The end of pst

“Never, never, never quit,” – Winston Churchill.

This is the quote on a paper weight my big sister gave to me a while back, and which I figured would be good to bring along for inspiration every now and then. It turns out that Winston Churchill was known for drinking exclusively Armenian Cognac, a piece of historical trivia which Armenians are quick to point out to you, and which I’m sure is valid. From what I’ve experienced so far, the stuff is very, very tasty, so I can’t blame him. Churchill apparently drank the stuff to extreme excess though, and in his more advanced years, when asked how he remained an energetic, healthy and enigmatic leader despite his effusive penchant for drinking and smoking throughout the day, he paused, exhaled what I can only imagine was a massive cloud of fine cigar smoke, and said: “No sports.”

You tell me which quote is the more inspiring one…

Either way, I’m thinking this is the sort of mentality and iron will power that I’ll need to get through the next two years with flying colors. I’m not saying that I’m planning on picking up a serious cognac and cigar habit. That wouldn’t really go with the whole mission here and what I’d like to get done, at least I don’t think so. I also might play some sports from time to time.

So now, as of three days ago, August 16th, I’m an official Peace Corps Volunteer. We were sworn-in at Yerevan’s Komitas Opera House, had one final night with our training host families after the ceremony, and on the morning of the 17th were shuttled off and scattered to the far ends (particularly in my case) of the country. PST (pre-service training) is over. We graduated, and now that we’re all at our sites it’s time to start hitting the ground running, hopefully. Here’s a list of some things that happened along the way.


Things I did or that happened to me during PST (in no particular chronological order)

1 - Lived in a village of 700 individuals on top of Armenia’s Zangu Gorge for 10 weeks
2 – Learned how to pick cherries in a cherry tree
3 – Learned how to catch a runaway chicken (grab by tail and toss back into coop)
4 – On the 4th of July, gave a speech about the celebration of freedom in extremely shoddy Armenian to the residents of my village while my friend Ben lit off equally shoddy fireworks for “dramatic effect”
5 – Finished a book of Murakami short stories
6 – Learned how to shoo chows away from places they are not supposed to be, like the garden (aggressive gestures and yelling in English or Armenian works)
7 – Acquired a taste, pretty much immediately, for straight vodka toasts during dinner time
8 – Learned that rubbing yogurt on your body is an acceptable remedy for sunburns
9 – Discovered that two bowls of yogurt, a shot of cognac, and some Peace Corps issued anti-diarrheal pills can cure you of “the loots” in less than 24 hours
10 – Fell in love with Armenian culture
11 – Experienced at least two, possibly three not-so-subtle attempts by my host family to pair me up with a woman in the family near my age
12 – Fell for someone else
13 – Found myself in outrageously embarrassing or humbling situations more times than I can count
14 – Went to publicly held dance lessons in Yeravan’s Republic Square in June and July, loved them, and am determined to master haikakan dancing by the end of service
15 – Taught 6 practice English courses to Armenian children aged 10 to 17
16 – Gave an interview on Armenian national television during my swearing in ceremony using broken Armenian and am not quite sure what I actually said to them
17 – Climbed Aqunk’s Hadis twice, a 8294 ft mountain, which was gorgeous, although both times resulted in pretty severe sunburns
18 – Had to say goodbye to a lot of good friends and a wonderful host family whom I’ll probably not be seeing very often due to the very long, mountainous road to my village

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So now, after that, I’ve arrived, and my head is still spinning just a bit.

After the swearing in ceremony, I had my final night with my training host family, during which I said two toasts to Ando and Tanya and my tateek, thanking them for all of their hospitality and acceptance and making promises to visit sometime in the future (add “learned how to give a toast in Armenian successfully” to above list). They in turn said about four toasts to my health and luck with my work in the future. Then after sipping coffee and beer and eating sunflower seeds and watermelon in the windy starlit Armenian night with them for the last time, I muscled the rest of my clothes into my suitcases, talked on the phone to an important friend for an hour or so and fell asleep by around 2am.

In the morning we loaded all of my belongings into Ando’s Lada and then drove over to the Mayor’s office, where Peace Corps vans were waiting to take us to Nor Hajn. We said goodbye to our host families, and to all the residents of the village we have grown accustomed to seeing and talking to every day. I gave and received a bunch of hugs and kisses, said “haijo” (bye) and “lav mna” (stay well) over and over, the women were crying a bit and the men were smoking, and then it was over. We were shuttled off to Nor Hajn, where we said more goodbyes—that I think were even harder to say—to the rest of the volunteers from the other villages. Then Hannah and I, us being the two volunteers going the farthest south, hopped into our taxi and headed off to our sites. On the 8 to 9 hour ride (neither of us seemed to paying a great deal of attention to the time or how long it took exactly) I slept about a third of the way and chatted with Hannah and our driver for most of the rest. The drastic and repeated increases and drops in elevation as we went over the mountains were a little more tolerable this time around without a cold.

Upon reaching my site, my new host father, Arto, insisted that we accompany Hannah to her site as well, and so we boarded the taxi again and drove to her village, helped her unload, drank coffee with her family, of course, and then finally headed back to our village. This I think technically made me to last volunteer to finally arrive at my site and be settled (with the exception of Kelsey perhaps). I ate with my host family, hit the sack around midnight and slept for about 10 and half hours straight, my longest stretch since I arrived in country. It was awesome. Guess I needed it…

Vardavar

I’ve got about two and a half weeks left of pre-service training, and I’m in pretty deadly good spirits. Also, today is August first, which means I left America exactly two months ago. I’m writing to The Kinks.

