in five days

In the last five days I have:

-Hosted an American-Armenian friend whose language skills betray the second part of the title but who’s dinosaur shirt and blue tights screamed the first.

-With said friend*, munched gobs of fresh fruit in the crumbling form of an old bathhouse at the 1000 year-old ruins just outside of town.

-*Commited to hitching back from said ruins.  Surprised at the first takers: a couple bouncing along in their horse and buggy.  The metal shell of the the buggy had clearly held manure not too long ago.  But what’s a little manure between friends?

-*Made incredible beer-batter pizza which became less incredible the next morning after sitting in a freon-spewing fridge.

-*Hauled spewing fridge outside.

-*Took an old bus out to Gyulagarak and hiked the remaining three miles to the famed Dendropark.  Collapsed, after the 90degreeF hike, on a bridge that held us over a stream.  Munched more fruit. Napped.  Awoke to an invitation from a family of Armenian strangers to join in their picnic.  Gabbed in Armenian.  Grabbed at khorovats, homemade sourcream on grilled peppers, homemade-baked clay-oven bread, and vodka shots.

-*Learned after talking with Strange Family, that we’d actually spent the entire afternoon on the bottom of the mountain on which, half a kilometer up, was the real Dendropark.

-*Enjoyed the real Dendropark for all of thirty minutes before it closed.  It was kind of amazing.  An Alice-In-Wonderland-Meets-Jurrasic-Park kind of garden with sections of roses becoming all the sudden a dense, blanket of barely waving ferns under tall, weepy pines.

-After said friend took off for Lake Sevan, met New Sitemates (!!!!!) and their organizations at the river near Agarak.  Swam.  Khorovatsed.  Danced.  Swam some more.  Got a sunburn (first, maybe only, of the summer).  Let sunrays, water, and new-and-year-old friendships wash over me.  Felt damn good.

-Directly after river time, helped landfamily clear the garden.  IE, hacked away at 7 foot weeds for a few hours with a scythe.  A SCYTHE, people.  Grim reaper style, even.

-Next day celebrated landsister’s 5th birthday with more khorovats, more dancing, more new and old friends, more carrying around landsisters on shoulders, etc.

-Discoverd, with New Sitemates, that my town’s park turns into a carnival at night with lights, ferris wheels, cage rides, and lots of the best ice cream ever churned.  Met. More. People.

-Woke up the next day to texted announcement that My Friend Completing His Peace Corps Service and Therefore Leaving in a Week (MFCHPCSTLW) would be coming into town for a visit.

-Finished Season 9 of Friends.  Mourned the fact that you only watch Friends for the first time one time.  Made commitment to treasure the yet unseen 10th Season.  (I know, I know.)

-Welcomed MFCHPCSTLW and made way back to 1000 year-old ruins to hike the gorge peninsula on which they stand (factoid: Lori Berd, in-post known as ‘the 1000 year-old ruins’, stands on the point on which two sides of the gorge form an elbow.  The elbow was chosen by some really old dude as a secure location for the silk-etc merchants to build an outpost on the Silk Road.  The secure location was later conquered by the Turks.  And the Persians.  And the Georgians.  And the Mongols.)

-Munched on fruit again in the 1000 year-old bathhouse, this time with MFCHPCSTLW.

-Hiked down into the gorge to the 1000 year-old bridge.  Felt like I was in Lord of the Rings.  Checked for hobbits.  Found discarded vodka bottles.

-Ran into Armenian friends who pointed out to us an area in Gorge River (actual name of the river) in which stirred warm water.  Investigated.  Swam in ice cold water.  did not believe.  Investigated further.  Found warm water along with warm waterfall.  Hoped it was natural-spring warm and not sewage warm.  Disregarded fears. Enjoyed swim while staring in wonder at the close canyon walls.

-Attempted to hike Gorge Elbow.  Found what seemed like miles of stinging nettles.  Figured that Turks and Persians and Georgians and Mongols probably didn’t have to deal with stinging nettles.  Nettles probably only developed sting in the last 1000 years.  Or maybe I should just never be expected to conquer anything.

-Turned back for home. Walked in the rain.

-Made killer pasta.  Died twice while eating.  Filled tummy to brim.

-Woke the next morning to eyes glued shut by eye-boogers.  Blamed river water.  Thought the gluing-phenomenon was actually kind of cool.  Enjoyed cracking eyelids apart.

All-in-all:

Visitors hosted: 4
Surprises yeilded by my town:  6
Khorovats eaten: 3
Town pride: a lot
Overall happiness: pretty dang high.

Read Full Post »

two of them!

Last week found me moving between three cities, meeting new friends and hugging old ones.  And by “old ones” I mean my Peace Corps friends who are now more than a year-old.  My Peace Corps service is nearly half-way over.  [head spins]

And by “meeting new friends”, I mostly mean that I met my new sitemates.

I have sitemates. Two of them.  Two Americans coming to live in my town.  This really changes so much about my Peace Corps service.  I spend so much of my time in my little Armenian bubble up north.  I get out about once a month and have a taste of America, some quality time with other Americans in the capital or in other towns.  But now, two Americans are invading my bubble.

