now come to learn that Hasmik didn’t tell the families that we stuck in the mountains because she didn’t want them to worry…and despite three separate attempts to explain what happened (even with the aid of my trusty dictionary), I am pretty sure that my family thinks the reason I was late coming home is because I drank too much wine.

This is extremely frustrating for many reasons, and I am to the point where I have to hold myself back to keep from yelling in English…maybe that would help. The families in the village gossip about their volunteers all the time and it won’t be long until the entire village thinks we are all a bunch of drunks. Melissa told me that her mother was asking if I was sick the other day and if my knees hurt. My knees? Yes, I have had a few knee surgeries, but what does Melissa’s mother know about it? Honestly… I have appealed to Hasmik for help on this one, but since the graduation party is a three day event (seriously) my host mother hasn’t been home in the evenings lately.

So now I am faced with a new issue….my family thinks I am a drunk. Great. This is not helped by the fact that alcohol is viewed differently in this country: vodka is normal, a family can go through an entire bottle in one meal. But beer is serious stuff, if you drink beer you are a lush. So, us Americans, who happen to prefer beer to vodka, and are also used to drinking a whole beer, out of the bottle (gasp), are alcoholics. Tonight at the party I got to face the aftermath of all of this. Here I am, toasting happily with all these Armenians who think I am just great, and my host mother decides to pull me aside to tell me that Armenian women don’t drink very much wine (this by the way, is not true). This was after she took away the vodka that was sitting in front of me (it wasn’t mine…it was moved to my seat while I was dancing) and told me that women don’t drink vodka, they drink wine (also, not true). I distinctly remember the fourth of July picnic, where she was filling my cup with vodka repeatedly. Also keep in mind that I am drinking wine out of small shot glass and in the course of the evening—three hours or so—had less than the equivalent of one glass between eating and dancing. I was not drunk, I wasn’t even feeling the effects. I can’t win.
I am really starting to feel comfortable in Armenian and I am enjoying spending time with the people. I am learning a lot and having fun, but I am ready to get out of the host family situation and on my own. My host mother is that person who is loud and pushy and well-meaning but way too in-your-face, even for Armenian standards. It is not only me that gets treated like this, it is everyone. I still have hope for next family, I will update you after next week!

A 7 hour Armenian dance marathon (or PST 6 for those who are less creatively and more chronologically inclined).

2005-07-14T00:57:00.000-05:00

Disclaimer.....since writing this my new site has been changed, but I do not have the time to elaborate now. I can tell you that I am now going to the town of Vayk, which is the south of the country near the city of yegheghnadzor. You can probably find that on a map. Check in next week for an accurate update,

So much has happened since my last post that I barely know where to begin, and yet I can hardly keep my eyes open long enough to type these few words. It is my goal to get this entry at least started so I can post it sometime in the next week or so. As you will soon find out, things are extraordinary busy and schedules and are a little out of the ordinary as well. But my brain gets ahead of my fingers…we will begin with those events which have already occurred (they are easier to write about, anyhow).

I think the rainy season is finally passing us by—it is still raining, but less frequently, and although it took almost 5 days, my clothes finally dried. Well, maybe dry isn’t quite the proper term, but they were enough less wet to iron, fold and put away. Almost everything in my room is damp enough that it feels wet when I put it on. But, my room is now up to a balmy 64 degrees, meaning I can sleep without wool socks and a sweatshirt. This is July after all. Can also now add to my list of accomplishments figuring out how to open the windows in my room, which has helped some with the humidity and cold.

Sunny weather also means hikes, and I finally got to go on a nice long sweaty one with four fellow trainees—we were gone about 5 hours and were able to follow a road up above the village into the mountains for some awesome views. It was so nice to finally get some real exercise again and to get my heart rate up! Our hike was in the shorter range, which we were nearly at the top of. Probably 8,000 feet or so. The taller range still has snow on it in patches and I still hope to get there before the end of PST. Which, by the way, is rapidly passing us by at this point. In fact, today (July 6) marks the middle—it is down hill from here! I am super psyched to finally have gotten some good exercise (and a sunburn, and blisters…) and the scenery was enough to make want me do the same hike every week. Rolling green mountains, grazing cattle, vibrant wildflowers, streams and waterfalls, and even forests. We will certainly all miss Margahovit when we move on. More on that subject in a bit…gonna try to keep this in chronological order here…

The day after our hike was July 4th, which we celebrated in style with a giant picnic for all the trainees and their host families in a nearby town called Steppanavan. Not only did we get to celebrate our American Holiday, but we got to share it with the Armenians, who in turned shared some of their customs and celebrations with us. It was quite a day! We took a bus to Steppanevan, which took almost two hours, mostly because busses in this country do not go fast and uphill at the same time. Also because busses run on Natural Gas instead of gasoline, and stopping at the “gas station” is a 30 minute process: everyone has to get off the bus, the old tanks (which are large red things on the roof) are taken off and new tanks are put on. Kind of cool, but not something to do when you are in a hurry. Not that hurry is really something that Armenians know about. Our journey also took a while due to the cows laying in the road. That’s right, just having a little np in the middle of the highway—a nap that not even busses can disturb.

Upon arriving at a clearing in the forest outside of Steppanavan, we played games and socialized while the fire pits for the horavats (barbecued meat) were prepared. Meat (mostly pork, but also some chicken) is cooked in big chunks on long metal skewers—about 3 feet long or so, over large pits of coal. This is a mans job. The women in turn prepare the rest of the meal—cut tomatoes and cucumbers, arrange fruit and cookie plates, etc., and set the “table,” a long piece of plastic for each village, lined with place settings and filled with food. It was quite a sight. While this was going on the kids and the volunteers played. One learning for the day was that Armenians do not have Frisbees. We taught the kids how to catch and throw them (after a lot of coaxing) and they enjoyed it, but I spent a lot of time chasing Frisbees down hills rather than catching them….what a cross-cultural exchange! And then, of course there was dancing, most of which occurred after lunch. Lunch? Dinner? Both? And the next meal too…..

