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!
Friday, May 05, 2006
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….
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Spark column: unabridged
The following is a column I guest wrote for the 100th issue of the Spark, my high school newsmagazine. I owe much to the time I spent in the cramped lab of Lakota East High School, and I am pretty sure that I wouldn't be writing this blog right now if it weren't for that influence. As journalism goes, quite a bit was cut from the original piece for space. Here is the article in its entirety.
Here I am again. My bedroom is a balmy 34 degrees, I unpacked my suitcases while wearing my hat, scarf and new winter coat. There is a thin layer of ice on the bathroom floor and the water is so cold it hurts. Washing my face will have to wait—I am not that brave yet. I am jet-lagged as hell and have arrived smack in the middle of the most Armenian week of them all…the six-day New Year’s celebration. Yes, six days…actually, seven. The parties begin on New Year’s Eve and continue until the Armenian Christmas, January 6. Every day repeats itself right now. I arrive at some Armenian’s house and sit down to a table laden with types of food that never appear except for this one week. With the traditional diet in the regions consisting mostly of potatoes, rice, and bread, I think I have eaten an Armenian year’s worth of meat in the past 4 days. People yell at me to "eat, eat, eat…try this, have one of these…you don’t want it, why not?" It has been one never-ending dinner ever since I stumbled off the plane in Yerevan.
I had tried to mentally prepare myself for this as I sat in a Viennese café, three fourths of the way back to my temporary home in the developing country of Armenia. I have lived there for the past 7 months as a Peace Corps volunteer, and now, after a brief Christmas visit to the states, have 20 more months to go. As I savored one last cup of good coffee, with real milk, one last opportunity to sit in warmth and comfort and watch the snow fall gently outside, one last moment of "civilization" before the final plane departs, I took some time to reflect on my experience thus far.
It was good to be home, difficult to depart. And yet, amidst the thrill of hot showers, a house warm enough to be barefoot (sometimes), a car available to take me places, and all the Chinese take-out and Mexican food I could ever want, I remembered why I made the decision to join the Peace Corps in the first place.
It began as a romantic vision of living in a straw hut near some tropical rain forest, surrounded by giggling children and working toward the ever idealistic goal of peace on earth. As it turns out, that’s not exactly what I signed up for. Instead, I am living with a host family in a stone house with electricity and running water. I am in the middle of the desert, high in altitude, with cold winters and scorching summers. The only people giggling are those laughing at me and my clumsy speech, and the notion of peace on earth has been shunned for immediate monetary relief and movement towards Westernization. I am supposed to be an Environmental Education volunteer, but before I make any progress in that department I have to figure out how to convince these people to take some responsibility for the land outside of their front gate.
I am often simply seen as a rich American with a fancy car and more money than I know what to do with. This is a difficult position, given my volunteer status. At this point in my life I have no car, and a lot of college debt, but I am still rich compared to these people who are lucky to make 100 dollars a month. My work is different than that of traditional relief organizations that often fund projects and provide grants. Very little money is ever involved in my work, unless the people raise it themselves. We are helping them to help themselves; at least, that’s the theory. The people I work with are strong-willed and capable, but reticent to try new things and pessimistic about their future. I often ask myself "who can blame them?" In the last century they have endured genocide, Soviet rule, Soviet collapse, war, trade blockades, a disastrous earthquake, and finally a "democratic" government that doesn’t seem to have totally left the old system behind. Corruption abounds and the people feel helpless to do anything about it and seem content to leave it that way. It is a sort of learned complacency that is difficult to break through, especially as a young single female who has single-handedly defied all traditional gender norms.
During my vacation, people have repeatedly asked me "is it worth it?" The short answer is, yes, of course. The longer answer involves me reevaluating the way I take in new experiences, the way I view the world, and the way I see success and accomplishment. It has been a tremendous growing experience to find myself virtually dumped in a foreign land where I had to start from scratch: a new language, a new alphabet for that matter, a new social code, a new job, new friends, and a new family to live with…who speak no English. Even if I were to pack my bags right now, I think I would approach things differently than I would have a year ago. I have more confidence, more empathy for others, improved communication skills, and a less ego-centric view of the world.
