Herald Express (Torquay)
July 23, 2004
Grant plea on car port refused
Caroline Meek, 29, who relies on a wheelchair, wanted the money to
build a car port at her home at Hedgehog House, Bickington. But
Teignbridge Council’s licensing and appeals committee decided the car
port wasn’t essential for her access to the property, and rejected
the appeal. Cllr Sandra Heath made the announcement after the
four-strong committee heard Mrs Meek’s evidence behind closed doors.
Mrs Meek suffers from herniation of the spinal cord.
She was diagnosed with the complaint only two weeks after she
married, five years ago.
And she is one of only five diagnosed cases in the western world. She
has undergone 14 operations on her spinal cord and skull.
The committee heard a medical team, including Mrs Meek’s
neurosurgeon, general practitioner and physiotherapist, supported the
grant application.
Her condition made her particularly vulnerable to the cold and wet,
they said in a report to the committee.
Steve Bamford, Teignbridge Council’s scientific housing officer said
the council had already carried out almost £6,000 of work at her
home.
The authority had smoothed the drive and improved the access to the
house, and provided a turning area.
That had been paid for by a mandatory disabled facility grant, which
is 60 per cent subsidised by the Office of the Deputy Prime Minister,
with the rest funded by Teignbridge.
Her application for the car port was made, at the council’s
insistence, under a discretionary facilities grant, which is wholly
funded by Teignbridge. But Mr Bamford told the committee the council
had no resources for the grant.
And he revealed £344,000 of the £358,000 total budget for mandatory
grants had already been earmarked.
He added: “We are only in the first part of the second quarter of the
year, and there is already substantial commitment to the mandatory
disabled facility grant.” He admitted the side of Mrs Meek’s house
was “open to the elements”.
But providing a car port would be equivalent to allocating four
stairlifts and three walk-in showers, so it was “a significant
element” he told the committee.
After the appeal Mrs Meek said: “I feel I have slipped through the
system at every stage of my disability.
“I have gone from being a healthy 24-year-old to being a disabled
29-year-old.
“I used to be proud of being British, growing up in our great
country, but since I have needed help in my situation, I have been
let down by every national sector except my neurosurgeon.
“I feel incredibly abandoned and I don’t know in which direction to
turn to obtain any physical or emotional help to improve my life and
those around me.
“The decision today is just the icing on the cake.” The trauma of Mrs
Meek’s condition came after an extremely active childhood and
adolescence. She represented Trinity School, Teignmouth at county
swimming and athletics before going to Bournemouth University.
She has been treated by “mind instructor” Hratch O’Gali, an
American-born Armenian, at his central London clinic.
He has helped her regain some feeling in her legs, walk up the stairs
on her own and even swim in her local pool.

Il Sole 24 Ore, Italia
July 23, 2004
Una Turchia piu’ vicina
Recep Tayyp Erdogan, primo ministro turco, e’ un politico che sa
guardare molto lontano. Il premier di Ankara, un islamico moderato a
capo di un governo monocolore che ha raccolto buoni successi in campo
economico rilanciando la crescita e tagliando l’inflazione, sa che il
futuro del suo Paese passa dall’ingresso nell’Unione europea.
Erdogan sa altrettanto bene che per raggiungere l’obiettivo
occorrera’ avere molta pazienza ed aspettare qualche decennio. Nel
breve periodo, invece, Ankara guarda a una data molto piu’ vicina, il
17 dicembre quando sotto la presidenza olandese la Commissione e il
Consiglio dovranno decidere di aprire, o meno, l’avvio dei negoziati
per l’ingresso della Turchia nell’Unione europea. Aprire i negoziati
non vuole dire entrare, ma sarebbe un viatico importante e un
successo diplomatico per Ankara.
Per entrare in Europa Erdogan ha compreso che doveva sedurre Parigi,
il principale oppositore all’ingresso del Paese islamico ai negoziati
europei. Ecco perche’ il premier turco, nella recente tre giorni
parigina, non si e’ risparmiato: ha incontrato tutte le maggiori
cariche del Paese, dall’Eliseo, a Matignon, dai presidenti dei due
rami del Parlamento all’opposizione socialista, al mondo degli
affari. Sono stati contatti per dimostrare i progressi fatti dal
Paese della Mezzaluna sul fronte del rispetto dei diritti umani e
dell’avvicinamento ai criteri posti per l’ingresso nella Ue.