The second learning for the day? Give me vodka at lunch, and I will dance. Not only that, but I will dance well, much to the Armenians delight. It is a good thing Armenian dancing isn’t too difficult, I have a feeling I will be doing a lot of it in the next two years. This was actually the first time I have had vodka with the Armenians, which I am a little surprised about, since it is basically the national drink. Almost more common than water, and cheaper than beer. I have been offered a few times previously, but this was the first time at a big party with toasts to the Americans, so I had to at least take some in my glass. I decided that I had set enough of a precedent in the earlier weeks here that a shot or two mixed with juice would be okay. It was, and they respected me when I said no more. My host family was just delighted that I was drinking and dancing…I am such a good Armenian!

Seven hours later we started back home, and when we were almost there when the Armenians had a proposal: “lets stop somewhere and eat the leftover food and dance!” To which the Americans responded: “Are you kidding? You want to eat and dance again? It is 9pm and we have donw nothing but eat all day.” Apparently these are silly considerations. Our LCF’s to the rescue…we did not stop, but had a second feast the following night at one of the trainees houses to eat the leftover meat. Which I am sure wasn’t refrigerated. I am so surprised that I am not sick yet…really. At least they heated it up again.

The fun and excitement of this week continued today with permanent site announcements! Perhaps you are as anxious to find out as I was until this morning…. Well, I’m not going to tell.

Okay, fine, you got me….I can’t not tell. (Drum roll please)

My new site will be a village called Yernjatap (yair-en-JA-top). Don’t worry, you won’t find it on any map, so don’t bother trying. Look instead for Aragatsotn Marz, (a marz is basically a state) North of Yerevan. Yernjatap is located near Aparan, which might be on the map if you can find a good one. If not, then the best I can tell you is that it is in the NorthEast section of the Marz. It is a small village, pop. 650 (compared to probably over 5,000 in Margahovit). It is also a brand new Peace Corps site, meaning that I will be the first PC Volunteer the villagers have ever seen, or probably heard of, and most likely the first American as well. This brings its blessings and challenges. I won’t have to deal with precedents set by earlier volunteers, which usually go one of two ways—either the saint whose reputation you can never live up to, or a volunteer who gave Americans a bad reputation that you can never live down. It also means that I will most likely spend a great deal of time in the coming months trying to explain who I am, what the PC is, and what I am doing in a small Armenian village for the next two years. Add to this the fact that I am an EE volunteer, and there is currently no EE program of any sort there in the schools, and the concept of ecology and environmental education is new to the country as a whole. Additionally, there is currently no foreign language being taught in the schools, which means two things: one, no English is spoken in the village (this includes my counterpart), and two, they will want me to teach English. Hello, secondary project.

My sense of the situation is that I will have a lot to do…eventually. First, I will have to endure a lot of coffee and chocolate, a lot of talking and not much doing, and a lot of trying to figure out how to say that I am from the Peace Corps and I will be teaching about the environment. Actually, I already know how to say that, it is more like trying to figure out how to say WHY I am doing that and why it is important. My actual job assignment entails working at the village school, which also serves a neighboring village, with the biology teacher (my counterpart). They are interested in starting an ecology club and I will probably eventually help with the science classes as well. Once I figure out the language, that is. I am also assigned to work with what seems to be a fairly successful NGO (non-governmental organization) called Armenian Forests, which is based in Yerevan. I do think that there are people with the NGO that speak English…this is good. My language skills are coming along, but I am by no means fluent and am pretty sure I won’t be in 5 more weeks. PC does allow us a tutoring allowance to continue our lessons while at site. I fully intend to take advantage of this, and it is a possibility at this point that my current teacher, Hasmik, may be able to be my tutor as well. I am very excited about that possibility as we are developing a nice friendship and her English is very very good. She is also an excellent teacher, and teaches English at one of the Universities in Yerevan during the year.

Fortunately, my site is close to Yerevan, and there is a daily shuttle from Yernjatap to Yerevan. This means I will have good access to goods (maybe even peanut butter!), I will be close to the PC office, and many volunteers come to Yerevan on the weekends, so I can see them as well. There is also an A12 who lives in Aparan, which is very close and also has a daily shuttle—I am sure we will become good friends! My village only has one phone—its in the post office—so internet in the village is out of the question, and phone won’t be much better. But again, Yerevan is probably the best place in the country for communication, so don’t you worry. And write lots of letters…there IS a post office.

On Tuesday we leave for Yerevan as a group to meet our counterparts at a conference in Yerevan and then travel to our sites for a three-day visit. This will give me a chance to meet (and evaluate) my 6-monh home-stay family and see what exactly I will be getting myself into. I should mention that Yernjatap is located in on the flanks of Mt. Aragats, the tallest peak currently residing in Armenian, and is a part of the marz that is highest in elevation. This means beautiful scenery, nice forests nearby (fast becoming a scarcity in Armenia right now) and cold winters with lots of snow. I am currently trying to figure out the best method of getting my hands on some snowshoes, I hear that I will need them! I am also curious of the heating methods used in the village. Central heating doesn’t really exist in this country, and the methods used range from wood stoves to gas to electricity to cattle dung. My impression is that each household usually uses a combination, because although most households are equipped with modern (well, relatively so) heating such as electricity or gas, the cost is prohibitive to using it regularly, or to heating the entire household. Time will tell….

Although I am a bit nervous about living with an Armenian family for six more months, I am also relieved to have the opportunity to learn things like how to survive the winter and what to cook when fresh fruits and vegetables are no longer an option. I understand this to include a lot of cabbage and potatoes! So, those of you who at home who are perpetuating the potato joke will have your redemption. I am learning to like cabbage. And mushrooms, they were he main course last night. I am also learning to eat things that I might never eat and the states and consider it a meal. What, you may ask? Well, hard boiled egg and butter sandwiches for one, perhaps I will enumerate further in a subsequent entry. Stay tuned.

I get off track….it remains difficult to live with a family and to adapt to cultural norms of being pampered and meddled with. Regardless, I have no choice, and I am learning more and more about the culture and ways to interact each day. Theoretically, it should be easier the next time around. It is still difficult to think that I have to go through the process again however—the awkward social moments, the feeling each other out for boundaries and limitations, the mutual learning about culture and expectations, the constant best behavior…it is all tiring. It is sort of like breaking up with somebody and then facing the prospect of starting a whole new relationship again: exciting, yet daunting. I also must consider the fact that I will be in this village for the next two years and the way I present myself and interact with my host family will affect my work potential infinitely. I have had some discussions with PC staff members about how to present myself as a young single woman in a new village. Their advice: make friends with the tateeks (grandmothers), all of them. Older women are very respected in this society, and if they all adopt me as their own, the village will do the same, even the young men. Once this has occurred I will be ready for business, but I need to be patient for this to happen.
Patience, a two year practice in patience. Armenian is a slow country, everything takes longer, and you have coffee before you do it anyhow. I am excited about the prospects of my site—it has many opportunities to pave my own road and truly make a difference, but I have to ride out the waves in the beginning in order to make space for this to happen.

