This morning finds me out at the Ortachala "bus station"--a parking lot, actually--to find a driver to take me into Armenia for the day. About half a dozen would-be drivers cluster around to discuss my situation. "Mike" steps forward, speaks maybe 10 words of English, which is plenty, and off we go.
Aside from flying into Armenia's capital, Yerevan, getting into Armenia is not easy. The only land borders that are open are from Georgia and Iran. The Turks and Armenians hate each other's guts, obviously, so that border is sealed shut, and the Azeris and Armenians hate each other, too (try mutual ethnic cleansing and various public slaughters). An aside to emphasize the point, in the paper yesterday both the Armenians and Azeris decided to forgo qualifying points in a current European soccer tourney because they couldn't agree on what neutral country to play in. Lots of pure venom spewed forth on their mutual websites. Donkeys, goats, and sheep get along better here than the people do.
Anyway, not too far over the border are two of the best attractions in Armenia and UNESCO World Heritage sites to boot.
HaghpatHaghpat Monastery was founded in 976 and developed into a cultural center during the Middle Ages. Armenia was the first "nation" to accept Christianity in the 4th century AD.
You can get here by bus if you want. 
Sanahin MonasteryNot too far away, Sanahin Monastery is even older--928 AD--and once housed a library, medical school, and educational center.
Artyom Mikoyan, designer of the MIG fighter was from Sanahin. This is his museum.
The surrounding physical scenery is grand, but this area of Armenia remains pathetically impoverished: windows are broken out, and there are lots of rusted hulks from some former Soviet scheme. The nicest things you see are grave sites along the main road.When you read about the tens of thousands of deaths as a result of earthquakes in the Caucasus, it's easy to see why. Construction is so shabby, so derelict, with non-existent building codes, any tremor above a 4.0 would knock entire villages into rubble.
The Volvo I'm in takes gas as well as gasoline. The attendant insists I get out of the car before he fills the tank stored in the trunk.
Sitting in line at the border, the Cafe Caravan with this satellite dish in front catches my eye.
1 comment:
Hi Pam,
I talked to Gwyn this morning and she sent her love and asked after you. She was thrilled to hear that you've posted to the blog and enjoyed my summary. Mom printed out the entries you've posted thus far and I sent them off so Gwyn will see them by the end of the week. I'm enjoying the entries too--there's more pictures than I expected and that's great.
Take care,
Susan
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