Nella missione in terra di Francia il premier turco ha incassato
all’Eliseo il personale sostegno del presidente della Repubblica,
Jacques Chirac, la simpatia del primo ministro Jean-Pierre Raffarin,
l’assenso dei socialisti di Frantois Hollande (che pongono pero’ la
condizione del riconoscimento del genocidio degli armeni), e la netta
opposizione dell’Ump e dell’Udf, i due partiti del Centro-destra e
dell’opinione pubblica. Cosi’ per vincere le ultime esitazioni
Erdogan ha giocata la carta del business firmando un maxi-contratto
per l’acquisto di 36 Airbus dal consorzio franco-tedesco. Un
biglietto da 2 miliardi di euro che possono valere un’opzione
sull’ingresso in Europa.

armenianow.com
23 July 2004
Art Over Obstacles: Armenian performers find appreciation and dialogue with
Turkish audiences
By Gayane Abrahamyan
ArmeniaNow arts reporter
While diplomacy seems at a stalemate in relations between Turkey and
Armenia, exchange of culture shows more signs of reaching
understanding.
Last month, the 12-member Armenian Navy Band returned from Turkey
after a successful tour. Earlier in the spring, the Sundukyan National
Academic Theater performed there. And at about the same time, dudukist
Jivan Gasparyan toured Turkey.
The Sundukyan Theater had success in Turkey.
“Artists have recently made serious steps in Armenian-Turkish
relations and probably we can obtain successes there where diplomats
fail,” says Sundukyan art director Vahe Shahverdyan.
Over his long career, Gasparyan has seen some softening of cultural
borders. During Soviet times, he was invited to play in Turkey with a
Russian ensemble. But the only way he could get a visa is if he
changed his surname. Of course he refused.
But in 2000, he finally got the chance to play there on the invitation
of Swiss harpist Andreas Vollenweider.
“When I got off the plane I was alone in a foreign and, significantly,
in the country of my ‘enemy’. I had never been so excited,” Gasparyan
recalls. “Suddenly I saw a Turk with big piece of paper with
‘Gasparyan’ written on it approaching me. They took my passport for
putting entry visa on it. In two minutes they returned and without
even a customs check I left the territory of the airport. Outside the
airport a limousine was waiting for me. Then I was taken to luxurious
five-star hotel.”
The duduk player was surprised with the special attention he received,
including a standing ovation.
“My performance was a part of Vollenweider’s concert program and
before announcing the names of artists audience didn’t know who
performed except Vollenweider at the concert. When my name was
announced silence fell in the concert hall for a moment and suddenly
the audience burst into applause,” says Gasparyan, still excited by
the moment.
Arto: “Citizen of the planet”
His concert with Vollenweider led to four solo tours and several
recordings in Turkey.
This spring’s concerts included conversations between the audience and
the artist, including sensitive political topics.
Turkish media highlighted Gasparyan’s responses: “We artists don’t
want to be involved in politics. We make efforts to strengthen
relations between nations with the help of our art. There is no nation
to wish a war and I’m glad that with my music I contribute to
establishment of kind and good relations.”
On the eve of his concert, Gasparyan attended the concert of Turkish
singer Sezen Agsu. When Agsu saw Gasparyan sitting in the hall she
left the stage and hugged him. Then standing on the stage she said: “A
perfect musician is now in this hall. I’ve been listening to his works
for 20 years and every time I’ve been touched with them.”
The Sundukyan Theater felt similar appreciation during two tours this
year, including participation in the Festival of Black Sea Countries,
in Trabzon.
People’s Artist Lorents Arushanyan says the festival was a serious
test for them, during which they managed to overcome years of
barriers. “Of course, even if they carried us in their arms we would
never forget our judgment, our ancestors’ judgment, but with such
cultural cooperation we in some measure will probably contribute to a
solution of political problems,” he says.
The spring visit was the third time the Armenian Navy Band has played
Turkey.
It’s founder, Arto Tunchboyajyan was born in Turkey, but maintains a
universal attitude concerning nationality, often expressed in ANB
performances:
I am a citizen of the planet earth and with my art I’m finding ways of
trust towards everyone despite their nationality. Of course, it
doesn’t mean I forget about history. I know better than anyone about
our bitter days,” Tunchboyajyan says.
Gasparyan: “I had never been so excited.”
Saxophonist David Nalchajyan says art is very strong and powerful
tool. And in the case of ANB, it is complemented with comments by
Tunchboyajyan about regional relations that sometimes are
controversial.