Of course, I can’t always view my experience this rationally or philosophically. There are times when I simply need a release or a break from this world that I now call home, at least temporarily. I have found that one of the best ways to cope with my nearly unrecognizable lifestyle is to write. It is not only cathartic for me, but also allows others to share in my joys, frustrations and discoveries. Writing has always been important to me, but as with many things, it wasn’t until I began my tour in Armenia that I truly appreciated its value.
It was this very magazine that gave me that start nearly eight years ago. Writing for the Spark gave me a broader perspective of the world. It allowed me, at a relatively young age, to see beyond the finite opportunities of high school romances and teenage soap operas. And, while acknowledging that these too are an important part of growing up, I was able to enter the adult world with more grace and poise than that of the typical 17-year-old. I credit the Spark in many ways for opportunities that have opened up well past these formative years. Never before have I appreciated freedom of speech as much as I do now, and never before have I been as concerned about the level of apathy and disconnectedness currently present in the United States. It is comforting to me to know that entities such as the Spark exist to educate young people and to empower them to take an active role in the future. In the United States, as in Armenia, it is the action of the people and the education of the youth that determine our eventual destination.
Here I am again. My bedroom is a balmy 34 degrees, I unpacked my suitcases while wearing my hat, scarf and new winter coat. There is a thin layer of ice on the bathroom floor and the water is so cold it hurts. Washing my face will have to wait—I am not that brave yet. I am jet-lagged as hell and have arrived smack in the middle of the most Armenian week of them all…the six-day New Year’s celebration. Yes, six days…actually, seven. The parties begin on New Year’s Eve and continue until the Armenian Christmas, January 6. Every day repeats itself right now. I arrive at some Armenian’s house and sit down to a table laden with types of food that never appear except for this one week. With the traditional diet in the regions consisting mostly of potatoes, rice, and bread, I think I have eaten an Armenian year’s worth of meat in the past 4 days. People yell at me to "eat, eat, eat…try this, have one of these…you don’t want it, why not?" It has been one never-ending dinner ever since I stumbled off the plane in Yerevan.
I had tried to mentally prepare myself for this as I sat in a Viennese café, three fourths of the way back to my temporary home in the developing country of Armenia. I have lived there for the past 7 months as a Peace Corps volunteer, and now, after a brief Christmas visit to the states, have 20 more months to go. As I savored one last cup of good coffee, with real milk, one last opportunity to sit in warmth and comfort and watch the snow fall gently outside, one last moment of "civilization" before the final plane departs, I took some time to reflect on my experience thus far.
It was good to be home, difficult to depart. And yet, amidst the thrill of hot showers, a house warm enough to be barefoot (sometimes), a car available to take me places, and all the Chinese take-out and Mexican food I could ever want, I remembered why I made the decision to join the Peace Corps in the first place.
It began as a romantic vision of living in a straw hut near some tropical rain forest, surrounded by giggling children and working toward the ever idealistic goal of peace on earth. As it turns out, that’s not exactly what I signed up for. Instead, I am living with a host family in a stone house with electricity and running water. I am in the middle of the desert, high in altitude, with cold winters and scorching summers. The only people giggling are those laughing at me and my clumsy speech, and the notion of peace on earth has been shunned for immediate monetary relief and movement towards Westernization. I am supposed to be an Environmental Education volunteer, but before I make any progress in that department I have to figure out how to convince these people to take some responsibility for the land outside of their front gate.
I am often simply seen as a rich American with a fancy car and more money than I know what to do with. This is a difficult position, given my volunteer status. At this point in my life I have no car, and a lot of college debt, but I am still rich compared to these people who are lucky to make 100 dollars a month. My work is different than that of traditional relief organizations that often fund projects and provide grants. Very little money is ever involved in my work, unless the people raise it themselves. We are helping them to help themselves; at least, that’s the theory. The people I work with are strong-willed and capable, but reticent to try new things and pessimistic about their future. I often ask myself "who can blame them?" In the last century they have endured genocide, Soviet rule, Soviet collapse, war, trade blockades, a disastrous earthquake, and finally a "democratic" government that doesn’t seem to have totally left the old system behind. Corruption abounds and the people feel helpless to do anything about it and seem content to leave it that way. It is a sort of learned complacency that is difficult to break through, especially as a young single female who has single-handedly defied all traditional gender norms.
