Waterfall - Ջրվեժ

This last Sunday I went on a little voyage with my new, quickly becoming good, good friends, and not only because they are the only other Americans here in the southern extremity of the country, although that’s got something to do with it. Also invited was my friend and fellow-teacher at my village school, Yeghish, who is our Phys Ed teacher and also the man behind the great spectacle that is “morning exercises” mentioned in the below post.

Our objective for the day was to find a very pretty, secluded place, a waterfall to be exact, near the village of Lichk, which is about 28 kilometers to the north. And we did find it, eventually, but not before having a few misadventures first.

The morning began cool and calm. I woke up around 8 am, ate breakfast with the host fam, called the girls to see if they were ready for the trip—they were— and then called Yeghish to see if he was ready to meet up at the time we had determined the day before, 9am. He wasn’t answering his phone, though. An hour went by, and we still hadn’t heard from him, so we decided to just go without our missing Armenian friend and at 10:30 we called a cab to take us north to Lichk.

We arrived in Lichk at around 11, and took in the majesty of the place – a village of some 60 residences sitting in the midst of sheer mountains, homes and cottages balancing on the slopes, forest and greenery climbing up above the village until stopping abruptly at the visible tree-line, and then bare, stunning rock-faces continuing up after that. We took a peek into the local Khanut (shop), which, in small villages like this, are the social epicenters of the community, and were greeted by the owner, his friend Harutyun (I always love meeting Armenians with this name because it literally means “the resurrection”) and their friend Benik. They were delighted to meet these four Americans who had come to visit their home and who could also speak Armenian pretty well—Shayna and Ruby in particular, who have been serving for a year and have some serious chops. Around this time, Yeghish finally called, was for some reason shocked that we had already left, and promised that he was on his way, in his Dad’s Lada, a couple buddies in tow.

Waiting for him seemed no problem, especially since the gentlemen at the store were now in full Armenian hospitality mode, having busted out a box of chocolates, some peach juice and a bottle of cognac from the store’s shelves. Toasts were said, to our health and one I think to friendship between our two countries. Soon a few more village men started to come up to the store to see what the commotion was about, including one who I think was the mayor and another dude who showed up on a horse, wearing a long blue jacket an old-military cap and seemingly fully aware of just how cool he looked. At this point Benik also stepped outside to bring over his horse, which was tied down just behind the shop, and which he had apparently ridden down before we arrived. At this point also, Yeghish called once again. Apparently, the Lada wasn’t working today, so they’d be taking a cab. Once again, he promised to arrive promptly. It was now about noon.

So now Yeghish was sort of pissing us off a bit, and we were anxious to get to the waterfall and spend some time relaxing at this–so we had heard—very beautiful place. The resurrection offered to take us to the waterfall, and we had no idea when our friend was actually going to show up, so we decided to take him up on it. If Yeghish did show up, he could just meet us at the waterfall anyways, or so we figured.

Harutyun, however, proceeded to lead us on a fairly ridiculous escapade, to the wrong waterfall. We walked along what was at first a fairly doable path which ran alongside the river, until that path became non-existent, and we were pretty much scaling up and down an increasingly treacherous riverbank, every moment doubting more and more this man’s foresight in guiding us. The scenery was great, and there were actually some small waterfalls cascading down the river up ahead, but it was becoming clear that this was not the way to the calm, relaxing place we had heard about. He led us onward until we finally arrived at an a very large, seemingly impassable boulder, which Harut, a 48 year old man, decided to try and scale anyways. Hannah and I watched in mild shock as he began climbing up it, made it almost to the top, and then suddenly lost his footing and plopped feet first into the freezing water below. He muttered a few Armenian curse words that I had never heard before and then briskly climbed back onto the riverbank. Fortunately he was no worse for the wear, except that his pride may have taken a slight blow, and also he was definitely bummed that his cigarettes were now soaked through.

