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 :)
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Saturday, December 01, 2007
cairnes
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!
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!
Saturday, November 10, 2007
quick update
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
J
Friday, November 02, 2007
Jigsaw Puzzles
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Golden Gaytime
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.
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.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Australia
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!
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!
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
profuse apologies
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
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.
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)
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!
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!
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….
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
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.
Monday, October 30, 2006
getting sexual...
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.
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.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
camp recap...a little late
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!
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!
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Vaytavor the water holiday
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….
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….
Monday, June 12, 2006
catching up
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.
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
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.
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.
Friday, May 05, 2006
Miracles Happen
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!
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!
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Please Help!
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
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
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Georgia, The Country
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.
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.
Monday, April 10, 2006
thirsty?
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….
"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….
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