During my vacation, people have repeatedly asked me "is it worth it?" The short answer is, yes, of course. The longer answer involves me reevaluating the way I take in new experiences, the way I view the world, and the way I see success and accomplishment. It has been a tremendous growing experience to find myself virtually dumped in a foreign land where I had to start from scratch: a new language, a new alphabet for that matter, a new social code, a new job, new friends, and a new family to live with…who speak no English. Even if I were to pack my bags right now, I think I would approach things differently than I would have a year ago. I have more confidence, more empathy for others, improved communication skills, and a less ego-centric view of the world.
Of course, I can’t always view my experience this rationally or philosophically. There are times when I simply need a release or a break from this world that I now call home, at least temporarily. I have found that one of the best ways to cope with my nearly unrecognizable lifestyle is to write. It is not only cathartic for me, but also allows others to share in my joys, frustrations and discoveries. Writing has always been important to me, but as with many things, it wasn’t until I began my tour in Armenia that I truly appreciated its value.
It was this very magazine that gave me that start nearly eight years ago. Writing for the Spark gave me a broader perspective of the world. It allowed me, at a relatively young age, to see beyond the finite opportunities of high school romances and teenage soap operas. And, while acknowledging that these too are an important part of growing up, I was able to enter the adult world with more grace and poise than that of the typical 17-year-old. I credit the Spark in many ways for opportunities that have opened up well past these formative years. Never before have I appreciated freedom of speech as much as I do now, and never before have I been as concerned about the level of apathy and disconnectedness currently present in the United States. It is comforting to me to know that entities such as the Spark exist to educate young people and to empower them to take an active role in the future. In the United States, as in Armenia, it is the action of the people and the education of the youth that determine our eventual destination.
cross-country paradise
I am still walking with a bit of a limp, but the fact that I earned it through physical exertion makes it somewhat of a badge of honor. I spent the weekend in Ashotsk, a small town north of Gyumri, near Arpi Lake where I had participated in a camping trip this summer. Ashotsk is the home of two Armenian cross-country ski champions, who are trying to turn their home into a bed and breakfast/cross-country ski resort with the help of some Peace Corps volunteers. My role was to go spend the weekend there and see what I thought of it in terms of accommodations, pricing, etc. A weekend of cross-country skiing? With Olympians? Fine. Twist my arm into it.
Artur and Alla are the owners/teachers/coaches/skiers. Alla was the soviet union cross-country ski champion. They both participated in the Olympics as recently as Nagono. In addition to starting the B&B and giving ski lessons to foreigners, Artur coaches two youth cross-country ski teams in which his two sons participate.
From the minute I entered their home, they immediately stole my heart. Here was an Armenian family that was laughing and smiling and enjoying each others company. They sat on the floor (!) and watched sports together, the father played with the kids, and they interacted easily with the four Americans who just walked through their front door. Granted, they had already spent two years with a volunteer living across the street, and enjoyed a brief stint as a host family earlier this year, but I felt as if I had always known them after the two and half days I spent in their home. Beside the fact that these are well-traveled people, and that Alla is Russian, I couldn’t figure out what made them so different from the Armenian families I interact with everyday. Then it dawned on me. These people have passion. They are passionate about skiing and sports, and they are actively pursuing that passion every day. It shows in everything they do, from the way they interact as a family to the way they decorate their house, to the things they eat. What a difference having purpose in ones life can make.
The first evening we arrived late and spent our time hanging out and chatting. I had brought my laptop, as our weekend was going to be a joint ski retreat and Green Camp summit, and had pulled it out to check on something. Artur was sitting next to me and
was immediately attracted to the picture I had as my desktop background—snowshoeing with CORE in Utah. Before I knew it we had gone through hundreds of my pictures from CORE, IUOA and other outdoor excursions. He was not only interested, but he understood the things that I was showing him! I discussed ice-axe self arrest with him (in Armenian of course, with some Russian and English scattered about). I can’t do that with many Americans. When we finished looking at pictures of caving, mountaineering, winter camping, rock-climbing, snowshoeing, and paddling, he brought out a few of his photo albums. He and Alla showed me pictures from Russia and from Armenia, of places they had hiked, camped, skied and run (yes, they run…and they are the only Armenians I know who do). For that matter, they are the only Armenians I know who do any of these things, and it was so refreshing to see and to discuss and to make such a deep connection so quickly.
