Inevitably there are trials when you travel; things that wouldn’t be a big deal at home but tend to be magnified abroad. There are language mistakes, cultural crisscrosses and any other number of fumbles one can make. It just so happens that today had a nice trifecta all before lunch.
I’ll start with today’s notable success: a run. This was my first run since finals almost two weeks ago and I was pretty excited about it. Knowing that this nation exercises it’s lungs more with cigarettes than aerobics, I expected stares from behind a veil of smoke. And stares are what I got. I ran from my home to a large staircase monument that is a few hundred stairs tall, looped around a park and headed back. Luckily at 8 AM, everyone is still asleep and not driving; so, the air isn’t as acrid from traffic and smog. All the same, I returned back to my apartment feeling a little out of shape, objectified by the confused locals and with a thin film in my mouth likely brought on by the eclectic particles in the air. After some stretching, a modest feeling of success and an apple it was time to start my day.
Today’s goal was to pay rent. Coincidentally, it is also the day my ATM card decided to quit working after withdrawing half of this month’s rent. Any number of ATMs would tell me I have sufficient funds when I asked for the balance and then would tell me I had insufficient funds when I tried to withdraw. A paradox. I came back to my landlady’s apartment to tell her. It took some convincing that I wasn’t trying to screw them. The questions was asked multiple times, “If you got half of the rent, why can’t you get the other half?” Fair enough, and I didn’t have a good answer.
I went to a local bank to figure out how to fix my problem. A MasterCard/Maestro Bank, they were unable to help me and told me to find a “Visa Bank.” There is no Visa Bank, but just banks that accept Visa cards. I had no idea where to go. So, I started down one of the busier, more capitalistic streets hoping to find that monolith of commerce, “Visa Accepted Here”. Knowing Gucci, Diore and other high-end European brands lined Ambovyan Street, I expected a quick success. There was no bank. Two hours after this journey began, I found Congregate Bank. Their logo is an intense looking lock, so naturally I assumed my transaction was safe with them (as opposed to the other non-locking banks).
After another 35 minutes in line, I lucked out with an English-speaking clerk. I got my money and proudly headed back home to pay my rent. I felt that successful feeling from the start of the day coming back. I knocked on my landlady’s door, handed her the stack of Armenian Dram and received a disapproving look. Expecting to be told my money was no good there, I realized they expected dollars. They begrudgingly accepted my money and kindly informed me that the next two months can be paid in US dollars. I consider this a decent win; even with the currency flub, I was not evicted.
During this whole run around, I had laundry going at home. I was excited to find Tide brand detergent with the words “absolute color” on the box in a sea of Cyrillic. It’s no Seventh Generation, yuppie brand detergent, but I really wanted to dance with the devil I knew. The washing machine is in my bathroom, which is quite the luxury considering it’s a rarity in this part of the world. The machine has no words or instructions, but pictures on the dials. It seemed to me I had three options: stopwatch, messy shirt or dead bird in large bucket. Being that I was short on dirty, dead birds and had no clue what stopwatch could even vaguely mean, I decided on messy shirt.
After paying rent, I came home to a silent machine and the dial at the end of the cycle. The light near the “lock” indicator was still on and after pressing a few buttons the light went out. I pulled and I pulled at the latch and nothing happened. At this point, I was wondering what would happen to my clothes if left in the washing machine for the next few weeks while I traveled. As I’m contemplating the worst, I heard a faint click and a modest, yet confident smirk came over my face. I opened the washer. Water spilled everywhere. Now Lake Sevan stood between me and the living room where the phone started to ring (please put up with my Armenian references over the next few months, Lake Sevan is the largest lake in Armenia taking up 1/5th of the nation’s landmass).
Post clean up, giving another go at the washer and a new pair of socks, my landlady and her daughter stopped by to let me know what was up with the apartment. I was asked if the daughter could go to London to study to be a lawyer (she is currently studying law in Yerevan as an undergrad), I answered positively and affirmatively but obviously had no clue if it was an option or not. They made note of the fruit I had purchased as Sas’ (said “Sass”) at which point I was lectured that I paid too much for my fruit and should instead be visiting the stall markets not far from my home. After some more small talk I wished them a good day and they left.
After my “too-small-to-succeed” banking turmoil, my Three Stooges attempt at laundry and being told I buy fruit wrong I was excited for my bread, cheese and overly priced orange for lunch. All in all, today was a success. Each comically foreseeable hurdle was met with a long and burdensome solution, but a solution all the same. Next hurdle: public transit to Georgia. Wish me luck.