“Our concerts are very free. Often they are full of conversations and
during concerts Arto has dialogues with Turkish audience and tells
about their defects and other things,” says Nalchajyan.
Nalchajyan says some people walked out of the hall. “But young people
have free approaches and even they ask about Armenian questions. They
simply don’ t know anything as they were told a completely different
story and that is what should be changed.”
Political analyst Slavik Minasyan regards such Armenian-Turkish
cultural developments to be diplomatic progress, which can contribute
to friendship without violating national dignity and without burying
history in oblivion. But, he recalls that, although Armenian artists
have been received in Turkey, there has been no reciprocation. In
fact, even a Turkish film was banned from “Private Look”, an
international festival here two years ago.
Many people criticize artists for going to Turkey. But these people
wear Turkish clothes and use different goods of Turkish production,”
he says. “Why shouldn’t we import our art. Let them see that despite
that their ancestors committed genocide, Armenians continues to live.”

At the Center of the Southern Caucasus: . . . and on the brink of survival
armenianow.com
23 July 2004
By Aris Ghazinyan
ArmeniaNow correspondent
In the far northeast of Armenia, the village of Barekamavan is subject
to control by the Army of Azerbaijan.
Located in a deep hollow the conflict line practically runs through
the village and frequent shootouts are seen as an ordinary consequence
of life in Barekamavan.
Surrounded
Barekamavan is in the very center of the Southern Caucasus. Georgian
industrial center Rustavi with plants and industrial blocks is clearly
seen from its hills. The m ain Caucasian Ridge is also clearly seen in
the north and behind that ridge there is the “Big World”.
Residents of Barekamavan, however, are too far away from that world.
Every house and yard of Barekamavan is located within snipers’ field
of view. The last incident when gunfire led to death was June 5, 2002
when a sniper’s bullet killed 49-year-old resident Martin Mikaelyan.
Barekamavan is the final stop on an 18-kilometer road that links it
with Voskevan, and Koti. The road itself splits off from the main
Ijevan-Noemberian-Tbilisi road in the area of border village
Baghanis. Koti, about eight kilometers away is the closest Armenian
populated area. Azeri villages Birinji, Iginji and Uchinji are much
closer.
The strategic Azeri villages have been consolidated into one area
called Shikhlu. Among its inhabitants are Shias and third-generation
Sunnis whose ancestors clashed with Amenians in 1918-20.
“Despite our village is located far away from Yerevan, during Soviet
times it held an advantageous position,” says village head Hovhannes
Karakeshishyan. The village is just 18 kilometers from the Red Bridge
junction, which joins Georgia, Azerbaijan and Armenia. Tbilisi is only
65 kilometers away.
“Today as a result of the blockade of communications Barekamavan is in
a very vulnerable position,” Karakeshishyan says. “Besides, a restless
border doesn’t contribute to the development of the village. Today
Barekamavan is on the brink of survival.”
Farm vehicles have become sniper targets in border villages At
present, 455 people live in the village, 80 percent of which are
pensioners.
“Young people have almost nothing to do in the village,” says the
village head. “There are no factories and no farmland, as most of it
contains landmines . . . Livestock farming is not developing as well
because a bead is kept on pastures and cattle often trip
landmines. Young people have really nothing to maintain their families
with in Barekamavan. That’s why this village is getting older before
the eyes.”
Only four births were registered in 2003 in Barekamavan. Last year the
village school had 37 pupils, in a building that has been shot up many
times and shows the effect.
Gurgen and Amalia Azatyans are pupils of lower forms of Barekamavan
school.
During lessons they also study nature of their homeland, which they
know by heart. They perfectly know the places of spring fountains
where children go everyday for water, hauled out by a stubborn
donkey. They know the range of mined territories, where it is not
recommended for them to go.
“Children know geography of their homeland by heart,” says head of
Barekamavan, “the case with the history of their own life is much
harder.
How and where are they going to live? There are no possibilities to
talk about bright prospects of development of the village.”
During Soviet times, a branch of the “Shushan” factory ran in
Barekamavan and 120 locals worked there. Today the factory is gone and
so are most of the workers.
Karakeshishyan, an engineer, was one of the factory workers.
Tobacco is among crops in the region
“Those days people lived in plenty, plus, cattle growing was
developing. Our stock farmer was Azeri from the neighboring
village. Despite Azeries never lived here, however, we were in normal
relations with them. For instance in 1987 administration of the
village applied to government of Azerbaijan with the request to
install gas pipeline to Barekamavan. During Soviet times such a
request was quite normal. A year after that the Karabakh conflict
began and all ties were broken.”
