Hindustan Times, India
March 15 2014
A love affair with Armenia
Amrah Ashraf, Hindustan Times
March 15, 2014
Oh, another trip to Europe?” quipped a friend, after I told him I was
visiting Armenia. “Err… Armenia is in Asia!” I said. He laughed and
placed a bet that it was in east Europe, next to Georgia. “But Georgia
is also in Asia,” I pointed out. We raised the stakes.
Long story short: I won Rs. 5,000. Armenia is in Asia. And so is Georgia.
I can hardly blame my friend. Armenia is incredibly obscure. But it’s
got plenty to talk about. The country was the first one to adopt
Christianity as its state religion (as early as the fourth century!);
it has its own script and language and it was a part of the Soviet
Union. The Kardashian family (they of the reality show, 72-day
marriage and sex tape) originated from Armenia, though I doubt it’s a
point of pride for any of its three million population.
This much I knew even before I visited. What I didn’t know was that it
would only take only three days for me to be mesmerised by its beauty,
seduced by its history and fall in love with its people. Here’s how it
happened.
The Courtship
My love affair with Armenia started in the most unusual way. Not a big
fan of air travel, I woke up, startled, to bone-rattling turbulence. A
vast expanse of blue, motionless water stretched out below, reflecting
the sky above. Lurking somewhere in between were mountain peaks so
close to the aircraft, I was certain we’d have speed breakers of the
fatal kind. But one peak rose higher than the others, haloed by
clouds, and glowing with a sunny amber hue. And there, amidst the
jolts and bumps, I had my “at first sight” moment – and we hadn’t even
landed yet!
Armenian men and women performing a traditional dance
Back on terra firma at the capital’s Yerevan Zvartnots International
Airport, I took in a big gulp of fresh air, grateful to be alive. I
spotted that gorgeous sun-kissed peak again, far away, between the
clouds and the mist. On our drive to the historic Yerevan Hotel, where
we were to spend the night, I saw the misty mountain again. But it
wore a veil of grey clouds and I still couldn’t see my seducer.
Our tour guide, Anna Stepanyak, told me the peaks would reveal
themselves that afternoon. But they didn’t. It was an unusually dull
and dusty day. And thus began the game of hide and seek.
Thankfully, we spent the hot afternoon indoors at the Matenadaran, one
of the world’s oldest repositories of ancient manuscripts. A giant
statue of Mesrop Mashtots – the man who compiled the Armenian alphabet
in 396 AD – greeted us at the entrance. Once inside, we ambled from
shelf to shelf looking at the manuscripts, learning the history behind
each – one dating back to 887AD, another written in pure gold.
When we walked out of the Matenadaran, dusk was upon us. I thought of
those peaks again, but now the sky bore a dull shade of grey and the
peaks were lost in the opaque sky.
Mother Armenia, a female warrior, overlooks all of Yerevan
Miffed, I was still willing to give Yerevan a chance to seduce me.
Instead, we were made to do some customary touristy things – pay our
respects to Mother Armenia, a war museum and a reminder of the
Nagorno-Karabakh war of 1991; visit the Cascades for an aerial view of
the city and take pictures at Republic Square. Charming, but meh!
My eyes instead were drawn to Armenia’s cobbled streets, small taverns
that reeked of brandy, breezy cafés, and bustling crowds. I saw young
ladies strutting in high heels, boys eyeing them while puffing on
cigarettes and kids running around City Square. The city was
impressive, but I was still waiting for that something special. As I
walked around the city, I realised that a country, so alien to me,
still made me feel right at home – a restaurant we dined at played
Bollywood songs just for us, everyone knows of Mithun Chakraborty, and
on our way back, we crossed the Indian Street. It’s named after a
cinema hall that used to play old Bollywood movies exclusively.
That night as we walked, laughed, talked and ate, I realised that I
had developed a small crush on Armenia.
The Relationship
The following morning, I woke up with butterflies in my stomach. The
previous night, the city had charmed me. And I was ready to be swept
off my feet. That morning, as we drove south through the arid Ararat
valley, I didn’t think much of the surroundings. But a sharp turn
sprung a surprise. Something rose from the horizon, something large
and majestic.