I’ll start with today’s notable success: a run. This was my first run since finals almost two weeks ago and I was pretty excited about it. Knowing that this nation exercises it’s lungs more with cigarettes than aerobics, I expected stares from behind a veil of smoke. And stares are what I got. I ran from my home to a large staircase monument that is a few hundred stairs tall, looped around a park and headed back. Luckily at 8 AM, everyone is still asleep and not driving; so, the air isn’t as acrid from traffic and smog. All the same, I returned back to my apartment feeling a little out of shape, objectified by the confused locals and with a thin film in my mouth likely brought on by the eclectic particles in the air. After some stretching, a modest feeling of success and an apple it was time to start my day.
Today’s goal was to pay rent. Coincidentally, it is also the day my ATM card decided to quit working after withdrawing half of this month’s rent. Any number of ATMs would tell me I have sufficient funds when I asked for the balance and then would tell me I had insufficient funds when I tried to withdraw. A paradox. I came back to my landlady’s apartment to tell her. It took some convincing that I wasn’t trying to screw them. The questions was asked multiple times, “If you got half of the rent, why can’t you get the other half?” Fair enough, and I didn’t have a good answer.
I went to a local bank to figure out how to fix my problem. A MasterCard/Maestro Bank, they were unable to help me and told me to find a “Visa Bank.” There is no Visa Bank, but just banks that accept Visa cards. I had no idea where to go. So, I started down one of the busier, more capitalistic streets hoping to find that monolith of commerce, “Visa Accepted Here”. Knowing Gucci, Diore and other high-end European brands lined Ambovyan Street, I expected a quick success. There was no bank. Two hours after this journey began, I found Congregate Bank. Their logo is an intense looking lock, so naturally I assumed my transaction was safe with them (as opposed to the other non-locking banks).
After another 35 minutes in line, I lucked out with an English-speaking clerk. I got my money and proudly headed back home to pay my rent. I felt that successful feeling from the start of the day coming back. I knocked on my landlady’s door, handed her the stack of Armenian Dram and received a disapproving look. Expecting to be told my money was no good there, I realized they expected dollars. They begrudgingly accepted my money and kindly informed me that the next two months can be paid in US dollars. I consider this a decent win; even with the currency flub, I was not evicted.
During this whole run around, I had laundry going at home. I was excited to find Tide brand detergent with the words “absolute color” on the box in a sea of Cyrillic. It’s no Seventh Generation, yuppie brand detergent, but I really wanted to dance with the devil I knew. The washing machine is in my bathroom, which is quite the luxury considering it’s a rarity in this part of the world. The machine has no words or instructions, but pictures on the dials. It seemed to me I had three options: stopwatch, messy shirt or dead bird in large bucket. Being that I was short on dirty, dead birds and had no clue what stopwatch could even vaguely mean, I decided on messy shirt.
After paying rent, I came home to a silent machine and the dial at the end of the cycle. The light near the “lock” indicator was still on and after pressing a few buttons the light went out. I pulled and I pulled at the latch and nothing happened. At this point, I was wondering what would happen to my clothes if left in the washing machine for the next few weeks while I traveled. As I’m contemplating the worst, I heard a faint click and a modest, yet confident smirk came over my face. I opened the washer. Water spilled everywhere. Now Lake Sevan stood between me and the living room where the phone started to ring (please put up with my Armenian references over the next few months, Lake Sevan is the largest lake in Armenia taking up 1/5th of the nation’s landmass).
Post clean up, giving another go at the washer and a new pair of socks, my landlady and her daughter stopped by to let me know what was up with the apartment. I was asked if the daughter could go to London to study to be a lawyer (she is currently studying law in Yerevan as an undergrad), I answered positively and affirmatively but obviously had no clue if it was an option or not. They made note of the fruit I had purchased as Sas’ (said “Sass”) at which point I was lectured that I paid too much for my fruit and should instead be visiting the stall markets not far from my home. After some more small talk I wished them a good day and they left.
After my “too-small-to-succeed” banking turmoil, my Three Stooges attempt at laundry and being told I buy fruit wrong I was excited for my bread, cheese and overly priced orange for lunch. All in all, today was a success. Each comically foreseeable hurdle was met with a long and burdensome solution, but a solution all the same. Next hurdle: public transit to Georgia. Wish me luck.
