March 8th - Մարտի ութ

On March 8th, Armenia celebrates “International Women’s Day,” along with many other countries around the globe (I think some people observe it in the U.S. but I don’t remember ever hearing about it until I got here). Armenian takes the holiday seriously, and folks take off work and toast to the women in their lives. Here the day also sort of marks the focal point of March, which is “Women’s Month.” The day before the holiday arrived, excited third-graders at the school exclaimed “dzer ton shnorhavor” to me, which is a standard Armenian phrase said on special days that basically means “congratulations on your holiday.” Why they wanted to congratulate me on Women’s Day I’m not so sure, but either they weren’t thinking that hard or they thought it was funny. My students have also congratulated me on Teacher’s Day, Armenian Army Day, Russian Army Day, and just about every other holiday that has come, so I guess they just like saying it.

To commemorate the day and enjoy the time off, Arevik — a woman of 22 from the village, the school’s art teacher, and a good friend of mine — her three friends Hakob, Victoria and Satenik, and myself went for a hike in the mountains surrounding the village. Arevik and her crew showed up in front of my house in Hakob’s old Lada at about 11am, we drove out to a dirt road that led into the mountains slightly until reaching a steep valley, got out where the road ended, and began our quest. The goal of the hike was to find an old abandoned church (Armenian’s have a serious penchant for visiting the old, abandoned Christian churches of their ancestors). Only one of us, Hakob, had been to this particular old church before though, and he hadn’t been there since he was thirteen years old, so he was a bit fuzzy on the exact location somewhere in this vast space of rocky slopes, valleys, brambles and pine. Also in tow we had skewers, raw chicken, goat cheese, coffee, lavash, potatoes, pickled vegetables and a beat up Russian history book for starting a fire, so a traditional Armenian Khorovats (basically barbeque) was in order at some point in the day as well. I wasn’t at all aware at the time, but we wouldn’t be coming back down to the village until some 8 hours later.

 We set out from Hakob’s Lada and Victoria, or “Veek” as everyone was calling her, immediately started showing off her prowess in mountaineering, shooting up the slopes in incredibly fast spurts and then waiting for the rest of us patiently at intervals as we summited behind her at a more reasonable, out-of-shape person's pace. I tried my best to keep up, every now and then coming around a bend or getting over a boulder to see her sitting back propped up against a tree waiting for us to reach her so that she could continue. Before getting up to run ahead and disappear again, she a couple times paused to hand me some sort of herb that she had picked while waiting and told me to eat it. It was green, looked like grass and tasted sort of sour, but not bitter. I figured I could use whatever amount of energy it held inside and ate it up.

 As we reached the top of the first slope, Hakob, who had been staying behind with the other girls so far, now began showing off a bit too. He passed me up, disappeared as he started descending into the next valley, and what seemed like only 5 minutes later when I looked up I saw him already a kilometer or so out ahead and climbing up another slope. I was stunned by how fluidly a person could move through these mountains and also a bit put out that we still had to hike at least as far as he was. After catching up to Hakob and descending down into another valley, we came upon the stone foundation of an old barn. Maybe the church was nearby. People had lived here at some point anyway. Hakob seemed unsure. We followed a stream into a very shady and still partially snow-covered area for a little while longer before deciding that we’d have to eat before going on any further. We gathered wood and twigs, tore apart the old Russian history book and got a fire roaring. We skewered the meet, laid out the cheese and lavash, and got the khorovats roasting over the open coals. The potatoes were cooked simply by burying them under excess ash and hot coals, which I had never seen before but worked fine. Within a half hour we had a feast on our hands, and I sat amazed at Armenians’ ability to do a good khorovats literally anywhere. During the meal I felt great, not only because grubbing out after a long hike is really satisfying, but also because I was actually having a great time with Arev and her friends. I was understanding their Armenian almost perfectly, exchanging stories and jibes with them, and for one of the first times actually feeling connected with people my age in the country that are not just other Americans.

 After eating we decided to call it quits on the church hunt and just head back to the village. It would take awhile as it was. We cleaned up, burned our garbage (better than just throwing it in the creek, which actually is the more common method of picnic disposal here), and then put out our fire.

 Filled up on goat cheese, grilled chicken and potatoes, we took a steeper but more direct route back home. About halfway up, I looked back and spotted our elusive goal. Over one peak, across another valley and halfway up another lay a small, rectangular stone building that must have undoubtedly been the old abandoned church Hakob had been to when he was thirteen. I pointed it out to him and he confirmed it. Rather than let down, we were excited that we now knew where it was and could venture out to see it another time. It did make a very mysterious and almost taunting sight out there in the middle of nowhere, and we agreed make it out there soon.

 A few hours later we were back in the village and exhausted. I got a free meal at Larisa’s (Arevik’s mother) of borscht, bread and cheese, strolled home, at more food there, and then let my tired bones hit the bed. I was asleep in seconds.