Christmas in Armenia

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

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.