Though the Israeli–US attack on Iran is now in its third week, there is still much confusion over whether the Armenian–Iranian checkpoint at Agarak–Norduz is operating normally, or even to whom it is open for.

‘I can’t answer that question’, an Armenian border guard tells OC Media.

The checkpoint, lying on the southern outskirts of the town of Agarak, resembles an industrial hillside. While lorries with Iranian, Armenian, and Georgian license plates travel back and forth like normal, dust and smoke billowing everywhere, individuals may find themselves stuck for hours or even days. There are no benches for waiting travellers, let alone any duty-free facilities. Once a successful crossing occurs, few are interested in speaking about their experiences afterwards.

‘Don’t try in vain, you won’t succeed. They don’t even tell us what’s going on. It’s better to wait a little while until the Chinese arrive. There will be more of them than Iranians. Talk to them’, an Armenian taxi driver advises.

‘The whole country is at war’

Civilian flows are mainly observed in the afternoon, crossing both in family groups or individually.

An Iranian–Armenian who has just arrived from Jolfa in Iran’s East Azerbaijan province tells OC Media that it was difficult leaving the country.

‘It’s quiet in my city, but all the same, the whole country is at war, it’s almost impossible to leave. I was waiting at the checkpoint [on the Iranian side] for almost three hours. The border guards thoroughly check everything and they decide whether to let you leave or not’, he says.

In contrast, a young woman with red hair who looks like she hasn’t slept in days says she is just travelling to Armenia on holiday.

‘I didn’t leave because of the war, I just want to travel to Yerevan to spend my vacation’, she says.

After a while, a family arrives, from Urmia, the largest city in Iran’s West Azerbaijan Province. The father holds the hand of his young daughter, kept warm in a pink coat. He is not open to speaking to the media, simply saying, ‘of course, it’s dangerous’, as he loads their suitcases into a hired minivan.

Next comes a family originally from Afghanistan. When the mother, Saleh, is asked if she speaks English, she responds with the question: ‘Sprechen Sie Deutsch?’ (Do you speak German?). The family intends to relocate to Finland and obtain refugee status or citizenship there.

‘We have acquaintances there, they have promised to help with paperwork. Let’s see, we hope so’, she says.

When reporters approach another Iranian family, the mother smiles, as if anticipating the reason for their approach. A Farsi-speaking CivilNet reporter helps translate for all those gathered to learn more about what is happening in Iran:

‘I have a visa, I reached Armenia to leave for a third country. My relatives are in Tehran, I don’t know, I hope to return again’, she says.

She notes that many people are unable to leave due to a lack of money, adding that there is a shortage of medicines and food.

‘Many believe that staying at home and in shelters is safer [than fleeing]. I witnessed the Iran–Iraq war, I am “used to it”, but I have a little daughter, she is terrified, that’s why we decided to leave the country’, she emphasises.

Her daughter adds that she had stopped attending school after hearing ‘very loud blast sounds’.

‘There were a lot of broken pieces of glass falling, it was very scary’, she says.

A young Iranian man who has just arrived in Armenia tells journalists that ‘everything is awful’. He claims that only dual citizens are being allowed to leave Iran. When asked what he thinks will happen next and what his wish is at this moment, he responds: ‘my only desire at the moment is to sleep well’.

The flow is not uni-directional, however. Ali, an Iranian travelling from Dubai, is heading the opposite direction, back to Iran.

‘My country is at war and I think I should be there right now’, Ali confidently says, adding that he has heard that everything is fine there.

‘I have been in constant contact with my family all this time and now I am going to join them’, he says. ‘I think this war will end in 10 days, but you know, there are no winners in war, both sides will only suffer, so the sooner it ends, the better for everyone’.

Similarly, another young Iranian also coming from Dubai says that he needs to return to join his family.

‘The airlines have raised the price of plane tickets. We somehow reached Yerevan, now we are going to Iran. What will happen next, we don’t know, Inshallah’, he says.

Perhaps the most unexpected arrival along the border was Morashita, a Japanese man who had flown to Armenia with the express desire to help Iranians in need.

‘I just ask people what they need. I will try to help in any way I can. I don’t represent any NGO, I work individually, but it seems like they don’t cross too much. I’m thinking of going to Iran and trying to help them there in any way I can. I have similar experience, I volunteered in Ukraine, Cambodia, and now I’m here to help people’, Morashita says.

He soon crosses over into Iran, leaving his Armenian taxi driver surprised.

‘How did he manage so easily? He left all his belongings in my car’, the driver says, dazed.

‘We are ordinary people’

In the southern Meghri Municipality that borders Iran, life appears slow — it’s hard to believe a war is going on just behind the mountains. Locals plow their gardens, cultivating the branches of fig, pomegranate, and apricot trees, ready for spring to come.

The only sign of the conflict appears to be the slowing of construction of a new bridge crossing the River Arax (Aras), which separates Armenia and Iran. Two bulldozers stand at a construction site  — a worker welds metal nearby.

Similar construction awarded to a consortium of Iranian companies to upgrade a 32-kilometre section of the main Armenian–Iranian highway in Armenia’s Syunik Province has also apparently been halted. Despite consistent activity previously, including during the 12-day war in 2025, today, there are almost no builders around.

Despite the air of calm, local residents are still feeling the consequences of conflict, particularly in economic terms.

‘You know, we take care of our families by trading with [the Iranians]’, a taxi driver based in Agarak tells OC Media.

‘We are not tycoons, just ordinary people who cross into Iran and buy household necessities, such as washing powder, napkins, cooking oil, sugar, and stuff like that. Shopkeepers import and resell such goods here, but at the moment they are not allowed to cross the checkpoint’, he says.

Aro, another small entrepreneur, imports Iranian spices to sell in Yerevan.

‘I can’t contact my Iranian partner, there’s no internet there. I’ve been waiting at the checkpoint for two days now’, he says.

Karen, an Armenian lorry driver, says that while vehicles like his can enter and leave Iranian territory, normal civilians cannot, highlighting the economic gap between big business and locals.

‘For our part [the Armenian side], there are no problems. But on the Iranian side, residents of Meghri and Agarak usually shop there because it is cheap. They can bring up to 10 kilogrammes of goods, but not more. They can buy goods up to $200. And petrol is allowed in 10 litres’, Karen explains.

This trade has all stopped due to the war.

‘No one can say what will happen next and when the war will end’, Karen notes with solemnity.

A resident of Meghri similarly recalls how her daughter would buy vegetable oil, chemicals, and household items in Iran, something no longer possible with the border closure.

‘The Agarak people live thanks to the copper-molybdenum combine, the Meghri residents live off their gardens. We are ordinary people, not businesspeople’, she emphasises.

Even so, she says that even if the checkpoint were open, she would not buy food from Iran: ‘They probably need it more right now’, she says.