Alla began asking me how I trained in the US, and I did my best to explain in broken Armenian. Then I told her that I have gotten weak since coming to this country because it is so hard to exercise here. She told me to flex. I did and she felt my weak little bicep and then showed me up. On a number of occasions I felt like I needed to just start doing push-ups and begging mercy. I love that Armenians can make me feel like that instead of telling me that muscles are unsightly (not pretty) and that water will make you fat. She did tell us that we couldn’t drink water during or after meals (only before), but I don’t think it had anything to do with fatness. I am not sure what it did have to do with, other than the very weird perceptions of water in this country…but that is a different story.
The next morning we hit the slopes. Yes, I know we were cross-country skiing, but Ashotsk is big country, and it is certainly not flat. On more than one occasion I was definitely convinced that I was about to kill myself. Artur, impressed with all my outdoorsy pictures (none of which, by the way, had any skis in them) gave me the very skis that Alla had worn in the Nagono Olympics. I was impressed until I put them on my feet. After about the fifth time on my rear-end, I was frightened. That morning we worked on the very basics and then took off to a nearby mountain. The fundamentals were done on a ski course that Artur has set up for the teams he coaches. This included a loop, an up-hill section and then a very long down-hill. I am 100% positive that I have never gone that fast on cross-country skis. The journey to the mountain was nice, and after some pictures and goofing around, we headed back to the course. The last leg of the journey involved another steep hill, this time without a clean-run out and tracks to steer us in the right direction. We were told to make S-turns, like in downhill, a skill that I had not yet mastered on XC skis. Then we were told to snow-plow, another skill that was eluding me on the long, fast skis I was wearing. I ended up going painfully slowly side-stepping all the way down. That evening I switched to some slower skis.
The evening ski was a beautiful journey into the sunset, towards a river and a natural mineral water spring. We brought plastic cups and enjoyed the naturally carbonated water against the orange and purple backdrop. This trip also required a downhill portion, and being tired and sore from the morning’s festivities, I was still having trouble turning and stopping. Not to worry—Artur linked his arm under mine, we both lifted our poles off the ground, and he steered both of us down the hill. It was one of the most impressive feats I have seen in quite a while. This was the first time Alla had skied with us and she was enjoying skiing circles around us while mildly taunting us (we were enjoying it too). After all that, she beat us all home and managed to have dinner on the table by the time we walked through the door. Olympian. Must remember the operative word here. Olympian. Mother of two. Maybe I should do some more push-ups.
Meals were traditional Armenian salads, pasta, potatoes, soups, etc., but they were healthy, cooked with very little oil and well-balanced. Once again, a refreshing change. That night I nearly fell asleep in my soup. But the day wasn’t over. We still had hot showers (!) and time to socialize and watch more sports. I learned all about the ski and shoot biathlon. The next morning we woke early to a healthy breakfast and then hit the ski course, but only after the youth team had finished practicing at 10am (they started at 8—now there’s dedication). At that time they had finished skiing and were putting on tennis shoes to begin running. My heart went out to these kids and this family. I wanted to give them everything I have, and probably will give them a significant portion of my stuff when I leave.
I was pretty sore in the morning. I had trouble making it to the breakfast table, and I wasn’t sure if I would ski that day. At the last minute I decided to go out to the course and ski a little. If the rest of the group wanted to ski somewhere, I would go back to the house. I ended up staying out on the course with Morgan, Nick and Artur nearly three and a half hours. We spent the entire time working on technique. Artur would work one-on-one with us and then we would practice while he worked with the next person. I learned an amazing amount about cross-country skiing, including the fact that everything I had ever done was pretty much all wrong. Shows me. I will be returning in a few weeks before the snow melts, but after my body has mended, in a desperate attempt to not forget everything I have learned.
I know where I will be next winter.