This was the last straw for our day’s first adventure, and we decided to turn back toward the village and abandon whatever it was that Harut had intended to show us. I don't mean to slight Harut in any way here, he was a really nice man seemed to have good intentions, I just don't know where he was trying to lead us. This is Harut, picking some Masur for us, a red berry that grows wild here and that, although a bit tart, is pretty tasty:




Now on the way back, we called Yeghish and found out that he had arrived, and was waiting to take us to the actual waterfall. We met up with him about a half hour later, on a nice wide and well-tended path that Harut had for some reason thought we wouldn’t want to take earlier. We continued on it until reaching an old abandoned church that we were told dated back to the 17th century, and stopped inside to check it out. Such places are a fairly common site in Armenia and are beautiful to take in.
Here's photos of the church's entrance/interior:















After this, we continued upward past a small open area with picnic tables, khorovats pits, and of course grazing cattle until the path became narrower and more wooded. Fifteen minutes later we stopped at a resting area in the woods with cool rushing water to rinse ourselves and boulders to sit on. Another of Yeghish’s friends was waiting here for us, and we stopped to build a fire and make our own khorovats. A great thing about Armenian khorovats is that it can be prepared anywhere, and this is probably my favorite places I’ve seen it done so far. We let the fire burn down to coals, prepared the meat and vegetables on the skewers Yeghish and friends had brought, grilled it over a few logs, and then proceeded to chow down. It was quite the feast.

Our bellies full, we finally headed out on the last leg of the trip to the waterfall, which was about another 15 minutes up the path. When we arrived, we were not disappointed in the least. Water cascaded down a beautiful, mossy rock face into a very tranquil looking pool that had stepping stones for one to cross back and forth on. It was the sort of removed, beautiful zen-like place that you usually hope to find on hikes but rarely do, and I definitely felt now, if not after that fantastic khorovats, that the trip had been completely worth it.

Unfortunately the peaceful moment passed a bit too quickly, and I began to take notice that Yeghish and friends were now pretty aggressively hitting on the three American girls that had come with me. We perhaps should have seen this coming, and honestly the place we were currently sitting in was up there on the romantic scale - high in the mountains, secluded, etc. Also, there were three of them and three American girls. The dynamics were no good. After exchanging some strange looks and a few muttered agreements in English with the girls, we got up to head back to Lichk and cut the party short.

The 40 minute hike back down to the village was filled with more advances from the men — arms around the shoulder, giddy whispering and joking around, etc.—which at first seemed funny but by the end of the hike became downright obnoxious because of how absolutely persistent they were. By the time we reached Lichk again and our taxi had arrived, we were grateful as hell. We said goodbye to the now downtrodden trio, and also to the men in the Khanut who had so warmly welcomed us in the morning, and headed back to our sites. It had been a beautiful, eventful, and enlightening day.

First Weeks at Site

I’ve been here nearly three weeks now, in the deep south of Armenia, surrounded by borders and the Armenian language and new acquaintances in this village where I’ll be living for the next two years. The days are flying by, I’m already in the middle of my second week as a volunteer English teacher, and I’m feeling pretty good about my work and what my role is here. I’m getting to “shpvel” the place pretty well, you could say, which is the verb Armenians use for getting acquainted with a place. A friend also pointed out to me that if you look this word up in the dictionary, the literal English translation is apparently “to rub oneself.” So yeah, I'm rubbing around this village right now and enjoying every bit of it.

Here’s a day in the life so far…

Woke up from a solid sleep, had a large cup of coffee, and then made small talk with my host family on the patio before getting ready for work. Before heading out, I blasted Radiohead’s “Bones,” because it was in my head when I woke up, and then headed off down the winding, sloping road to my village school (my village is set on either side of a very steep valley, so walks to and from school are pretty vigorous undertakings).

A delightful activity, which my school calls “morning calisthenics,” takes place every day at 8:45 just before class starts, and so far I’ve taken to the routine pretty fondly. The entire school assembles outside in the courtyard, and then our Phys Ed teacher, Yeghish, leads the teachers and students through a series of awkward body movements that I would describe as some sort of cross between stretches and interpretive dance. There is arm-flailing, clapping, toe-touching, hopping, neck-rolling, squatting, and finally a hilarious exercise in which we all place our hands on our hips and swivel our pelvic areas around shamelessly. My school’s director – a short, stout man who talks in a fast, vigorous manner that reminds me sometimes of barking (although I would never tell him that) – always takes part whole-heartedly in this last exercise, and it always puts a huge grin on my face before first hour starts.

