postally absurd

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

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

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.