Yesterday was a pretty special Armenian holiday, called Vardavar. The once pagan holiday was adopted into Armenia’s Apostolic Christian cannon a long time ago, and apparently corresponds to the Transfiguration in Western Christian calendars. On this day, and this one only, it becomes perfectly acceptable to douse your friends, neighbors, and most importantly your family with cold water. There is no set time, and the more random the moment the better. So from the moment you wake up until the sun goes down, you need to be on guard, unless like me you are melting from the heat (it was over 100 degrees in the capital this Vardavar) and are just waiting excitedly to get a blast of cold water when you least expect it.

In the morning we ate a breakfast of Dolma leftover from the night before, which are rice and ground beef and greens wrapped up in grape leaves and cabbage. I ate an innumerable amount of them. We also had a half shot of vodka during breakfast, which is extremely rare here, and my host mother, after struggling for a good reason for the toast, simply muttered “bolorin,” or to everyone. Satisfactory.

It hit my Armenian studies for the remainder of the morning, and then hung out while family started showing up for the holiday. Andranik’s sister, Anahit, arrived from Hoktmberyan with her son. Andranik’s son-in law’s family also showed up from Bueregavan, and then finally another of Andranik’s sisters, Rosana, showed up with her husband, daughter, daughter’s husband and their two children. Tanya’s sister-in-law and her three children, who have been staying here for most of the summer, were also present. I’m pretty sure I’m getting all of this straight, but it’s disorienting. It also doesn’t help that there’s special possessive cases in the Armenian language for most family-related words (i.e. sister’s daughter) instead of the perfectly consistent apostrophe followed by “s” that we have in English. There are also special words for specific family members, such as “hars” for son-in-law, and different sets of words are used depending on which side of the family—mother’s or father’s—that you are talking about as well. It’s complicated, probably way more so than it needs to be, but I also I think it’s indicative of just how important family is in this culture. So anyway, if there is a holiday like Vardavar, any family who lives nearby—no matter how far the ties—will come out to celebrate as one.

By mid-afternoon, we were quite the crowd, and I figured the moment I had been waiting for was near. Sure enough, within minutes of everyone having finally arrived, the kids started filling up buckets and plastic bottles from the garden hose and bathroom sink. I’m not sure who hit me first exactly, but I think it was a combination of my host sister and Tanya’s nephews, George and Mikol. A battle royale ensued, with aunts and uncles joining in the fray. I got my host mother pretty good at one point, and minutes later she had snuck up behind me and gotten her revenge with a huge cooking pot filled with ice cold water. I don’t know how long it lasted exactly, and all we were doing was repeatedly filling up buckets and bottles with water and picking out new people to soak, but I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard since I arrived in country. When you’re in such a foreign place, and are still struggling to communicate basic ideas in the language of those you live with, an event like this is incredibly refreshing. No language is needed to participate. One of the family members, my friend Vruyr, explained to me that the water on Vardavar is seen as a symbolic cleansing of the spirit, a way to break from any evil and transgressions of the past. It certainly felt rejuvenating.

After all were thoroughly soaked, we headed inside to eat together. The standard Armenian village feast was laid out on the table, with fresh cheese, cucumbers and tomatoes, pickles, something a lot like coleslaw, lamb, boiled potatoes, and more dolma. Three shots were taken at the meal: the first to the blessings of the family and that good things will continue to happen, the second as a measure to prevent evil from happening in the future, and the third in acknowledgment of all the parents in the family and of God. From what I’ve gathered so far, the number and order of these toasts is consistent and an important tradition. Also, after eating such a huge amount of food and having the requisite post-meal cup of coffee, you feel not even remotely drunk.

I spent the rest of the afternoon chatting with Andranik, Vruyr (who speaks perfect English and translates for me when he’s around) and other men in the family at the patio table in the shade. Finally people started shuffling out around five. I took my cue as well, headed up to my room to get some dry clothes and notepaper, and headed over to Ben’s, another American and friend in my village with whom I’ve been team-teaching our practice classes for TEFL training.

Just as I rounded the corner of the road his house lies on, I heard the familiar voices of some of the village kids playing.

“Tom is coming!” they called out to one another, their eyes getting huge, full buckets in their arms. Their attention now turned fully away from splashing one-another and entirely to me. Resistance was futile. Also, water—if you weren’t already aware, as I wasn’t—is super hard to dodge. They swarmed on me and in seconds I was totally soaked again. Pretty cute, I thought. The day wouldn’t have been complete without it. I thanked them for the bath and entered Ben’s house soaking. His host mother, Gayane, first laughed at me and then helped me hang my clothes out to dry. I threw on some of Ben’s threads, and then we got to planning our lesson on idioms, which I was truly pumped about. They are a creative way to work with language, come with built in visuals and mental images, and after having taught this group of kids the day before, we were pretty confident they’d be able to understand it just fine.

I got home, ate a quick dinner of leftovers from the afternoon with my Tateek, showered, finished making a handout for the lesson, and hit the sack hard.

On Monday, which for Armenians is mostly a day of rest and recovery from Vardavar, we had the now familiar routine of learning Armenian in the morning and then practicing teaching English in the afternoon. The idioms were a hit with our kids, many I’m pretty sure walking away with a full understanding of all 18 that we taught, and for the first time I felt like an actual teacher, or close to it.