These days, Barekamavan exists on money transfers, made to remaining
family members by those who have found work outside. The money is
spent in Koti, as there is no commerce in Barekamavan.
“It is obvious that government of Armenia must develop special
economic policy for border villages,” Karakeshishyan says. “There is
no other way for survival. There are few populated areas like
Barekamavan in Armenia.
However, their importance and strategic value is great.”
This day Karakeshishyan packs his donkey with a couple of old cans and
again goes to the spring for water, looking over his shoulder for
snipers, with little to look ahead to . . .
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress

Counting on Success: A family takes to the hills to master the art of sheep
farming
armenia.now.com
23 july 2004
By Julia Hakobyan ArmeniaNow reporter
On a foot of a hill near Lake Sevan, where four-legged creatures
vastly outnumber the upright, an Armenian family has found a new home
and a chance for well being.
The Ghalichyan family left their home in Shorzha village two years ago
for the sake of their sheep, for grassland and vast expanses, and for
the chance to harmonize with nature.
Roam with a view
“We chose a place near pasture and a spring and built a house and
cattlepen,” says the head of the family Edik Ghalichyan. “We have
here all that is needed for living: shelter, food, work. We installed
electricity, built a bath and a basement for keeping food. The only
thing what we don’t have are neighbors, but by now we’ve gotten used
to it.”
Ghalichayn, 58, his wife Yunik, their two sons with their families
made the decision to go to the mountains on an invitation from the
Tufenkian Foundation.
Four years ago the foundation launched “Sheep Farms”, a project that
promotes livestock breeding and offers farmers a way establish livable
business.
The foundation (established in 1996 by U.S. businessman James
Tufenkian) distributed 258 sheep (eight rams and 250 ewes) among 10
families in each of four villages in Gegharkunik Region. Each group of
10 families also received a $4,500 loan for maintenance of the
heard. The families agreed to pay back the money and return a
same-sized herd within five years.
The Ghalichyans may turn out to be an exception in a program that has
proved challenging. Their individual herd (some 300) is bigger than
the collective herd from four years ago.
The Ghalichyans settled near grazing land
“We didn’t intend to leave the village in the beginning,” says
Ghalichyan.
“But a big herd needs a big pasture. We had to take the herd each day
to the mountains, several kilometers from our house and stay there the
all day long. And once I came here with the sheep and decided to
stay.”
It was not an easy decision to live communal village life for the
savage landscape and a herd of sheep. But the family was experiencing
financial hardships as most of the villagers and the idea of having
their own farm prevailed over the fear of social isolation.
The transition from small herd to family business has not been
easy. For example, brucellosis spread in the herd, and the
Ghalichyan’s had to destroy half their stock.
“We had been keeping sheep before, but taking care of such a big herd
caused many unexpected problems,” says Yunik, 52. “It took over two
years to learn all the details of farming from our own mistakes.”
Yunik says that they learned among other things that the first portion
of milk causes death for newborn lambs, a detail that they did not
know before.
“When we had a small herd while in our village and some lambs were
dying it did not disturb us, but now since we have a big herd the
death of lambs is very harmful for the further herd development,” she
says.
Even though the herd has increased, the Ghalichyans have not yet
turned a profit. The seed money from the foundation covers expense for
80 tons of hay for feed during winter. Money made from selling wool
goes to cover costs of renovating sheep pens and buying vaccinations.
“We could not imagine how hard it would be to develop the farm,” says
Edik, “however we do not regret that we are here. Life was easy in
Soviet times, nowadays it is hard, but if you are ready to work hard
you will survive anywhere and in any times. Now we see the results of
our work and I hope soon our sheep will bring us profit”
The Ghalichyans also have cows, turkeys, hens and cover their daily
ration by trading milk, cheese and mutton for household necessities.
Samvel Gevorgyan, manager of Sheep Farm Project says that the project
implementation caused unexpected problems for the organizers as well.
The foundation founder and the flock
Gevorgyan says that they chose Gegharkunik as the most economically
area economically for the project, however could not expect that
farmers would have problems with farming.
Now, however: “Our experience in working with farmers demonstrates
that the villagers were not ready to work,” he says. “They experience
difficulties which we did not expect and for most families that work
appeared to be too hard.”
Only eight families (including Ghalichyan’s) out of the initial 40
succeeded to maintain the herds they got.
