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Saturday, October 13, 2012

Family Outings

The past two weekends have been full of adventure, thanks to some awesome Armenians who have done a lot to integrate me into Armenian life and their families. I have to include an admonition right now that Armenian hospitality deserves not a separate blog post, but a separate blog; the knock-you-down-speechless quality to it evades the written word, and can only be appreciated with warm lavash at your side, homemade apricot vodka in your glass, and a gigantic Armenian family all around you.

Suffice it to say, the past few weeks have been made truly incredible by so much generosity, so I wanted to write a little bit about my most recent adventures into the Armenian countryside.

Women making tonir lavash in a traditional oven.
Last weekend, my first adventure was to Areni, which is a major wine producing area in Armenia and the location of the Areni Wine Festival every October. I was very excited to experience what a wine festival might be in Armenia; I had dressed cute, and imagined myself leisurely strolling through a sun-dappled vineyard, nibbling cheese and covering my mouth daintily as I laughed with the British Ambassador or some other high-class diplomat, because that's what happens at wine festivals in foreign countries, right?

basically.
The road to Areni passes very close to the Turkish and Azeri border (particularly Nakhchivan, which is a bizarre exclave of Azerbaijan that's sandwiched between Iran and Armenia). I didn't realize this until, as we drove, the mountains and hills on the right side of the road disappeared behind tall, 10-ft high piles of dirt. I didn't think anything of it (too busy daydreaming about witty banter with diplomatz) until someone laughed, "Don't worry, Lusijan--now that the dirt is here, the Azeri snipers can't shoot at cars any more."

#YouKnowYou'reinArmeniaWhen




Once we started getting closer to Areni, I noticed a really strange preponderance of outdoor stalls selling coke. I wondered why so many merchants were insisting on selling the drink outside and not kept cool. Then I realized the Fanta bottles had dark liquid in them too. Ohhh!!!

Wine seller at Areni
Areni Wine Festival stalls
The wine festival itself ended up being fantastic, crazy, loud, exciting, and completely different from what I expected, just like most other experiences in Hayastan. I spotted the American Ambassador and the Armenian President, ate tons of Armenian BBQ, drank more wine than was probably appropriate, and even ran into some friends.

After the wine festival and a long, leisurely lunch at which my Armenian hosts succeeded in quadrupling my daily calorie intake, we headed to Noravank Monastery, built in the 13th century.

Noravank Monastery, Yeghegnadzor


At Noravank, my hosts pointed out a special carving--the only place in Armenia where God the Father is depicted in art. The story goes that he (He?) was given almond-shaped eyes and a thick beard, so that marauding Mongols would see in him their likeness and leave the church in peace. To be totally frank, I never know what to believe when it comes to Armenian history, but that's what they told me.

This weekend, I went with my teacher's brother and his two daughters to pick apples at their family orchard. 

Mount Ararat, outside Yerevan.
The drive to the orchard was breathtaking. Every hairpin turn was a more majestic view of Mt Ararat; every hill a different herd of scraggly cows. It made me remember how deeply I love being a passenger in foreign countries. It is the purest quiet, to melt into yourself while others talk around you in a language you can't understand.

Applesh!!!


Going to the orchard with the family--who were exquisitely kind but also very quiet--was like giving my soul a spa day. No sounds of traffic, no Armenian bros yelling "Arrrri, aper! Arrraaa!"; no worries about work or schedules or anything else. The neighbor's cows lowed, the roosters fought under our ladders, and we picked apples. It was paradise.

When the daughters got tired of picking apples, they strolled past the brambles growing on the orchard fence and returned with handfuls of blackberries and raspberries. They showed me how to rub the skin off a fresh hazelnut and how to crack open a walnut with a rock. A 'walnut' from a bag in Safeway is so different from a 'popok' that you cracked yourself. Everything is relative.


Chicken, cow, beehives.
After an afternoon of harvesting, we returned to Yerevan for a gigantic feast of chicken porridge (harissa), lavash, salad, fruit, vodka, wine, and cake. Everyone in the family seemed to be there--the grandmother, cousins, kids, siblings, even one of the daughters' boyfriends. Toast after toast came--toasts welcoming me to Armenia, toasts for my continued success, toasts to welcome me into their family, toasts to my parents, toasts to the maker of the porridge, toasts to health and good luck. I even got an impromptu Armenian lesson by one of the family members, who taught me two new verb tenses and wouldn't let me say anything in English that she knew I could say in Armenian. When I finally got home and dropped the three giant bags of apples (along with two jars of homemade jam) on to my bedroom floor, I had to pinch myself. Did that really just happen?

Sometimes I think I must be dreaming.