You’ll be hearing about them more soon.  They’re coming for their first visit in about a week.  They’re moving here in the beginning of August.

Does this mean I might not watch so many movies by myself?  Does this mean wil’in’ out to Hot Chip in my living room may no longer be a solo venture?  Does this mean that I might no longer have to premptively eat so much quick-to-spoil food alone?

Stay tuned, y’all.  Stay.  Tuned.

Read Full Post »

beerscum and line-dancing

Last week was spent mostly in a old blue Ford van with mismatched seats and a metal blue ceiling.  It snowed for most of the week (yes, snow in APRIL… no, Texans don’t DO snow in April).  The warmth inside the van caused streaks of condensation to end with tiny drips on our heads.  I looked over at one of the kids in the van and said, “The van is crying because it’s snowing outside.”

You would think that Snow In April would be enough to ruin an entire week, but really the truth is it was one of the best weeks of my Peace Corps service so far.  On Monday I piled into the old van with a guy from my office and seven kids from six different villages.  These are kids I’ve talked about before, kids who are brave enough to talk to their peers about HIV/AIDS.

At the end of our intitial nine hour drive, we stayed with other Peace Corps volunteers down in Kapan.  We did two HIV/AIDS forums thanks to those volunteers and saw Kapan sites which included, among other things, the biggest wild snail I’ve ever seen.

In Goris, I stayed with half of the kids in a Peace Corps friend’s apartment while the other half stayed in a bed and breakfast.  In that little apartment I taught the kids out to play Pondscum and Pirate Dice, both of which they loved.  Pondscum in Armenian is “ganach jrimur”.  I can’t count the times that was used OUTSIDE of the game.  “Jrimur” was pretty much everyone’s nickname from then on, or if not that, then “Garejrimur” which roughly translates to mean “Beerscum”.

Best part of the weekend: I taught them a “Texas Dance”.  Remember back in second grade, down in Central Texas, when during one week the whole class would learn the Boot Scoot.  Well, that line dance made it’s way to Armenia via my memory and the only country music I own, Dixie Chicks.  I’m not sure I’ve ever listened to “Goodbye Earl” so many times in 24 hours, and I haven’t been so enthusiastic about “White Trash Wedding” since I did an impromptu mime to it after a pie party back in Abilene.  I have now been asked to make a disc full of Dixie Chicks for all of them.  Oh, and I’m to tack on Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” at the end.

Things got a little testy at times.  For instance, in the Goris apartment I made the two boys wash dishes at breakfast.  The exchange was something like this:

Me: Hey, whoa, where are you going?  We have to clean the table.

Boy 1: What?

Me: The girls brought out breakfast.  The boys are going to wash the dishes.

Boy 2: But what about you?

Me: I’m a boy.  I’m going to wash the dishes, also.

Boy 2:  But we don’t wash dishes.

Me: Yes, you do.

[We walk to the kitchen where Girl 1 has already started the hot water.  I mix the hot water with cold water and soap.]

Me: Come on, let’s clear the table already.

[Boys clear the table and then begin to walk away.]

Me: Oh, no, no, no.  You are rinsing, and you are drying.

[Boy 1 takes towel.  Boy 2 pouts.]

Boy 1: Brent, listen.  In Armenia, boys work outside.  The work is difficult, so girls do work inside.

Me: Well, in America, men and women both work outside.  And they both work inside.  Men and women share work [Keeps own feminist thoughts about American sexual politics out of conversation].

Boy 2: But we’re in Armenia.

Me:  That’s true, but the good news is, this week you have no work to do outside so you can work inside!

Boy 2: [Whining] But this is our holiday.

Me: [Thinks, 'No its not.  You're here to do HIV/AIDS forums.' Says instead:] Well, it’s the girls holiday, too.  They brought out breakfast, so we’re putting it up.  You think you should be able to sit, and the girls should do all the work this week.  They let us sleep, so now we’re going to let them dance. [Sounds of girls practicing the Boot Scoot to "Goodbye Earl"... again.  Me smiles.]

So there’s that.  There were a few more tense moments.  I realized I would have made a terrible youth worker because by the end of the week I wanted to strangle them all.  But I will tell you that watching those kids line dance, I had one of those I’m-Living-My-Dream moments.  When I was 15, I walked across a ravine with a new friend I’d made in that tiny Mexican village.  We were walking at dusk to join a game of volleyball with other Mexican and American kids.  I thought right then that I wanted to do This for the rest of my life.  I had that feeling again dancing with these Armenian kids.

I don’t remember the topic of conversation or what I said, but in reaction to some joke I made, Boy 2 said an Armenian version of, “Oh, that’s our Brent.”  He had no idea how much that actually meant to me.

Read Full Post »

birthday in armenia

A couple of days ago I started a new year of life.  My friend emailed me, said she was excited to be celebrating my 30th birthday with me.  Had I known she was joking, I’m not sure it would have made a difference in my flipping out on her.  Turns out that I’ve been around long enough that my proximity to 30 bothers me.  Or perhaps the idea that my twenties are progessively slipping away is just giving me the willies.  But many people have sad many more interesting things about growing older, and to be honest, barring catastrophe I’ll have many more years to consider them.  Moving on.