PST 5

2005-07-02T13:31:00.000-05:00

Finally managed to get these posts up...I have been having trouble accessing my blog lately. So, two in one day--enjoy!

The clouds and rain continue to hover over margohovit, leaving us to wonder if the sun will ever come out…and will it ever get warm again or have we witnessed the only existing two days of summer and now it is back to winter? I sit in my bed under my covers with my winter hat on and gaze out my window at what used to be beautiful mountains. Now it is simply a cloud. Being in a valley whose elevation is around 7,000 feet, we often find ourselves in a cloud, and I am not talking about the mental state. This presents many problems beyond the obvious gloomy day syndrome. Perhaps the most pressing is that I am running out of clothes and can’t do my laundry (unless I like my clothes to smell like mildew….I like barf better). I have been waiting for three days now for the clouds to clear and the rain to go away so I can dry my clothes… still no luck.

We had hoped for a hike yesterday but the lack of any sort of view and village streets, which had turned into mushy manure filled rivers, deterred us. I did make it into to Vanadzor, and after another pot-hole dodging, cheek clinching, cow-herd swerving (we drove through three herds this time), down-pouring journey…I bought a hairdryer! Very exciting. Now I won’t catch a cold! It cost me 5000 drams (about 10 US dollars) which is pretty good for what I bought…but still five days salary at this point, or about two phone calls home. Regardless, it was a good purchase, and even more, it is symbolic that life here is becoming easier and more manageable. Just think of all that I had to do to find this hairdryer: get to Vanadzor (a dissertation in itself), find a store that sells hairdryers (not as easy as one might think), communicate to the clerk that I would like a hairdryer as everything is behind a counter and you have to ask for what you want, ask the clerk how much the hairdryer costs, and then actually pay for the thing. Practically an entire days work…but now I know where more stores are, and have a better idea of what I can buy and how to buy it.

I have had a few questions as to what a typical day is like, so I thought I would write a bit about my day. Today I woke up at 7:30 (all by myself today), got dressed—not a difficult task (would I like to where the black fleece or the green sweater? My only two options right now for days like this—thank god my wonderful mother is sending me more clothes!)., and headed upstairs for breakfast. A typical breakfast for me at this point is a hard-boiled egg, herbal tea with sugar and jam, bread and jam, and sometimes some cheese or potatoes or meat product. Yup, you guessed it….hot dogs! Today the pickings were a bit slim because my host parents had been at a wedding all weekend, so: processed ham slices, bread and prune jam (the jam here is whole fruit in a sugary sauce…so plums—pits and all—and sugar, basically), and of course tea and coffee. I left the house at 8:30 and walked to Eric’s house, where I had more coffee, fried potatoes and some sort of fish patty, although usually I only have coffee. Then Eric and I walked to school, which begins at 9:00. Today’s lesson was months, weather terms, seasons, ordinal numbers, favorites, and review of yesterday’s lesson. We had a break at 11:00—my mother always sends me with a small lunch for break, today was processed ham slices in a large piece of bread and three hard candies. After break we split into our tech sectors—our village has 6 EE volunteers and two TEFL (Teaching English as a foreign language)—and we learned vocabulary specific to our sectors. So, environmental terms and the phrase “I am an environmental education volunteer, I work in the system of nature protection.” This may not seem too difficult until you see the word for environmental…banapahpahnutsyan. Yeah….
So, the whole phrase?

Yes banapahpahnutsyan kamavor em. Ashgatelu-em hamagarkuh banapahpahnutsyan.

Yup that’s right, now try writing it in Armenian…

At 1:30 class ends, and I walked back home. In the rain. It takes about 20 minutes if I don’t stop and Eric’s house for coffee. Second lunch is at 2:00. Today was fish, tomatoes, cucumbers, cheese, bread and apricot jam (same deal, whole apricots and lots of sugar….so much sugar it is crunchy, but very good ). This leads me to another accomplishment…eating fish without making a gigantic mess. Fish here is served with skin, tail, bones, fins, eyeballs…you should have seen me the first time I tried to eat it, I ended up with skin, fish, bones and other random pieces everywhere while my host family had a neat little pile of fish skeletons next to their plate, I think all of my fish bones ended up in my mouth. Not to worry, I have figured out how to get the fish off the bone and then to peel the skeleton (whole) off the rest of the fish. I am a pro.

After second lunch is nap time, it is too rainy to do anything else. Then a little reading. Required reading: Mango Elephants in the Sun, by Susana Herrera. A wonderful account of a peace corps volunteer’s service in Africa. Very different than my experience but still with similar undercurrents. I have also started to do some exercise in my bedroom, which makes me feel much better. Yoga today. Then I head upstairs to do my homework and to have afternoon coffee with my family. And four apricots (maybe not such a good idea, but I couldn’t help myself…they are so good). Did you know that you can break open the pit with a nut cracker and there is a seed inside that you can eat? Tastes kind of like a pumpkin seed with almond flavoring. Try it, you’ll like it.

Dinner follows afternoon coffee—I think you get the point with the food. There is lots of it, it all appears on the table at mealtimes, we eat said items until they are gone or the meal is over, and then we put them back in the cupboards for the next meal. Things we would refrigerate in the US live in cupboards here…or in a pot on the stove top, sometimes for days at a time. Fortunately that is usually lentils or potatoes…things have less of a chance of going bad. Eggs, fruit and veggies and yogurt go in the refrigerator. Cheese, bread, jam and certain vegetable items go in the cupboard. The translation for cupboard, by the way, literally means a place to put things, and also refers to bookcases, wardrobes, dressers and cabinets…very specific. After Dinner I am offered more coffee—at this point I start saying no in hoped of sleeping at a decent hour. The family usually moves to the living room where the television is on (really loud), they talk to each other (really loud…try shouting at the person sitting next to you on the couch, you’ll feel Armenian), and sometimes they study in the midst of this. My host mother is studying computers at the local university and my sister has summer reading to do.