My counterpart and I had the first hour free, and then taught the 6th, 7th, 11th, and 12th grades for the next four consecutive hours. It’s all going well, and I feel like I’m getting more accustomed to and comfortable being “a real teacher” every day. I also noticed my counterpart actually giving attention to some of the slower students today, which was heartening to see, since the strategy I had seen previously up to this point had been more or less letting the smartest kids just own the classroom and get most of the attention while the slower ones get farther behind. We are two teachers in a classroom that is never larger than fourteen students and on average is more like 8 or 9, and so I am very excited about what we can do and how far we might be able to go with the kids with a ratio like that.

During our 12th grade lesson, I gave a presentation on Chicago, described the nuances of a Chicago hot-dog (which they were shockingly not all that interested in), and led them through a text about the city’s history and landmarks. It went fine, especially considering it was sort of an ad-libbed lesson due to the fact that the 12th grade does not actually have English textbooks yet. (Word from other volunteers I’ve talked to is that their 12th grades also do not have English books yet, so perhaps they just don’t exist this year. It’s a possibility). During this lesson, I also tried, unsuccessfully, not to laugh when one of the girls started talking about “Michelle Jordan” instead of “Michael.” My counterpart also at one point got upset enough at the students talking in the back to say, in Armenian, “Do you want me to get angry? I do not want to get angry near Tom; it would be shameful.” Sort of a strange thing to say… This was also only our second day teaching the 12th grade together, so I’m sure it will happen soon enough. Shame will ensue.

The event of the day, and maybe of the week, took place when I got home from school. I was in my room, doing nothing in particular, when my host mother said I should come outside because somebody wanted to meet me. I came outside to meet one of the only people in country so far I’ve come across that was actually taller than me, not that I’m all that incredibly tall, at least in America, but here I’m close to giant status. I shook hands with him and took stock of his military regalia, heavy boots, camo and all, and also his Russianness. We sat down, and he explained that he worked for the Russian military. (The Russian military maintains the border with Iran in Armenia, so there is a fairly large base nearby).

He was not, however, showing up at my doorstep to get a profile on me or find out if I was a spy, at least I don’t think so. Turns out he just wants to learn English. He had heard I was around from one of the teachers at my school, Elvina, who apparently knows him and who showed up with him to introduce us to each other, and he just wanted to see if I could give him some tutoring. With my host family, one of my fellow teachers, and another dude in a camo uniform with him all watching our conversation in broken English, I wasn’t about to turn the guy down. And I actually genuinely would like to help him. Not the first person I’ve met in my first weeks here that has asked me about English lessons, but definitely the most interesting. We’ll see what happens.

~~~

I went for a walk the other day just outside the village and discovered that this place is even more beautiful than I had first thought. I followed an upward climbing trail past the village cemetery and into a path lined by gardens and orchards and a few grape vineyards on the left and right. The trail eventually opened up a little bit more and signs of mankind begin to disappear the farther I went. Right now it’s gorgeous, and I intend to take full advantage of it before the winter comes and I’ll be more or less holed up for several months. This really is a gorgeous place.

Khash - խաշ

Had easily my most interesting culinary experience in country so far last Saturday, with a formidable dish known as Khash.

What is Khash, exactly?
Khash is cows feet. They boil them, hooves and all (or maybe it’s only hooves), in a large pot for 24 hours until those tough, unrelenting feet finally give way and become a hot gelatinous glob. I’m not making this up.

How do you eat such a thing, you might ask?
With a grizzly constitution, iron will power and the aid of a little fresh garlic pressed directly over the soup, dried lavash to soak up all the grease, and some homemade vodka to help purge your pallet every now and then. Also time. It takes time to digest this stuff, so you can’t be planning on going to work afterwards or going out for a stroll or anything really at all. My host dad and I both passed out after eating (I think he was pretty proud that I polished off two bowls), and I woke up about an hour later with what I can only describe as a “khash hangover,” a feeling of lethargy and also a sense of supreme manliness.

Was this gross?
No. I actually kind of liked it. I think… It’s not something I’d want to eat very often, for sure. But it was definitely an experience worth having, and also a time to bond with my host family and my neighbor Hovik who came over to eat with us. It’s a very traditional dish here, a cause for bonding and comradery, especially during the colder moths when things slow down and apparently there won't be much else to do but dig into a bowl of Khash with some friends and spend the rest of the day digesting it. If I get the chance to try it again, I probably will.