“In some cases the heads of the villages were not eager to cooperate
with us and were hindering the works of the families,” Gevorgyan
says. “It is because they do not have a clear idea what the contract
is, that we give loans, not money. We regularly organize meetings with
villagers to explain the project, their responsibilities and
duties. We hope that Armenian farmers will realize the advantages of
having their own farms.”
As for Ghalichyan family they hope they will manage to return the loan
and herd to foundation. The head of the family says that he would work
as hard as possible to secure the life of his family. Edik hopes that
his grandsons and their families would inherit his farm and the small
oasis in the mountain would become a successful family enterprise.
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress

Struggle in Paradise: A visit to “the best village in the world”
armenianow.com
23 July 2004
By Gayane Lazarian
ArmeniaNow reporter
Pink shades of sunset mix with the cyanic waters of Lake Sevan,
wrapping this world in azure gauze. Tireless white waves slap against
moss covered stones, breaking silence with the noise.
For 40 years, 70-year-old Knar has been leaning against rocks in her
yard and looking at the lake for hours, listening to new stories from
the endless waves. Her eyes are little lakes, but they are not calm,
as if they are looking for something that has gone.
Rest houses await new owners
“This lake has gone and never ran high again. Many years ago it would
reach that slope. My husband would sit on those stones and fish,” she
wistfully recalls.
Knar lives with her son, daughter-in-law and three grandchildren in
Ayrivank village of Gegharkunik Region. The entire village is located
on the ridge.
Big stone pieces that can be seen in different parts of the village
prove that once waters of Sevan used to reach here.
Knar points at the ridge located in front of her in the left side,
where Ayrivank monastery dated 10 th-12 th centuries proudly
stands. Crossing her face she says their village was named after the
monastery – “Ayrivank”.
Ayrivank church doesn’t function, however, villagers visit it, pray
there and light candles. Wedding and baptism ceremonies are carried
out there. But there are no clergymen.
“The important is that the monastery exists so we don’t need priests,”
says Knar laughing.
About 820 residents of Ayrivank share God above and the lake,
monastery and forest below. Yerevan is 190 kilometers away.
With the water level, the view of the lake changes. So, too, the
population of Ayrivank has receeded. Many of its able-bodied men have
gone abroad to find work and help their families from afar.
“But I will never leave the village even if there are the worst
conditions here,” says villager Anton Virabyan. “I cannot live without
this village, this lake. This is a completely different world.”
Ayrivank village was founded in 1922 when 13 families from neighboring
Noraduz village moved there. One year later eight more families joined
them.
Head of the village Garnik Badoyan says his grandfather was one of the
first. This year residents are planning to build a khachkar next to
the spring located in the center of the village where they will
immortalize the names of founders.
Head of the village talks about newborns of the village with joy but
at the same time he recalls with regret those who left.
“People leave everything and leave the village. Mainly people of this
region go to Volgograd,” he says. There’s even a joke that Volgograd
is the capital of the region.
Despite its conditions, Ayrivank is better off than many villages in
the region. Roads of the village have been reconstructed, there is no
drinking water problem and the village is served with natural gas.
“The main problem of Ayrivank is the lack of irrigation water. We use
drinking water for irrigation,” Badoyan says. “Now we are working on
deep pits and we have already dug one. After some investments, a 700
meter-long water pipe-line will be constructed and it will be
connected to an internal network constructed during Soviet times. We
need financing. We wait for assistance from the government.”
Julieta Avetisyan, 40, is Knar’s daughter-in-law. She says majority of
villagers work for barter. They bring fruits and vegetables from other
regions and change them for cheese, matsun, milk and potatoes at a
market.
Before, Julieta used to work with her neighbors at the Ayrivank Sewing
Factory, which no longer is functioning. Today she spends most of her
time in the forest collecting nuts.
“I go to the forest with children and Knar and we collect acorns until
it becomes dark,” Julieta says. “We sell one sack of nuts for 250-300
drams (about 50-60 cents) in Noraduz to those who prepare smoked
fish. They say fish smoked on nuts has better taste. At least we get
money.”
Many people in Ayrivank found work on the water.
Knar and family
One of the village’s teachers, 42-year-old Melania Manukyan says: “In
my house, windows face the lake. Every morning I count small ships
that appear in the lake and I become happy as people here live thanks
to that.”
She says soon fishermen she knows will bring fresh whitefish for her
guests from Yerevan. They sell fish on-site for 20-30 drams (about 4-6
cents) each.
Mainly people come and buy fish right from the village. They sell
crawfish, too, at 100 drams (about 20 cents) per kilo.