Artur and Alla are the owners/teachers/coaches/skiers. Alla was the soviet union cross-country ski champion. They both participated in the Olympics as recently as Nagono. In addition to starting the B&B and giving ski lessons to foreigners, Artur coaches two youth cross-country ski teams in which his two sons participate.
From the minute I entered their home, they immediately stole my heart. Here was an Armenian family that was laughing and smiling and enjoying each others company. They sat on the floor (!) and watched sports together, the father played with the kids, and they interacted easily with the four Americans who just walked through their front door. Granted, they had already spent two years with a volunteer living across the street, and enjoyed a brief stint as a host family earlier this year, but I felt as if I had always known them after the two and half days I spent in their home. Beside the fact that these are well-traveled people, and that Alla is Russian, I couldn’t figure out what made them so different from the Armenian families I interact with everyday. Then it dawned on me. These people have passion. They are passionate about skiing and sports, and they are actively pursuing that passion every day. It shows in everything they do, from the way they interact as a family to the way they decorate their house, to the things they eat. What a difference having purpose in ones life can make.
The first evening we arrived late and spent our time hanging out and chatting. I had brought my laptop, as our weekend was going to be a joint ski retreat and Green Camp summit, and had pulled it out to check on something. Artur was sitting next to me and
was immediately attracted to the picture I had as my desktop background—snowshoeing with CORE in Utah. Before I knew it we had gone through hundreds of my pictures from CORE, IUOA and other outdoor excursions. He was not only interested, but he understood the things that I was showing him! I discussed ice-axe self arrest with him (in Armenian of course, with some Russian and English scattered about). I can’t do that with many Americans. When we finished looking at pictures of caving, mountaineering, winter camping, rock-climbing, snowshoeing, and paddling, he brought out a few of his photo albums. He and Alla showed me pictures from Russia and from Armenia, of places they had hiked, camped, skied and run (yes, they run…and they are the only Armenians I know who do). For that matter, they are the only Armenians I know who do any of these things, and it was so refreshing to see and to discuss and to make such a deep connection so quickly.
Alla began asking me how I trained in the US, and I did my best to explain in broken Armenian. Then I told her that I have gotten weak since coming to this country because it is so hard to exercise here. She told me to flex. I did and she felt my weak little bicep and then showed me up. On a number of occasions I felt like I needed to just start doing push-ups and begging mercy. I love that Armenians can make me feel like that instead of telling me that muscles are unsightly (not pretty) and that water will make you fat. She did tell us that we couldn’t drink water during or after meals (only before), but I don’t think it had anything to do with fatness. I am not sure what it did have to do with, other than the very weird perceptions of water in this country…but that is a different story.
The next morning we hit the slopes. Yes, I know we were cross-country skiing, but Ashotsk is big country, and it is certainly not flat. On more than one occasion I was definitely convinced that I was about to kill myself. Artur, impressed with all my outdoorsy pictures (none of which, by the way, had any skis in them) gave me the very skis that Alla had worn in the Nagono Olympics. I was impressed until I put them on my feet. After about the fifth time on my rear-end, I was frightened. That morning we worked on the very basics and then took off to a nearby mountain. The fundamentals were done on a ski course that Artur has set up for the teams he coaches. This included a loop, an up-hill section and then a very long down-hill. I am 100% positive that I have never gone that fast on cross-country skis. The journey to the mountain was nice, and after some pictures and goofing around, we headed back to the course. The last leg of the journey involved another steep hill, this time without a clean-run out and tracks to steer us in the right direction. We were told to make S-turns, like in downhill, a skill that I had not yet mastered on XC skis. Then we were told to snow-plow, another skill that was eluding me on the long, fast skis I was wearing. I ended up going painfully slowly side-stepping all the way down. That evening I switched to some slower skis.
The evening ski was a beautiful journey into the sunset, towards a river and a natural mineral water spring. We brought plastic cups and enjoyed the naturally carbonated water against the orange and purple backdrop. This trip also required a downhill portion, and being tired and sore from the morning’s festivities, I was still having trouble turning and stopping. Not to worry—Artur linked his arm under mine, we both lifted our poles off the ground, and he steered both of us down the hill. It was one of the most impressive feats I have seen in quite a while. This was the first time Alla had skied with us and she was enjoying skiing circles around us while mildly taunting us (we were enjoying it too). After all that, she beat us all home and managed to have dinner on the table by the time we walked through the door. Olympian. Must remember the operative word here. Olympian. Mother of two. Maybe I should do some more push-ups.