Sometimes I sit upstairs with them and study—although it can be hard to concentrate at times (hard to imagine, I know)—sometimes I bring my computer up and type, but I have gotten so fed up with them reading over my shoulder and trying to sound out words As I type them that I have pretty much stopped taking the computer out of my room. Sometimes I hang out in my bedroom and work, but it is colder in my room and I feel guilty for not being with the family as much. My solution? My iPod, which the teens think is very cool, and helps me to block out the distractions…we’ll see how long it lasts.

Hope everyone is well in the US. Should be a busy few weeks here with lots to look forward to, including new site assignments and a trip to Yerevan! Lots of Love,
Jill

PST 4

2005-07-02T13:24:00.000-05:00

6/25/05
Bari Yereko (Good Evening!)

Another cloudy day in the Margohovit valley—the mountains are almost completely obscured. It also happens to be my half birthday...a fact I have not shared with my host family. Although I now know the word for half (kyes) and for birthday (tnundi), I still lack enough language to sufficiently explain a half birthday…and why I would celebrate it. Better for them to just know that my birthday is December 25, which isn’t even Christmas in this country, and leave it at that. Christmas is still celebrated on January 6 in Armenia, which I am told was the original Christmas day and when the rest of the world changed to the 25th, Armenia remained the same. I am going to Vanadzor tomorrow evening with some other volunteers and we will celebrate by eating pizza…yum. And probably some ice cream (bachbarach) as well. It is the little things that make us happy.

I also plan to do some more hiking tomorrow as well, and am looking forward to it. I just wish these clouds would hurry up and spill their moisture so we have some chance of it being sunny tomorrow. It is almost July and I am still wearing my wool sweater (I stupidly only brought one, thinking I wouldn’t need many this summer) and my fleece jacket. It is warmer in Vanadzor, which is at a lower elevation, but still long-sleeve weather for the most part. I can only imagine what winter has in store for me. I won’t really have any idea until we get our permanent site assignments, which is actually coming up—two weeks from now, I think. Apparently, in this tiny country, I could find myself in Siberia or in the hot desert. As long as there are mountains near by….

My big accomplishment for the day was learning how to do some Armenian dancing. Fortunately for me it is not too difficult—you just kind of shuffle your feet and wave your hands around above your head. Okay, there is a little more to it than that, but if I can do it….
Seriously though, it was fun. My host parents and brother are at some big wedding that they decided not to take me to because it is far away and there will be a lot of people sleeping on the floor. No kidding, that’s what they said. I am actually a bit relieved—there are supposed to be 2-300 people there, which is a lot of people to stare at and feed the American. Instead, I am here with my sister, learning how to dance with her and her friends. Good company to be in the first time I make a fool out of myself. It also means that my weekend will be a bit quieter and more relaxed.

I spent some extra time with my LCF yesterday and had a nice conversation about America and Armenia, language classes and life with my host family. It was nice to have a real conversation with an Armenian, even if it was in English. I also learned the difficulty of describing the state of our country to a person who has lived in relative poverty their entire life, and yet has had enough access to the media to form stereotypes about Americans. I think I did a good job of describing some of the realties (we are not all rich, if we are poor it isn’t because we do drugs, there is a large gap between the rich and the poor, etc.) but I have to think if it was this difficult to describe to someone who is well-educated and speaks English very well, what is going to happen when I get to my site? I guess that is what continued language classes are for.
Recently (like yesterday) I arrived at the point where I can hold a short conversation (more than hello, how are you? I am good, thank you.). I can actually tell my family where I am going, when I will be back, etc. without having to act things out, draw pictures, get out the dictionary, call my LCF, and speak in crude one-word sentences. Now I can speak in crude short phrases, sometimes even complete sentences! Everything is still in present tense, but I know time descriptors enough to say things like “tomorrow I go to vanadzor” “in the morning I eat at 8” “tomorrow I walk in mountains with Americans at 10.” I also know the entire alphabet at this point and can read and write at probably a first grade level! See sam. See sam run. I don’t like hot dogs….. Its not pretty, but it is effective. And this is all about survival.

I also had my LCF come over yesterday and talked to my host mother about allowing me some more independence. Starting today, I will wake myself up, start my own shower, find the breakfast table (all by myself), pour my own tea, and serve my own breakfast. It will be a nice change from the pounding on my door minutes before my alarm goes off, and then, if I don’t open the door immediately continued pounding, or more recently, just simply walking in to my bedroom. The cultural norm here is to knock and walk in as opposed to knock and wait until someone opens the door as we might do in America. I think this will be nice change of pace for me—as most of you who know me are already aware, I am not a morning person. Imagine me trying to speak Armenian immediately after waking up to someone who is speaking rapidly and loudly and pushing me around the house showing me things like the breakfast table, the tea pot, and my lunch. I am a quick learner…I know where these things are.

I also know that she is merely being an Armenian Mother, which is why I rely on my LCF to explain things to her…and to do it nicely. She is a very busy woman, as she is also a student and so it was easy enough to say “you are very busy, I can do some of these things myself, I have been for years…” In Armenia I am still a child, especially because I am a woman. Women of my age are often still living with their families…or getting married and living with their families. It is uncommon for families to live as my host family does—with only the nuclear family in the household. The gender roles are very defined here, a fact that has taken some getting used to. The women do all of the cooking, cleaning, gardening, food preparation, and take care of the family. It is nearly unheard of for a man to cook, do laundry, or do much of anything around the home. My host sister waits on her father—brings him a glass of water and then brings it back to the kitchen, he picks his feet up in a chair and she brings him a footrest, she cleans and puts away his electric razor, etc. The men do work hard, simply elsewhere, and they perform very manly tasks. Car maintenance, farming, and earning money for the family. I think they also do all of the driving, I have yet to see a woman drive in this country. The boys are the only group that don’t seem to have many responsibilities. They play. That is about all I can figure.

