It could have been the wailing baby, the turbulence or the lightening off the right of the plane, but the Warsaw to Yerevan leg was the worst of all three flights. Leaving Warsaw, there were fewer and fewer lights to indicate civilization below. Even as we began our decent into Yerevan there were only a few spattered lights. Street lamps themselves were few and far between. This was Yerevan.
The airport was in better condition and less chaotic that I expected. The building, new if not recently renovated, was bright and welcoming and all the attendants spoke English. The visa process and money exchange were equally trouble free. It was not until I walked past the burly man in customs who clearly didn’t care if you wanted to declare something or not, that you began to get the real feel of Armenia. Just outside of customs was a medium sized room full of middle-aged men with five o’clock shadows (I arrived at 6 AM, perhaps they didn’t shave from the day before?) and chain smoking. They begin clamoring to give me a taxi ride to town. Declining, I pushed through the taxi driving hordes finding a short, cardigan-clad man, Sergo, with my name on a piece of paper. This was the ABA’s driver and my ride to town.
The car failed to turnover on the first try and after a check under the hood a few minutes later, it had hit me: I’m in Armenia. I rode into town with a curious grin on my face. I made it, after talking about this project and trip for nearly a year I was in the USSR’s smallest breakaway state. The initial mile or two from the airport was like a mini-Vegas Strip. I didn’t expect a collection of a dozen or so bright neon, 24-hour casinos, but here we were. Not to be confused where I was, the obligatory pack of mangy dogs were roaming the streets too.
The driver straddled no less than two lanes the whole way into town. Even at 6 AM, when there was no traffic, he still felt compelled to weave in and out of lanes. We drove past the famous Ararat brandy, wine and vodka factory (emphasis on factory) after passing the sprawling compound that is the American Embassy. The driver then gave me a guided tour of downtown Yerevan from where I will be working to where I will be living. It is only six blocks between the two. He kept testing me to know whether or not I was paying attention and if I knew how many blocks it was before the first left. I couldn’t tell from his reaction, but he was either impressed at my quick learning ability (I had understood the directions he gave me) or had given up hope for my chance to find my way around town.
My apartment, as it was billed, is nice. I’ve got a bedroom with an adjoining balcony, a spacious living room with one channel on the TV and a kitchen with a gas range (this has been a dream of mine for some time). The building is right downtown and is naturally very old. It shows it. The wiring would never pass muster in the West and the water damage to the stairwell is as much a charming reminder that I’m east of Germany as it is a health hazard.
My landlady does not speak English, so after the driver and her spoke fast and intensely, the driver informed me that after my three days of travel and in desperate need of a shower that the water was comically not working (nothing says “welcome to the Caucuses” like the water being out or a rolling black out). It wasn’t as if I had been thinking about a shower since midway over the Atlantic, but that was fine and I was too tired to trust myself in a shower anyway.
After finding some bottled water and my pajamas, I crawled into bed. My mind was exhausted and warped* by the previous three days and twelve time zones. Unable to fully fall asleep, my anxious rest was startled by the landlady who wanted to let me know that her daughter, the English speaker, was still asleep and thus couldn’t let me know the ins and outs of the building or be able to collect rent.
Laying back down to sleep, the doorbell rang again. It was the driver. He wanted to take me to work. Even though we had left it that I would walk to work some time after 10, he clearly thought that I didn’t know how to make it. His want to get me to work was odd because my first scheduled day of work was for June 6th. Yet, we went anyway.
And this is where I will leave off for now. That was my first four hours of Armenia. I will cover the office, building and my coworkers when I’ve got more to say and in its own deserving post. In the mean time I have a few days to walk around Yerevan and prepare myself to find my friend James in rural, Western Georgia.
The airport was in better condition and less chaotic that I expected. The building, new if not recently renovated, was bright and welcoming and all the attendants spoke English. The visa process and money exchange were equally trouble free. It was not until I walked past the burly man in customs who clearly didn’t care if you wanted to declare something or not, that you began to get the real feel of Armenia. Just outside of customs was a medium sized room full of middle-aged men with five o’clock shadows (I arrived at 6 AM, perhaps they didn’t shave from the day before?) and chain smoking. They begin clamoring to give me a taxi ride to town. Declining, I pushed through the taxi driving hordes finding a short, cardigan-clad man, Sergo, with my name on a piece of paper. This was the ABA’s driver and my ride to town.
The car failed to turnover on the first try and after a check under the hood a few minutes later, it had hit me: I’m in Armenia. I rode into town with a curious grin on my face. I made it, after talking about this project and trip for nearly a year I was in the USSR’s smallest breakaway state. The initial mile or two from the airport was like a mini-Vegas Strip. I didn’t expect a collection of a dozen or so bright neon, 24-hour casinos, but here we were. Not to be confused where I was, the obligatory pack of mangy dogs were roaming the streets too.
The driver straddled no less than two lanes the whole way into town. Even at 6 AM, when there was no traffic, he still felt compelled to weave in and out of lanes. We drove past the famous Ararat brandy, wine and vodka factory (emphasis on factory) after passing the sprawling compound that is the American Embassy. The driver then gave me a guided tour of downtown Yerevan from where I will be working to where I will be living. It is only six blocks between the two. He kept testing me to know whether or not I was paying attention and if I knew how many blocks it was before the first left. I couldn’t tell from his reaction, but he was either impressed at my quick learning ability (I had understood the directions he gave me) or had given up hope for my chance to find my way around town.
My apartment, as it was billed, is nice. I’ve got a bedroom with an adjoining balcony, a spacious living room with one channel on the TV and a kitchen with a gas range (this has been a dream of mine for some time). The building is right downtown and is naturally very old. It shows it. The wiring would never pass muster in the West and the water damage to the stairwell is as much a charming reminder that I’m east of Germany as it is a health hazard.
My landlady does not speak English, so after the driver and her spoke fast and intensely, the driver informed me that after my three days of travel and in desperate need of a shower that the water was comically not working (nothing says “welcome to the Caucuses” like the water being out or a rolling black out). It wasn’t as if I had been thinking about a shower since midway over the Atlantic, but that was fine and I was too tired to trust myself in a shower anyway.
After finding some bottled water and my pajamas, I crawled into bed. My mind was exhausted and warped* by the previous three days and twelve time zones. Unable to fully fall asleep, my anxious rest was startled by the landlady who wanted to let me know that her daughter, the English speaker, was still asleep and thus couldn’t let me know the ins and outs of the building or be able to collect rent.
Laying back down to sleep, the doorbell rang again. It was the driver. He wanted to take me to work. Even though we had left it that I would walk to work some time after 10, he clearly thought that I didn’t know how to make it. His want to get me to work was odd because my first scheduled day of work was for June 6th. Yet, we went anyway.
And this is where I will leave off for now. That was my first four hours of Armenia. I will cover the office, building and my coworkers when I’ve got more to say and in its own deserving post. In the mean time I have a few days to walk around Yerevan and prepare myself to find my friend James in rural, Western Georgia.