Meals were traditional Armenian salads, pasta, potatoes, soups, etc., but they were healthy, cooked with very little oil and well-balanced. Once again, a refreshing change. That night I nearly fell asleep in my soup. But the day wasn’t over. We still had hot showers (!) and time to socialize and watch more sports. I learned all about the ski and shoot biathlon. The next morning we woke early to a healthy breakfast and then hit the ski course, but only after the youth team had finished practicing at 10am (they started at 8—now there’s dedication). At that time they had finished skiing and were putting on tennis shoes to begin running. My heart went out to these kids and this family. I wanted to give them everything I have, and probably will give them a significant portion of my stuff when I leave.
I was pretty sore in the morning. I had trouble making it to the breakfast table, and I wasn’t sure if I would ski that day. At the last minute I decided to go out to the course and ski a little. If the rest of the group wanted to ski somewhere, I would go back to the house. I ended up staying out on the course with Morgan, Nick and Artur nearly three and a half hours. We spent the entire time working on technique. Artur would work one-on-one with us and then we would practice while he worked with the next person. I learned an amazing amount about cross-country skiing, including the fact that everything I had ever done was pretty much all wrong. Shows me. I will be returning in a few weeks before the snow melts, but after my body has mended, in a desperate attempt to not forget everything I have learned.
I know where I will be next winter.
landlord woes
I am the proud new owner of a new, used toilet that has no seat and still doesn’t flush. How lucky am I? I bought the three-dollar toilet seat in Yeghgeghnadzor and installed it myself a few days later. You would think they were scarce or expensive or something with the lack of them in this country. I had already had enough of the "hovercraft" as one of my brilliant sitemates so aptly put it. But this was only the beginning of my weekly excitement….
Last week I was graced by a visit from my landlord, who has some "business." An hour or two is what she said on the phone. I agreed, and was home at 2pm, a little weary of what my landlord wanted to do in my apartment for 2 hours. After wandering around for a few minutes noting out loud every change I had made to the place since her last visit (and there were a lot), she pulled two candles out of her purse. Large, tall candles. She also removed two pictures—one of her and one of her husband, who is in Russia, and pulled an old plate out of one of my cupboards. She placed the pictures on my table, the plate on top of the pictures and then the lit the candles and stood them on the plate. Then, she explained that the candles must burn all the way down to the plate for good luck and success. Did I mention that these were big candles?
I resigned myself to an afternoon with my landlord and sat down to do some work while she read a book (For the record, the first Armenian I have ever seen read for pleasure, but that is probably because I don’t have a television). The quiet lasted a few minutes until she started wandering around again. She wanted to see the new toilet, so we went to the bathroom and after glancing at the new toilet (of which I had paid for the installation and advanced her the money for the toilet itself, and the new wall, which I also paid for), she promptly began freaking out about how it was an old toilet. Well, yes, its old. That’s what happens when you tell me that a new toilet is 50 dollars and then say that you will pay up to 20 dollars. I actually had nothing to do with the arrangements, as James’ landlord did most of that and explained to me the terms of the deal. Now my landlord is saying she didn’t agree to that. This, for the record, is why I went to her house four times in one day to try and confirm the situation before going out of town. She doesn’t have a phone, which is so convenient. I never did get a hold of her and finally decided that it would be fine—Varton had it under control
After being reminded that she had, in fact, agreed to the old toilet, she says "well, Varton said maybe you would help me." Lets rewind to me paying to have it installed and paying for the new wall and advancing her the money for the toilet. Not to mention all of the other things I have installed, replaced, fixed, cleaned and paid for in this apartment. Oh yeah, and I am paying rent at more than double what any Armenian would pay. If only I could help... I tried to talk to her about it for a while, but she just kept saying "no, I understand, you don’t understand." So, I gave up and called James. He talked to her and then later talked to Varton, who nearly spit out the food in his mouth when he heard the story. At least I have some supporters.