And there they were – the biblical Mount Ararat, the twin peaks where
Noah’s Ark is said to have come to rest after the Great Flood. This
time, the mountains were free of clouds. Transfixed by their beauty, I
pleaded with Anna to stop, but she refused. We were on a tight
schedule and the Khor Virap monastery was our next stop.
We stopped at the foot of a hillock on top of which sat the Khor Virap
monastery (a collection of churches). The trek up looked daunting. But
on Anna’s insistence, I huffed and puffed to the top. At the gates of
the monastery, I realised why she had been so insistent. To our left
were those twin peaks, closer than I’d seen them from the ground.
Inside the church, in the pits of which Armenia’s connection to
Christianity began, we realised Khor Virap’s importance. Under the
church is the dungeon where Gregory the Illuminator was imprisoned for
13 years for following a heretic faith, Christianity. Apart from the
fact that the dungeon was swarming with snakes and scorpions, he
wasn’t given a morsel of food. And yet he came out alive. It is
believed that a woman, who loved and revered him, broke a small
section of the wall with her bare hands and threw some food for him
every day, keeping him alive. When he emerged out of the pit alive to
cure the ailing king of Armenia, the king converted to his faith. He
declared Armenia a Christian nation in 301 AD.
The legendary 13th century Noravank monastery
Today, people believe that if you go down the dungeon and make a wish,
it comes true. So down we went, one by one, to make a wish. I made one
too, for love, like that woman. Her wish came true; I’m still waiting.
Later, as we drove to a 13th century monastery in the Noravank region,
Anna told us numerous tales of love – how a mountain peak was named
after a princess who dared to love a commoner and paid for it with her
life, local songs about women waiting for their long lost loves; and
the great architect, painter and sculptor Momik.
Momik today is hailed by the Armenians for his fine carving of
khachkars (Armenian cross stones) found at the Noravank monastery. But
back then, he wasn’t so lucky. He fell in love with the king’s
daughter and the king called for his head. While crafting khachkars on
the second floor of a church, Momik was pushed to his death by the
king’s men. His grave stands on the exact spot where he fell and the
second floor still stands incomplete.
Later that night, we were invited for drinks at Cilicia, a replica of
an ancient Armenian ship, nestling at Lake Sevan. The captain and his
mates manually raised the mighty sails and welcomed us on board. As we
drifted slowly on the deep blue waters, I realised that my wish had
indeed come true. I was in love… with Armenia.
The Break-Up
The next day, in the snow-covered region of Tsaghkadzor, everything
looked austere. Maybe because I knew that was my last day in the
country.
We visited the only surviving pagan temple in Armenia, Garni. One look
at the temple from the valley makes you realise how perfect the world
was then. The stone structure stands in the sun all day, but once a
day in the afternoon, the sun plays so beautifully upon the stone that
the entire structure shines.
After a long lunch at a local villager’s house, we drove back to
Yerevan. On the road, I couldn’t help noticing abandoned vintage mini
buses along the way and people still travelling in beat-up classic
Camaros. If you’re lucky, you might find a cell phone tower or two.
The sense of isolation may have been unsettling for others, but I
loved the feeling. The thing about Armenia is that outside Yerevan, it
seems to be stuck in a time warp.
The bustling Republic Square
We had the last evening to ourselves. I made the most of it by walking
through the streets, shopping for souvenirs, watching a jazz concert,
tasting brandy (never again! It’s too bitter) and munching on local
candied fruits.
Later that night when everyone retired to their rooms, I decided to
step out, one last time. I walked past Republic Square, sat outside
the Opera House, walked along the boulevard – there was silence around
me. The air was still reeking of brandy, but the bar stools were
empty. I knew my love affair was coming to an end. This was our last
night together. Break- ups are hard, but this was always meant to be a
very short love story.
(The writer’s trip was sponsored by Air Arabia.)
http://www.hindustantimes.com/brunch/brunch-stories/a-love-affair-with-armenia/article1-1195450.aspx