“We have a businessman in the village, who consigns crawfish to
Holland and France. The taste of Sevan crawfish is different,” says
Melania.
Virabyan says trout was the real fish of their ancestors and before
trout there were beghlu and bakhtak which today have become
extinct. Nobody knows how whitefish appeared here.
“Trout is tasty when you make it in the tonir (stone oven),” he
explains.
“Usually people catch trout and whitefish with different seine nets
but sometimes trout is entrapped in seine nets designed for
whitefish.”
Many villagers have placed tin cottages on the shore and rent them out
at about 4,000-5,000 drams (about $7.50-9.50) a night.
David, a 20-year old villager, uses his fishing boat for giving tours
of the lake. As he talks to a guest, he is also trying to start the
engine. He keeps talking, but the engine doesn’t.
“Sometimes it happens,” he says. “You should see how people become
nervous when it happens far away from the shore. But it is not a
problem as I have paddles and I return them rowing up towards the
shore and don’t take money from them if something like this happens.”
Visitors can also rent pedal boats for 2,000 drams an hour (about
$3.80).
They have no risk of engine failure.
The village has potential as a tourist destination. However, three
hotels, privatized since independence, sit empty or unfinished in
Ayrivank.
“They are all old Soviet constructions designed for 400 people and all
of them require investments. It is not possible to use them in such
conditions,” Badoyan says. “I, myself, look for investors, who will
make this business together with me. There was a time when these
hotels had been functioning for 25 years and in case they are reopened
people again will have work, which is the biggest problem today.”
Children of Ayrivank are unusually beautiful. They are fair-haired and
have blue eyes that shine from under long eyelashes. The sun has
perfectly painted their cheeks into a red-scarlet color. They look
bravely but are shy to talk with strangers.
Melania says there is nothing interesting for children in the village,
there is nothing for them to spend their time there. There are no
clubs, no kindergartens in Ayrivank; there is no cultural center
there.
But 200 children attend the school in Ayrivank, including those who
come from neighboring Berdkunk village.
Healthcare in Ayrivank is a simple out-patient clinic constructed in
1960.
After years of decline, villagers now talk about water levels
rising. Some coast roads and trees are under water now. So there is
hope at least for nature to thrive, even while Ayrivank struggles.
Our village is the best village in the world,” Knar says. “I cannot
imagine there is a world outside this village. If one day I don’t see
Sevan then it will mean it’s time to die.”

Vardavar: In Martuni, the day is about more than just water fights
armenianow.com
23 July 2004
By Vahan Ishkhanyan
ArmeniaNow reporter
Photos by Ruben Mangasaryan
While in Yerevan the celebration of Vardavar has turned into little
more than water fights, in Armenian regions like Martuni it remains a
holiday of significance.
Vardavar is a pagan holiday, which became “Christianized” when Armenia
became a Christian nation. The Apostolic Church realized that Vardavar
was too entrenched in the nation’s culture to dismiss it as pagan. So,
the Church adapted the day, and used it to commemorate the day of
Christ’s transfiguration.
Wet fun for kids . . .
Orginally it was connected with a water cult. Sacrifices were made to
the spirit protectors of water for the rains to come there would be no
drought.
The pagan day was dedicated to the goddess Astghik to whom roses were
given In Martuni, cafes and restaurants close for the day (which was
celebrated across the republic last Sunday).
“What cafes on Vardavar?” says a boy from Martuni. All the residents
of Martuni are celebrating Vardavar with their families.
In the morning Martunetsis pilgrimage to Ishkhanavank, an 11th century
church in Vardenik village. Once a year, the church and cemetery
become a place for celebration. (In general, every old church has its
pilgrimage day, the pilgrimage of Ishkhanavank is on Vardavar.) On
the right side of the entry to Ishkhanavank there’s an altar where
they kill the matagh (sacrifice) animal, a sheep or a rooster. Tamar
Minasyan promised a matagh for her grandchild Minasik’s successful
birth and happiness.
“My Minasik’s birthday was yesterday. We promised if he is born, we’d
do a matagh on Vardavar.” For twin grandchildren, the Minasyans
promised to do seven mataghs to Yeghegnadzor’s Saint Cross. For seven
years they would go there and do sacrifice. Now the twins are grown.
And for the newborn, they promised matagh to their favorite
Ishkhanvank. The head of the family cuts the sheep’s ear on a stone,
dips his finger into the blood and makes a cross with blood on
Minasik’s forehead.