These roles extend into volunteer life, although not entirely--it is accepted to some extent that we do things a bit differently as Americans. I think the married couples have the worst time with this one. For instance, it is expected that as female PCV’s that we do our own laundry, the men on the other hand are prohibited from doing their own laundry by their host mothers. This means that a fairly progressive married couple who has spent their time in the US sharing household tasks are now faced with a system where the woman does the laundry for both of them and the man sits back and watches. Of the married couple in our village, the husband actually snuck around trying to help his wife hang laundry on the line…and was caught, and reprimanded. Don’t you know? Men don’t do laundry.

What this means for me is that I am expected to help out around the house—clear the table, help prepare food, do my laundry etc. I am glad about this, I don’t want to be waited on, that would impede on my independence even more. I am, however, a bit bothered by the fact that the only reason I have these expectations is because I am a woman. It is a double edged sword. But I am getting used to it. Armenians don’t seem to see any problems with the gender roles, but I think that between pop culture (my family has satellite television and gets more channels than I ever did in the states) and watching these Americans work in their country, they will begin to see that there are other ways. There are already large culture gaps between generations, which is similarly true of the US. For instance, there is no Armenian word for boyfriend, because it is not acceptable to have boyfriends in Armenia, yet teenagers date and the younger generation has words for boyfriend/girlfriend and know all about dating, etc.

Hadjok-Madjok (bye-bye) Bari Gishes (good night)!

PST 3

2005-06-22T12:02:00.000-05:00

Well, the challenges and the absurdities continue (I guess that goes without saying). I also continue to learn and grow each and every day. The excuse of “I’m full” has stopped working as well as it used to, but I had pretty good luck with “I’m not hungry” (sovats chem.) at dinner tonight. My family, mostly my mother, is actually becoming more pushy with food as times goes on. So, my new strategy? If I say no, no, no, and they still put food on my plate, then I’m not eating it. Seems simple, but me not eating a full feast at least three times a day means nothing less that that I don’t like the food. I am asked on a daily basis if I like the food, and if I like meat, to which the answer is always yes. I have even tried to get our LCF (Language and Cultural Facilitator) to help me make the point, but it falls on deaf ears. As my language abilities increase this becomes easier…in three months I will have this down!

I, by the way, have many abilities: I can wash my clothes (in barf, of course), wring out my clothes, hang my clothes on a line, type very fast (this continues to be a novelty), cut a tomato, drive a car (but only in the US…), and speak Armenian well (this of course, is a relative term). This, all according to mother, who likes to report to the rest of the village. I am becoming used to being the center of attention. We (amerikatsi) are better than television. Children in the village have learned that every day at school we get a break at 11:00, and they actually gather in the school yard to watch us eat our snacks. Here comes the 11:00 soap… One of my fellow trainees asked my the other day if I knew any good Armenian jokes, my response we “yeah, us.” And it is so true….

I have had the privilege of attending two parties in the last two days. Both for young men who are leaving to go into the army. The first was amazingly large. My first thought when I walked into the house was “is the whole village here?” The tables were literally piled with food and alcohol, there was loud music and lots of dancing. And I was ushered from table to table, where people largely talked about me, rather than to me, and in true Armenian form, piled my plate with food. At one point everyone within arms reach had given me a piece of bread (the stack was about a foot high—I do not exaggerate), and then a piece of cake was set on top. I ate the cake…I have had quite enough bread! The experience can pretty much be equivocated to my mother steering me around the room and saying “this is my American….this is my American….this is my American.” Strangely enough, it is starting to seem normal. At the second party I just sat back and listened to them talk about me. I don’t really understand anything except for my name….blah blah blah jill blah blah blah jill blah blah. Actually, it is more like Jeel, which I have gotten so used to hearing, I actually introduced myself as jeel the other day. “Yes Jeel nem.” (I am Jeel.) Oh yeah, I had discussions about tan with a few of you before leaving….tan is an Armenian drink that consists of yogurt, or matsun in Armenian, mixed with water and little salt. Well, I tried it last night. Only a little, which was good thing. I don’t think I will be having much more. The yogurt is not sweet and thicker than American yogurt. It is good with many things, but my favorite is the syrup from candied pears. Maybe if that was in the tan I would like it. I also learned that I am not a particularly big fan of sheep meat. Note to self…

I finally got a chance to do some hiking last week. We didn’t get far, and didn’t really get off the road, but we made it a ways up above the village and were rewarded with some great views. I have pictures but I don’t think I will be able to post them from Armenia—the internet connection is too slow. I plan to email a disk of pictures home after a while, and then maybe they can be disseminated from there. The plan is to actually get to the top of the ridge that runs behind the village, but we will need an entire day to do so. We are thinking possibly next Sunday, if the weather holds out. It is currently the rainy season, and storms nearly every day. Hard rain, hail, thunder and lightning are the norm. It is also the norm for the power to go out when it rains. At which point, everyone simply goes to bed. There is no questioning as to when it might be back, nobody calls the power company to report an outage, they just go to sleep. This is with the exception of my host mother, who I found cutting potatoes in the dark one evening during an outage. When there is work to be done….

I also thought I might comment on village wildlife in this entry. Well, domesticated wildlife anyway…Cows, pigs, horses, chickens, stray dogs…everywhere. There is no concept of private grazing land here. The livestock simply wanders around the villages and roads as they please, eating what they like. We have finally gotten to the point where we don’t giggle every time we hear a rooster crow during class, but I still find it amusing (and sometimes frightening) to see large livestock just hanging out by the side of the road, or in the road if that seems preeferable. We saw a cow walking down the sidewalk in Vanadzor on Saturday, which was pretty amusing, and then we learned how to drive a taxi through a heard of cattle who were chilling on the “highway”:
First, slow down as little as possible
Second get right on the cows hoofs (really, really close)
Third, honk and swerve until the cows either move out of the way, or you get around all of them.
Some things I am not sure I will ever get used to….

PST 2 (pre-service training)

2005-06-17T04:29:00.000-05:00

Hello again….we have traveled to Vanadzor again today to attend a lecture from an American professor on Armenian architecture, folklore and miracles….or something to that extent (I am writing this the night before and can’t remember the exact name). My brain is incredibly full. I learn one thing and forget another….

