Why I Don't Swim
Trip Start
Aug 20, 2006
1
49
Trip End
Ongoing
Vanadzor, Armenia
Monday, November 17, 2008
The other day in Stepanakart, I was reintroduced to the frustration of Soviet mentality leftovers. When trying to catch a marshrutka to another city, I approached the marshrutka and asked the driver for the destination to make sure it was the right bus. The driver told me yes, but that I needed to buy a ticket (this was about 45 minutes before departure). I went into the bus station to buy the ticket, stood in line, approached the window, and told the girl behind it my destination. She spoke something in Armenian, then looked to the next customer. I waited for the next guy to buy a ticket, then pushed my way back in front of the window and told the girl to repeat what the problem was since I don't speak Armenian. "The driver's not here." Huh? He's outside! He just sent me in here to buy a ticket. "The driver's not here." I sat for a few minutes in the bus station, thinking the driver was supposed to come inside to register, then finally walked back outside to the marshrutka. "You have a ticket now?" No. The girl there wouldn't sell me a ticket. You're not here. "What?!" You're not here. "But I'm sitting right here!" She said you're not here and wouldn't let me buy a ticket. As I dejectedly started to walk back to the bus station, the driver muttered some words it was probably better I couldn't translate and called, "Come back. Sit down. It doesn't matter." I ended up with a seat to myself for the trip since I didn't have an assigned ticket seat like the people who came later and were allowed to buy a ticket since by then, the driver had arrived....
I stayed in Yerevan for an evening to pick up some things I had left at the homestay there and to just have a break between marshrutka rides. The taxi ride from the bus station to the apartment resulted in another bit of scream therapy for Mary. As the taxi approached my building, I pointed to it and said, "There it is." The driver said okay, he was going to turn around when he got the chance. Well, he went 3 blocks down, pulled over, and started to pull my bag out of the trunk. What? I asked him what he was doing since this wasn't 5 Sayat-Nova Street or the building I had pointed at or even being turned around. He shrugged. "It would be hard to turn around. You should have told me to stop earlier." I did tell you to stop earlier! How did you not understand, "Hey, that is my building." And then why did you tell me you would turn around? Why did you pick here to stop? Does it look like Sayat Nova 5? What's the point of paying for a taxi if I still have to carry my bag a few blocks? It didn't help matters when he simply held up my backpack, wrong side up, with a sheepish smile. I paid him less than I had said I would and he basically took it and ran after my tirade. Sigh. It's things that aren't a big deal, but at the same time, the point of paying more for a taxi instead of taking the bus is to avoid the whole "walking with a bag" thing....
Now I'm in the town of Vanadzor. Today I went to the UNESCO World Heritage sites of Sanahin and Haghpat (the name's as fun to say at it seems it would be) Monastaries. They are near the town of Alaverdi in the Debed Canyon, where the main industry is copper mining. These monastaries are from the 9th to 13th centuries. There's also an old bridge built by Queen Tamar of Georgia that was still in use by cars until about 25 years ago (they knew how to make bridges back in the good old days....). The churches basically looked like all the other ones from around here, but were still interesting. They look dark and depressing, until you see on the walls the remnants of paintings and frescoes, which help you to imagine how colorful these churches once were.
I love all the churches and monastaries here- it's like having a lot of big playgrounds, where the only limit is how scared you are of heights and rickety ladders. There's always a new doorway, new set of stairs, or new holes in the ground to explore. Though I feel my blue jeans are not sharing my enthusiasm for dirt and crawling around...
To get to Sanahin Monastary, it's a 15 cent trip up a cable car that the copper mine operates to the top of a local mountain, and then it's a small stroll through a village. Haghpat, however, requires a marshrutka or taxi. Usually marshrutkas run almost every hour, but what I didn't discover until already in Alaverdi is that not as many marshrutkas run on Sunday. I wandered along the road until stopping to ask at a little kiosk when and where could I catch a marshrutka or taxi to Haghpat. Before remembering that it was Sunday, they told me they thought it would be in an hour. When I prepared to stand and see what came by, one of the girls came out of the kiosk and told me to come wait inside with them. It ends up the kiosk is run by a grandmother, mother, and daughter. The mother and daughter were living in a city outside Moscow, but came back to help the grandmother. We had some coffee and chatted. They called the local taxi service for me, and then fussed at me for spending the money and kept trying to invite me home with them so I could catch a marshrutka to Haghpat and back to Vanadzor the next morning. Even when I left in the taxi to Haghpat, they told me if I couldn't find a car back to Vanadzor, I should come spend the evening with them visiting and it would be no problem and then I wouldn't have to spend money on a taxi. It would have been a fun evening, but alas, all my things were lying in Vanadzor. However, I immensly enjoyed using their toilet, and outhouse precariously perched above the rushing river below. Normally I don't like the idea of toilet duties and a water source combines, but I had really to pee. So I just used the facilities, enjoyed the cool breeze against my skin, and was glad I hadn't brought a bathing suit....