I started celebrating last Friday, making my way by N’Sync blaring taxi-van to Yerevan in hopes of a festive dinner with PCV friends.  The friends delivered on joy and celebratory atmosphere, filling a room at our favorite Indian food place, Karma, and toasting me to my hearts content.  The birthday wishes kept coming all weekend while we walked around in the sun through the Vernisagge, ate ice cream in the park, and attended some not very impressive IIHF hockey games between N.Korea and South Africa and then Mongolia and Armenia.  I compared experiences with some new friends volunteering in Peace Corps Georgia.  I shared hookah and cinnamon tea with more new friends, these from Iran, and made a lot of jokes about my Taco Maco induced food baby and the differences between conservative and liberal approaches to spin-the-bottle (they were quite interested that while in their version the spinner delivers dares to the pointed, we don’t waste time and get people lip-smacking ASAP).

Monday, back in my little town, I got some major loving from my Armenian friends.
The clooker, I should say, was the number one celebrator of my birthday.  She burst into the office, set down the cake she’d made me, and grabbed me in a big ol’ hug and with a kiss on the cheek wished all the best things for my life. Her cake was an Ant House cake; she knew it’s one of my favorite Armenian foods.  She called me her third son.
I was kissed by everyone in the office.  Some friends from a neighboring NGO came in singing and waving balloons and bearing gifts!
In Armenia, on your birthday, you make dinner for all your friends.  The clooker made me write down a shopping list and took me around town gathering things for tacos.  We chopped and diced.  A couple of the guys came in and wanted to hear “Texas music”, so I put on Dixie Chicks.  I taught the clooker the Two Step in between stirring the simmering ground beef.
15 or so Armenians gathered to celebrate me and eat my tacos.  They swigged vodka in my honor, toasting me, my family, my friends, and my journey to Armenia.  They presented me with a beautiful (if slightly off) crucifix that I’m now scrounging a necklace for.  And they presented me with what you see pictured here, a card from each person from the office with their birthday wishes and thoughts about how awesome I am (their words, not mine).   They strung them up on a ribbon and made me wear them throughout the party.
Serine brought out the she’d made me and I blew out the candle.  Liana then asked, “What did you wish for?”, but as cheesy as it sounds, I was so much enjoying the singing voices and the smiles from everyone and the overwhelming feeling of making such unlikely friends, I forgot to wish for something.

But really, after love pouring in from around the globe via emails and Facebook wall posts and phone calls and texts and 3 cakes and a million toasts and hugs and kisses and so many tables shared by so many souls, what more could I wish for, really?

Read Full Post »

Is it mostly to do with food? Very likely.

Yerevan is a completely different country.  Walking along sidewalks that stretch out between tall buildings.  Grabbing indian food, mexican food, and Wetzel’s Pretzel’s. Dancing. Cafe-ing.  Things are clean.  The temperature is so much warmer.  Mannequins hold relaxed poses in city clothes.  The staring is much less frequent.

My friend Zoe says that I speak differently when I’m Yerevan.  I’m relaxed; my conversation leans away from worries, leans into quick wit and joy.  I blame it on samosa-related endorphines gathered in our favorite indian restaurant, Karma.  Or it could be the quesadilla at Cactus.  Or it could be the pile of books I gather from the shared library at the Peace Corps office.  It very definitely has something to do with the dancing.

Whatever it is, I am so happy, no THANKFUL, for my trips to Yerevan.  For the mornings at Artbridge where I can chat over an egg sandwich and french toast.  For the afternoons spent at Թելեր, the yarn store, before perusing the spice market.  For discoveries in SAS Supermarkets of ground cinnamon in bulk, pringles, and worchestershire sauce (ok ok… I don’t cook with it, but most importantly, it’s there).  I’m thankful for the evening I spent looking for a coat and for the store called “Banana” where I found this jacket with a patch that misspells “Imdependent Steel” over my heart (I wanted to go for the green one, but I figured I couldn’t get away with the monogrammed “Linda”).

I’m particularly thankful for this past five days spent in the city during our All Volunteer Conference.  For hours spent talking, laughing, dancing, and sharing stories (and a cold) with other PCV friends, literally spending every possible moment with each other.   For the carrot suffle and the phenomenal brown gravy at our thanksgiving dinner.   For the 15 minutes that 15 people spent singing about each other to the tune of “Anyone Else But You” by The Moldy Peaches (of Juno fame).

Returning home, I’m glad for the feeling of being missed, the wide grins and firm handshakes from co-workers and host family.  I’m not quite as thankful that our water has been “cut” again, that it could be many days until my next shower.  I’m not quite as thankful for the temperature in my house that makes it possible to see my breath in my room.  I am VERY thankful for my space heater.  I’m very thankful that I’ve made it this far.

And finally, I’m thankful that the snow that I saw falling today at 2:23pm stopped falling at 3:34pm.  Keep putting it off, Father Winter.

Read Full Post »