I think I can safely say that I have made it through my first bout of true “culture shock” at this point. And after learning more about culture shock today in training, I know that I am completely normal! That’s a first…. We are told there are four stages, the first being “initial euphoria” and the second being “irritation and frustration.” I haven’t made it to the latter two yet. We have spent the majority of this week being asked by various staff at different meetings, interviews and classes how we are doing…almost to the point of being obnoxious, it has been asked so may times. Are there problems? How are you feeling? Your host family is okay? And on and on…and the answer was always “I’m great, my host family is great, my site is great, Peace Corps is great!” Well, when I got home last night from vanadzor, things inexplicably stopped being great. I didn’t want to speak Armenian, I didn’t want to be on my best behavior, I didn’t want to be on display, I didn’t want my host mom to tell any more neighbors about how fast I can type (apparently a very impressive feat that everyone in the village now knows about…). I was just simply done with it all. So, at 8:30, I told them I was going to bed and sat in my room and typed, journaled and listened to music. I talk to my fellow trainees about it today, and yesterday seemed to be some sort of trigger for lots of us. Perhaps it was the break in our routine of living in the village and speaking Armenian (well, attempting to speak Armenia badly), to seeing all 45 members of our group and speaking English all day. Or maybe it was just time…who knows. Ironically, this happens to us after the PC staff are all done asking how we are feeling.

Regardless, today was much better. Still a center day, meaning we are all in Vanadzor. (the group has been split up into 6 different villages around the city, and consequently don’t see each other except for Wednesday and Thursday). But, full of good information and quality time with friends, And, I finally got to the internet! This was quite an accomplishment. On Wednesday I spent 45 minutes watching yahoo try to load (it never did) and then paid someone 200 drams to do so. Today, the first place I went wouldn’t let me use my memory stick, the second place couldn’t connect, and finally, the third place worked….like a charm. For those of you who are scoring at home, that is four attempts, a lot of walking, I don’t remember how many drams and endless amounts of frustration. However, the fruits of my labor are that I now know where to go first. The internet is going to be one of my challenges for the next 2 years, as it is consistently unreliable, and difficult to get to. Even now, it is an hour bus ride to Vanadzor, who knows how far it will be when I get my permanent site. For this reason, I am going to do my best to keep this site updated instead of trying to email everyone—I hope to get at least one post a week or every two weeks at the very least.

My host family is still trying to figure out this strange American who is living in their house. They are absolutely impressed by my computer, and all gather around whenever I get it out. My sister often looks over my shoulder and watches me type, which is a bit disconcerting and distracting, but she doesn’t know the language well enough to really read what I am writing. Still, the level of privacy I am used to as an American simply doesn’t exist in this country. My family does their best to accommodate my American customs, but I can tell it is strange for them. Alvart (Armenian for Rose), my mother, is very worried about me. I take showers in the morning and might catch a cold. I walk barefoot in the house, and might catch a cold. I sneezed once, do I have a cold? I don’t eat much, am I okay? My backpack is too heavy, I need more lunch, another cookie, more coffee, etc., etc. It is very strange and almost smothering at times, but also amusing. Our LCF’s do a good job of explaining that American customs are different…but still….

I might have a cold….. (not really, of course. For those of you who are concerned, I am completely healthy right now...although it is only a matter of time...we have been assured by the PC doctors)

The food continues to be wonderful, and ample. I counted 11 different items at the breakfast table the other day. Every meal (breakfast not withstanding) contains hats (Armenian bread), matszun (an Armenian version of yogurt, that is thicker than American yogurt and not sweet, but locally made and very good….and the root of a popular drink called tan, which I have yet to try), varung and lolik (cucumbers and tomatoes), and banij (cheese, also local). There is also usually some type of mis (meat), some more types of carbs, fruits, and vegetables. I have had marinated beet leaves—never seen them before now, marinated tree mushrooms, which are amazing, and fresh, local, strawberries, cherries, plums, apples, eggs, beef, chicken, etc. etc. Armenian coffee (similar to Turkish coffee) follows every meal, and often becomes a meal in itself as well. I have already had about a million cups of coffee and have only been here one week. Fortunately the cups are about shot glass size so I am not buzzing too badly. They also have a nice herbal tea, which they put fruit preserves in, as we might use honey—very good! (shat lav!). They make a fruit drink in a similar fashion—by dumping raspberry (or cherry) preserves in a pitcher and then adding water. I am learning how to communicate to my family that the food is very good, but I don’t want any more. In fact, I might be willing to say that THE most useful phrase I have learned since arriving is “gusht em” (I am full). Yesterday I even managed to tell my host mother that I only needed one sandwich to take to school…not two, both of which were about as big as my head….and three cookies. I haven’t had any more hotdogs (neproshik) lately, but I did have something that resembled spam for breakfast yesterday, and then a sandwich of fried spam and fired potatoes for lunch…mmmm. The joys of living in a foreign country…hmmm.

Well, language classes begin early in the morning, and I have to wake up in time to take a shower (after my moms starts the water for me), eat breakfast, walk to Eric’s house, decline a second breakfast and then continue the 20 minute walk to school. I have gained enough independence now that I walk by myself to eric’s, which is close and then we walk together the rest of way. This will be another point of adjustment for me as a woman in this country. I am so used to doing what I want, when I want, where I want, without having to find someone to accompany me. Fortunately, the men in our group seem to be very understanding and are willing to walk with us whenever necessary.

It was great to hear from all of you via email! Hadjokgutsuyn! (good bye!)

PST 1

2005-06-16T03:08:00.000-05:00

Barev Dzez! Bari Gulust Hayastan!
(Hello, welcome to Armenia)

Well I am exhausted but I have to get some of this down on paper before I forget all of the strange occurrences that last few days have held for me. After an uneventful flight we arrived at the Yerevan airport at 4:45 am local time and were greeted in the darkness by the country director and full time staff. We gathered our luggage---amazingly enough only two bags missing out of the 90+ that traveled with us and boarded what is quite possibly the nicest bus in all of Armenia. Even so, the small bathroom, located in the middle of the bus, was an adventure in itself….