This blew over within an hour, at which point I realized that we were nowhere near being done with the good luck candles. In fact, my landlord ended up sitting in my apartment for seven hours. Seven. Can we say awkward? After four hours of just me and her, I called James to help cut the awkwardness and give me something to do. We decided to make some dinner and watch a movie. We started dinner around 7pm, made French onion soup and blue cheese pasta, while checking on the candles waiting for them to finish. About halfway through, we were joined by the landlord’s daughter, who also came to watch the candles burn. At 8 we finished making dinner, but couldn’t eat because I still had Armenians and candles in my living room. We reheated dinner 3 separate times (false alarms) before the candles finally burned out and we were left alone. Towards the end, the landlord began to see some humor in the situation (thank god) and we were talking a bit about Armenia, this apartment etc. We were joking about the candles never going out, when I said "after the candles go out the plate will start burning, and then table, and then floor," as a joke, of course. My landlord took me very seriously… "no, we can’t do that. That’s what the plate is for, so only the candles will burn." You think? Oh well, I am just a dumb American.
Last week I was graced by a visit from my landlord, who has some "business." An hour or two is what she said on the phone. I agreed, and was home at 2pm, a little weary of what my landlord wanted to do in my apartment for 2 hours. After wandering around for a few minutes noting out loud every change I had made to the place since her last visit (and there were a lot), she pulled two candles out of her purse. Large, tall candles. She also removed two pictures—one of her and one of her husband, who is in Russia, and pulled an old plate out of one of my cupboards. She placed the pictures on my table, the plate on top of the pictures and then the lit the candles and stood them on the plate. Then, she explained that the candles must burn all the way down to the plate for good luck and success. Did I mention that these were big candles?
I resigned myself to an afternoon with my landlord and sat down to do some work while she read a book (For the record, the first Armenian I have ever seen read for pleasure, but that is probably because I don’t have a television). The quiet lasted a few minutes until she started wandering around again. She wanted to see the new toilet, so we went to the bathroom and after glancing at the new toilet (of which I had paid for the installation and advanced her the money for the toilet itself, and the new wall, which I also paid for), she promptly began freaking out about how it was an old toilet. Well, yes, its old. That’s what happens when you tell me that a new toilet is 50 dollars and then say that you will pay up to 20 dollars. I actually had nothing to do with the arrangements, as James’ landlord did most of that and explained to me the terms of the deal. Now my landlord is saying she didn’t agree to that. This, for the record, is why I went to her house four times in one day to try and confirm the situation before going out of town. She doesn’t have a phone, which is so convenient. I never did get a hold of her and finally decided that it would be fine—Varton had it under control
After being reminded that she had, in fact, agreed to the old toilet, she says "well, Varton said maybe you would help me." Lets rewind to me paying to have it installed and paying for the new wall and advancing her the money for the toilet. Not to mention all of the other things I have installed, replaced, fixed, cleaned and paid for in this apartment. Oh yeah, and I am paying rent at more than double what any Armenian would pay. If only I could help... I tried to talk to her about it for a while, but she just kept saying "no, I understand, you don’t understand." So, I gave up and called James. He talked to her and then later talked to Varton, who nearly spit out the food in his mouth when he heard the story. At least I have some supporters.
This blew over within an hour, at which point I realized that we were nowhere near being done with the good luck candles. In fact, my landlord ended up sitting in my apartment for seven hours. Seven. Can we say awkward? After four hours of just me and her, I called James to help cut the awkwardness and give me something to do. We decided to make some dinner and watch a movie. We started dinner around 7pm, made French onion soup and blue cheese pasta, while checking on the candles waiting for them to finish. About halfway through, we were joined by the landlord’s daughter, who also came to watch the candles burn. At 8 we finished making dinner, but couldn’t eat because I still had Armenians and candles in my living room. We reheated dinner 3 separate times (false alarms) before the candles finally burned out and we were left alone. Towards the end, the landlord began to see some humor in the situation (thank god) and we were talking a bit about Armenia, this apartment etc. We were joking about the candles never going out, when I said "after the candles go out the plate will start burning, and then table, and then floor," as a joke, of course. My landlord took me very seriously… "no, we can’t do that. That’s what the plate is for, so only the candles will burn." You think? Oh well, I am just a dumb American.
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