. . . not so much fun for sheep.
“When they do matagh, they put a cross so that it is accepted,”
explains Tamar and another woman says because they are Christians,
they put a cross, and that the custom is centuries old. In
Ishkhanavank, hundreds of people have had blood traces on their
foreheads.
The Minasyans are from Vardenik, their house is close, so after
cutting the sheep’s ear, meaning after doing matagh they take the
animal home to kill it.
Those who come from far, kill the animal right there. First, they feed
the victim with the salt put near the stone. The salt has to be
blessed by the priest, so that according to church custom the animal
becomes clean and acceptable for God. There was no priest at
Ishkhanavank, but the pilgrims said that the salt had been previously
blessed (there was a priest last year).
The heads of the sheep are put on the stone one after the other and
are cut.
Yasha Movsisyan came here with his family from Nor Hajn (a village
near Yerevan). He says they come here each year with the family.
“I was born in Karabakh, but my grandfather was Martunetsi, so from
then on every year we come here for Vardavar.”
Even the young participate in old traditions
Unlike Minasyans Yasha doesn’t have any special purpose for matagh in
his mind. Matagh is their family tradition. Every year in
Ishkhanavank, they have to kill a sheep, then go down to the gorge and
flay it and make khashlama. According to the tradition the victim has
to be circled around the church seven times and only then it has to be
killed and the matagh, khashlama, has to be given to seven
strangers. But not everyone keeps to that tradition. They greet each
other, make toasts for happy matagh, happy Vardavar and celebrate at
the river bank.
Hundreds of candles light the half dark church. On the only table
filled with sand there’s no place to stick a candle. People stick the
candles to the walls of the church. At first sight it seems that the
walls are burning.
On the left side of the church entrance there’s a tree with many
pieces of clothes tied to it and each one of them is somebody’s
wish. People make a wish in their minds and tie a piece of their cloth
to the tree for the wish to come true.
Anush Martirosyan, together with her son David, ties a red cloth. “I
tie this cloth for my son to be happy and to appreciate my sufferings
when he grows up,” she says. The son, in his turn, makes a wish for
his mother. “For my mom to be healthy and for a good future for me.”
Anush, 38, was born in Vaghashen village. Now she lives in Yerevan and
it’s been 20 years since her last Vardavar at Ishkhanavank.
“I was baptized in this church, it’s my favorite place. I’ve always
dreamed of coming here again. I remember when I was small we used to
come here every year, we would walk to the road from the village and
from there we would come by bus. Then I remember on the way back there
was no place in the bus and once I was put in through the window. To
me Vardavar was the best day of the year, I liked it more than the New
Year.”
Anush is not alone in that opinion. Nor have the traditional meanings
of the day completely disappeared. Which is why last Sunday while
children throughout Armenia were pouring water on passers by and cars,
in Varndenik they were also observing the ancient custom of covering
their streets in roses. Just like when the day honored the goddess
Astghik.
This year, construction was completed on an new church in
Vardenik. But no one goes to the new church on Vardavar.

School of Choice or Chance: Entrance examinations test nerves, reveal trends
armenianow.com
23 July 2004
By Marianna Grigoryan
ArmeniaNow reporter
Entrance examinations for Armenia’s state universities have begun and
will continue through mid-August.
Some boys queue to become students and thereby avoid military
service. Some girls see a diploma as part of their trousseau. In some
cases they are pushed by parents and in others they legitimately want
to improve their future and see education as the means.
For whatever reasons, it is a time of nervous anticipation for
teenagers and parents.
As eager students and parents gathered for the fateful occasion,
Minister of Education and Science Sergo Yeritsyan called for calm.
But it is not a time for calm, for these days are, for thousands, a
time of “to be or not to be”. Every day throughout Yerevan,
applicants’ anxiety fills examination rooms while outside parents
pace, as if the birthing process had started all over.
“Here, getting higher education is something like a traditional thing
and it is respected,” says Vagharshak Khachatryan, secretary of the
committee responsible for admission. “Every year there is an increase
in the number of entrants.”
This year, 17,418 students have applied for 9,761 university places
(at 12 state institutions). Of the number accepted, 4,115 will study
free of charge, while 5,646 will pay for their education (as
determined by government requirements for assistance).
Pressing for answers . . .
That means that 7,657 applicants this year will either have to apply
to private universities (where examinations are considerably easier
but costs are higher) or wait until next year to apply again.
While the numbers may be a positive indication of the continued
emphasis Armenians place on higher education, they are also somewhat
perplexing.