Our first stop was Zvartnots, a historic temple shadowed by the gorgeous Mt. Ararat, the national symbol of Armenia, which happens to currently reside in Turkey. Waiting for us as we got off the bus was the remainder of PC staff as well as the vast majority of the current Peace Corps volunteers—both A11 and A12, cheering, waving signs and banners and welcoming us to this country. There were two men who were playing instruments that I still have yet to leanr the name of—very beautiful but eerie music. The whole event was quite overwhelming and enjoyable, and a wonderful start to our time here in Armenia. After coffee (the American kind) doughnuts, pictures and introduction we hopped back on our bus and headed to Vanadzor, our current home. Before moving in with host families we spent two days living at a “hotel,” which was really a pioneer camp (think soviet boy and girl scouts…but mandatory). The conditions brought on a bit of culture shock, which coupled with the Jet Lag (extreme Jet lag) was a bit trying at times. None-the-less, I had a great experience and made it through the few moments of anxiety and questioning of purpose with ease.

One of the first things we did after settling into our rooms and having a huge Armenian lunch—very good, was head into town to email or call family and friends to let them know we had arrived. The taxi ride was an adventure, maybe even an extreme sport. If nothing else, being a pedestrian in this country is an extreme sport, as pedestrians have no rights. People honk and keep driving, they drive in each others lanes, sometimes side by side, in the same lane. It is a bit disconcerting but I have found you get used to it… The instructions from peace corps staff and current volunteers were to keep going—they will swerve around you…unless you stop.

Back to the “hotel” where we found our showers without water, and then without hot water. I took the coldest shower I have ever, ever experienced. Refreshing. Bone chilling. The next day it better, thank God. Between the painfully tired state I was in, the lack of showers, and Turkish toilets (two ribbed foot steps without a hole between them and a trash can for you tp), I was about to break. I did my best to hold out until after dinner and then collapsed into my colorful bunk bed and slept like a rock.

The next day was full of language lessons, technical training and safety instruction. My brain is utterly full and I can sill barely carry on a conversation with a three year old. You think I am kidding? I actually had language lessons tonight at dinner from a three-year-old. Spoon, Fork, knife, plate, and various food items all courtesy of my new cousin, Arpi.

Anyhow, I am getting ahead of myself. The days flew by at our cozy little camp and before I knew it we were meeting our new host families, who will house, feed and take care of us for the next three months. Talk about nerves. After all the stories and warnings I was expecting quite the experience. Turns out my family is absolutely wonderful and doesn’t live up to many of the stereotypes of Armenian families. (they don’t smoke, they don’t drink excessively, there was no dancing, and only the nuclear family lives in the house, which is quite nice). They have their quirks of course, and I am still being made to eat about twice as much as I would normally in a given day, but the food is wonderful and it is all local, homegrown and handmade, so who is complaining? That is not to say I haven’t had my moments with food either. I think it is safe to say that before this morning I have never had a hot dog for breakfast, especially after having them for dinner and again for lunch, wrapped up in an extra large tortilla with summer sausage on the side. Fortunately for me, the amount of sausage and processed meats are only exceeded by the amount of fresh fruits and vegetables, which are wonderful. Cucumbers, tomatoes and fresh fruit are in abundance right now and I am particularly enjoying them while they last. Tonight we had candied pears, which were amazing, so I suppose I things to look forward to in the winter months as well. As it turn out, people in this country buy something and eat it until it is gone. So I won’t be seeing hot dogs again for a while…on to something else.

So again, I am ahead of myself. I should talk a bit about my host family. I have a mom, dad, brother and sister. Dad (Ashok) is the principal of the school and thus the family seems to be fairly well off, especially for life in a village such as this. The name of my village is Margohovit, and it is the third largest village in Armenia. It is nestled in a beautiful valley between two large mountainous ridges, which I think are about 9-10,00 feet. The village itself is at least 7,000 feet, maybe 8,000, and I can certainly feel the altitude, both in physical exertion and dehydration. The scenery here is absolutely amazing. I wake up every morning and look out the window to see these lush green mountains, still snow-capped in June, and wonder if I am still dreaming.

My family has a two-story house, complete with indoor plumbing and a real sit-down toilet! I was very happy to discover this as my knees were already balking at the squatting from the Turkish toilets. I have been given quite a large room, with a big bed, and even bigger pillows, as well as a table to work at, a few chairs and some book shelves. I have finally been able to unpack and feel like I have a home! My room is quite cozy, although a bit cold, and is starting to feel like my own. My sister is wonderful and has been very helpful in my language lessons—teaching me how to write my letters and helping me with new words. I sometimes feel like I will never master this language with its foreign alphabet, and yet I am amazed at just how much I have learned in such a short amount of time. At this point we have probably covered half a college semesters worth of material in about 6 days (4 hours of lessons, plus homework and practice with my family). Yesterday we played table tennis, and I learned to count to 21 to keep score. My sister is a good match for me and we have a lot of fun. I can’t wait until my language is better and I can actually carry on a real conversation with these kind people. In the mean time I have perfected my acting, miming and gesturing skills, as well animal noises. I can’t wait to play charades when I get back to the states—I will be quite a match!! It is amazing much you can actually communicate with people without knowing their language.

My brother is 17 years old, and speaks the most English in the family, which is still fairly minimal. We have had a few conversations, but he is more interested in the male PCT that lives at his uncles house. Eric has been a constant source of comparison for me, which has been fairly funny and fortunately not too overbearing. I have gotten used to listening to what Eric can do and laughing at the irony of the situation. It is actually good that Armen is with Eric most of the time, as it is easy to rely on him for help in communicating, but better to try and figure it out on my own.

Anyway, I am trying to finish up this synopsis of what I have been up to so that tomorrow I can post it at an internet café when we go to Vanadzor. The village I live in is large, but it has no internet and the phones do not call out of the country, so my communication is limited to days in Vanadzor, of which we have two class days there (Wednesday and Thursdays), which will be jam-packed, with little time for personal items, and Sundays, which are off days. I have plans with several other volunteers to go to Vanadzor by bus or taxi this coming Sunday to hopefully do some shopping, emailing and calling to our families.

I have been extraordinarily busy lately between language lessons, sector (environmental education) assignments, and every day life. Two days ago my host mother taought me how to do my laundry by hand. I came here knowing that I take a lot of things for granted, but it has been interesting to see just how much. It took me over an hour to wash, rinse, wring and hang about 4 pairs of underwear, 4 pairs of socks, 2 t-shirts, one long-sleeve shirt and one pair of pants. It is quite a process, and then things take about 2 full days to dry. My favorite part of the laundry however is that the soap is called barf. You can have liquid barf, or powdered barf, and there is also scouring powder called extra powerful barf. I am laughing just thinking about it—I washed my clothes in barf…

The key to success here is having a good sense of humor, and I am laughing a lot! Both at my situation and at myself, especially in my language attempts. I have two wonderful language instructors:Hasmik and Anna, and we have been laughing a lot lately. At this point, and maybe for the next 27 months, I am a commodity to be paraded around, talked about, stared at and wondered about. Children stop everything to stare at us “Amerikatsi” as we walk by, and when we say hello “Barev Dzez”, they all giggle. People point at my blue eyes and tell me how pretty they are, and ask me to say things in their language. For the most part, I think people have no idea why these Americans are in Armenia, and especially why they are living in a village, and not in Yerevan. It is difficult for them to understand why would leave the comforts of the US to live in Armenia. And, I suppose it is difficult for many Americans to understand this as well. All I can say is that so far it has been a worthwhile experience. I am learning so much and it is wonderful to be a part of another culture. Peace Corps is taking very good care of us and seem to have our every need accounted for before it arises. We have plenty of money, more than enough food, and our families are extremely attentive. Too much so at times, but that will lessen as they feel we are prepared to live here. Right now, my host mother wakes me up in the morning, starts my shower (the water heater has to be lit each morning), makes my breakfast, packs my lunch, and then my host sister walks me to school. As of tomorrow, I will start walking by myself, which is quite an accomplishment. It is about a 20 minute walk (30 minutes, because we stop to have second breakfast at Eric’s families house on the way). Food is a very important part of society here, and people are always served food when they visit others, which is very often… I am eating about 7 meals a day right now! I am getting antsy to gain some more independence, and I know it will some with time. Until then I will appreciate the hospitality and care these people show towards me.

It is very difficult to even begin to describe the things that have happened in the past week. Hopefully this gives you some idea. I will attempt to continue to elaborate and appreciate from you all and miss you all very much! Hope all is well in the U.S. of A.

staging and Vienna

2005-06-07T14:17:00.000-05:00

Well, staging is complete and we are collectively about 5 hours away from entering Armenia—the moment we have all been waiting for. The last few days have been a whirlwind of activity and a lack of sleep, but overall a great experience. A13 (our class) consists of 45 awesome individuals, with a diverse array of backgrounds, interests and skills. We have 23 males, 22 females, 6 married couples and a number of older volunteers who have already lent great wisdom and insight to our discussions and adventures. We also have a couple who is on their second tour of duty within the past 5 years, and a woman who is second generation peace corps—her daughter did it first.

Staging took place in Washington DC and consisted mainly of conceptual discussions about hopes, aspirations, fears and defining success (or a least beginning to). We talked at length about policy and procedure and had none of our questions about our actual experience answered. This was frustrating at times, but the CORE students could probably relate and perhaps this is poetic justice…

So far, I doing remarkably well with the uncertainty and just enjoying my time, soaking in my surroundings. We spent today in Vienna on our layover (we had 14 hours between flights). These was quite a bit of confusion surrounding our hotel rooms, but eventually things were sorted out and many of us were able to shower, sleep a little, eat a few great meals and see some sights before heading back to the airport to enjoy the free wireless.

We had even more adventures trying to navigate the city, especially since none of us spoke German, but all in all had success. WE met a nice man on the train who helped us with directions and train riding instructions, and found some nice restaurants to enjoy Viennese coffee, Weiner schnitzel, apple strudel, and gelato. What more could ask for? The whirlwind European tour also included a lot of walking to see the sites, an old cathedral and a trip back to the hotel via the wrong train. Well, at least we got to see the Ferris wheel while we waited at the next stop for the right train.

The sleep deprivation is beginning to take its toll and tonight’s red eye (two nights in a row now) won’t help much. We left Washington DC yesterday at 5pm and arrived in Vienna at 8am—I think I slept about 1 hour total on the way over. Then did our sightseeing and caught about 3+ hours of much needed sleep in the hotel. Now we are waiting for a 10pm flight, which arrive in Yerevan at 4:45am. Then on a bus to a welcome ceremony and then to our staging sight and then to start training. No rest for the weary!

So far I am really enjoying myself and can’t wait to see what’s to come!! Hope to hear from you all soon.
Jillisa

2005-05-09T22:44:00.000-05:00

map of armenia

Less than a month

2005-05-09T22:14:00.000-05:00

Time is ticking away now, less than a month before I leave for Armenia. That right, I know where I am going now: Armenia to do Environmental Education. I have some ideas about what that means, but still am not sure what exactly I'll be doing for the next 27 months. Other than trying to figure out how to speak Armenian....

perhaps I should answer the most frequently asked question: where, exactly, is Armenia? Well, it is bordered by Turkey, Georgia, Azerbaijan and Iran, and is located in that part of the world where nobody really knows what continent it belongs to. Central Asia, technically, although I am told it is more European or Mediterranean in culture. I guess time will tell. I am still trying to figure out how to post pictures and links, etc. I think I just added a map of Armenia to this site somewhere... Hopefully I'll have this smoothed out before I go.

Anyway, I'll add more later--promise. For now, bedtime.

Just Beginning

2004-11-20T23:07:00.000-05:00

Well, I am just beginning to embark on my Peace Corps journey and I have a long time ahead of me before I actually get to go anywhere. I received my nomination this week: Environmental Education in central Asia. Thats all I know. Funny thing is, if you go to the Peace Corps website and look up the central Asian countries, none of them list Environment as one of the work areas. There are five or six Eastern European countries that do, but no central asian ones....hmmm.

Oh well, I decided tonight after spending all my waking hours scouring the internet for Peace Corps information, that it is time to let go and allow information to to trickle down to me in that slow bureacratic way. With that said, if you are reading this and happen to know anything about Environmental Education in Central Asia, or just happen to know of some good sites from central Asia volunteers in general please let me know!

I have been spending a lot of time reading articles and online journals from peacecorpsonline--some are really heartening and inspiring, others not so much. I am trying to not let the negative become discouraging or disillusioning, while at the same time realizing that negative things will happen eventually. I just have to remember to approach those times with the right attitude and frame of mind.

Well I guess thats about all I have to say right now. I just wanted to get this thing up and running, and even if nobody is reading it it helps to get some of this stuff off my chest. Posts will be infrequent for a while most likely, but hopefully more often and more entertaining as the time approaches.