For example, the number of applicants increases, while the level of
unemployment in the republic hardly changes, meaning that graduates
most likely cannot find work in their chosen field of study.
Khachatryan says it is also interesting that this year there is an
increase in the number of applicants for the Pedagogic University,
even though recent government changes have reduced the number of
teachers in Armenia.
Applications for other institutions don’t differ too much from
previous years. Most applicants apply for Yerevan State
University. The largest number wants to study law, followed by
economics, high technology, foreign languages, history, etc.
This year the number of applicants for the Academy of Agriculture and
Polytechnic University decreased, probably because the university now
requires two tests, as opposed to only one in some departments in
previous years.
Parents are anxious, too.
Contrary to art specialists’ insistence that this generation has no
appreciation for art, the number of applicants for art schools has
increased by 20 percent.
“Every year something changes, however, for sure there is no tendency
towards the decrease of interest in higher education,” says
Khachatryan.
Nor has there been a decrease in the dishonored tradition of bribery,
as parents buy off examiners who are more than willing to judge a
candidate’s bank account rather than his grade point.
Each year, the Ministry of Education promises that the process will be
just.
This year was no exception. In an attempt to fulfill the ministry’s
promises, minister Yeritsyan delayed announcing names of examination
heads.
Reporter and parents were also allowed to follow the entrance process.

Providence Journal , RI
July 25 2004
A tale of love and war

Debut novel set in Paris in 1919 has lots of Rhode Island history as
background

BY ANN HOOD
Special to the Journal

THE LAST DAY OF THE WAR, by Judith Claire Mitchell. Pantheon. 366
pages. $24.95.
Judith Claire Mitchell’s debut novel, The Last Day of the War, is a
sprawling, exciting love story set against the backdrop of Paris in
1919 and with interesting Rhode Island connections.
Eighteen-year-old Yael Weiss inadvertently takes a package from a
library shelf; its owner, a soldier named Dub Hagopian, must
negotiate with her for its return. In their brief meeting, he reveals
that he is a member of Erinyes, an organization with a secret plan to
revenge the Armenian genocide, and that the package contains guns.
Although he describes himself as “just a regular guy from Providence,
Rhode Island,” there’s nothing ordinary about Dub. Not only is he off
to Paris on a secret mission, but his hair, “in the front, is truly
half black and half gray.To the right of his part, his hair is black
as coal. To the left, a shock of pure shining silver.”
Yael is not ordinary, either. On the basis of these few moments, she
tampers with her birth certificate to make herself seven years older,
signs up to work in the YMCA soldiers’ canteens in Paris, changes her
name to Yale White, and crosses the Atlantic in search of Dub.
Improbably, they meet again almost immediately, fall in love and
embark on the secret mission together. Dub has a fiancée back home,
whom he does not love and who happens to be the sister of his best
friend and partner in crime.
Mitchell, a former longtime Rhode Island resident, uses her extensive
knowledge of our state’s history to build the inner and outer worlds
of Yale and Dub. Did you know that Providence was built on seven
hills, “like Rome”? Or that the Armenian community settled on Smith
Hill? “Why not Fruit Hill, with its flowering orchards and arbors?
Why not College Hill, with its ivy league university, or Mount
Pleasant, with its farms and fat grazing sheep?” A picture of a very
different Providence emerges through the eyes of Dub and his Armenian
community.
Although some of these plot twists might feel familiar, Mitchell
weaves a tale filled with historical detail and facts about the 1915
Armenian massacres, and about life in 1919, complete with Y girls and
fashions like split skirts.
This combination of love and war, history and revenge, makes for a
thrilling read, one that lingers long after you finish it.
Ann Hood is a novelist and short-story writer in Providence. Her
latest collection, An Ornithologist’s Guide to Life, was reviewed
here last week.
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress

Tacy Ltd., Israel
July 25 2004
ADAMAS PLANS 2ND SYNTHETIC DIAMOND LINE

By the end of this year Belarussian state unitary enterprise Adamas
plans to launch a second line for producing synthetic diamonds,
doubling production capacity to 8,000 carats per annum.
In addition, Adamas plans to launch new technology that will double
the potential weight of diamonds produced to 1.5 carats, and may also
double production capacity. This development program is expected to
cost some US$3.25 million.
The company says that demand for its synthetic diamonds currently
exceeds supply. Consumers of Adamas products include Kristall of
Gomel in Belarus, Russia, Armenia, Iran, South Korea and Japan.