Remembering with Bill

Bill as Author

It's not like I don't think about my brother any other time of year. But anniversaries have a way of stirring up memories. And tomorrow is the second anniversary of Bill's death.

Most difficult are the memories of the weeks before he died, the days before he died, when we talked by phone and he could hardly breathe enough to talk. I know he died with a peaceful heart, which is some comfort to those left behind. He'd done his wrestling with demons and emerged healed.

Two years on I am still "talking" to him. You can be reassured I do not hear him replying to me. But there are just some times when he is the person I want to share something with. And usually it is something funny or would be funny if he were there to make a wry observation, a witty aside.

The Comp Lit major at Wisconsin. Dylanesque.

Invariably his humor was peppered with details dredged from a prodigious memory of the people and places of our growing up. At age 7 or so, fresh from a bountiful Christmas that involved a lot of model train equipment (I remember giving him a tunnel), he invited his pal Joey over to play with the trains. Inevitably, the boys set up train crashes and the new engine left the track and landed on the tiled basement floor, never to run again. At precisely that moment, Joey said "I think I hear my mother calling me," and fled out the side door. Ever after when something would go awry he would quote Joey and we would all laugh.

He had an eye for style and detail unusual in a boy who would rather be playing baseball than practicing his piano lesson (ironically, with perfect pitch despite deafness in one ear from the mumps). A lady we then thought of as old always wore one of those plastic rain bonnets over her hair, which no doubt had been tightly permed at Doris's House of Beauty two blocks down Second Street. Whenever Bill saw our own mom with something similar, he would call her "Mrs. Vick."

He had names for everyone--not always flattering. Joey's big sister was "Fatso Fogarty." There was Eddie-Suck-on-a-Beer, the father of a cute girl he had a crush on. And Mr. Wizard, the slightly squirrely father of my own high school boyfriend. He was always on the lookout for Fenton Hardy, father of the famous Hardy Boys who inspired his daily adventures with our cousin Tommy. There was "King of the Safetys," the teacher who was in charge of the boys who acted as street crossing safety guards (girls could only be hall monitors in those days).

The Reinka Kids at 2, 5, & 8.

As the third child and only boy in the family, Bill took a lot of heat. He always felt he had too many mothers telling him what to do. And he was right. But he gave as good as he got too. Like the time he took bribes from my boyfriend (we are talking 50 cents here) to get lost, or told my date for the Homecoming Dance that his tie tack was in the wrong place, to my eternal mortification.

On the Oregon Coast with Trixie

Bill's life was such a gift to me. I am filled with gratitude and smiling at the memories. Peace, Bill, wherever you are.

Armenian Gencoide Memorial

Let me just say I am glad the facts were not all new to me when I visited the Armenian Genocide Memorial and Museum today in Yerevan. Not that I am an expert on the subject. But at least I have read one memoir (Black Dog of Fate) and one novel (The Sandcastle Girls). In truth, there is only one story. And it is thoroughly documented by disinterested (not uninterested) observers from many nations, including our own Ambassador to Turkey at the time, Henry Morganthau.

And it is a horror story of unbridled and mostly uncensured murder of nearly 2 million ethnic Armenians between the 1890s and 1923 by Turkey, and shamefully a reality that remains officially denied by Turkey. Even now, the Turkish government is talking about getting some 30,000 ethnic Armenians, who miraculously still survive within its borders, out of Turkey. They also passed a law this year prohibiting Armenians, Cubans, and North Koreans from buying property in Turkey. Armenian churches, towns, and people were all obliterated -- intellectuals, doctors, regular people, children, women. They were killed outright or tortured first or left to starve or die of thirst on the deserts of Mesopotamia. The U.S. Government has yet to acknowledge the Genocide by the Turks (a resolution passed the House but stalled in the Senate several years ago).

Really, that's Mt Ararat in the distance!

The Memorial sits high on a bluff overlooking Yerevan, with a clear view of Mt. Ararat, or as clear a view as one can usually get.

The obelisk points us to a strong future for Armenians.

Architecturally, the Memorial portion of the Center conveys strength and hope, with its eternal flame installed down from surface level and the very sharp obelisk rising toward the sky to symbolize the rising of the Armenian people from this disaster. On April 24, Genocide Memorial Day, I am told over one million people make a pilgrimage to this site and lay flowers at the edge of the eternal flame.

The eternal flame with flowers from Germany, an ally of the Turks during the time of the Genocide.

In the Museum portion of the center, we were fortunate to have the services of Asya, a young curator who completed her PhD in a study of the Genocide. Her commentary helped us to understand what we were looking at in the particular. It is difficult to select something to highlight,because the overall effect is overwhelming.

The Tree of Life adorns many Armenian crosses and memorials.

But I think two things stood out for me. First, there is a collection of original oils by a French-Armenian who painted them based on his mother's memories of deportation and survival. He is still alive at 95 in Paris. His paintings have titles like "Desolation" and "Violence." Most are portrayals of naked or nearly naked women and young girls experiencing starvation and worse. Some of them undoubtedly were among those who threw themselves into the Euphrates rather than continue walking without food or water through the desert or being raped by the criminals Turkey let out of jail especially to help with the Armenian solution.

The other single thing that I will remember is a huge wall poster of the faces of people who lived in Armenia in 1995 and who had survived the genocide. All of them were very old at the time of the photographs and their faces each tell a story. The caption on the poster says, "These eyes have seen genocide." Indeed, these are the faces of a tragedy.



In an odd gracenote to our visit, Evgeny Kissin (see post for 9/27) was visiting the center today and graciously signed his autograph to a stack of programs one of the museum staff had accumulated. Our guide Asya, one of his biggest fans, was ecstatic and even I took the chance to tell him how much I enjoyed his Schubert Impromptus on Thursday.

Evgeny Kissin Plays to a Packed House

My 4th concert in as many weeks in the splendid Aram Khachaturian Concert Hall of the Yerevan Opera House! I am pinching myself.

Evgeny Kissin

Evgeny Kissin offered a solo piano performance to a SRO crowd last night. At 10,000 AMD, the tickets were the most expensive in the International Music Festival, except for Michel Legrand, who is pulling down 20,000 AMD for best seats. Kissin, who came to fame as a child prodigy in Russia, has been a British citizen for several years and has won a Grammy. I think I am the only person who had not heard his name before. And he still looks like a child prodigy to me.

As we approached the concert hall it was immediately apparent that once again we were going to have a unique concert experience. People everywhere, standing outside enjoying the balmy evening, waiting for friends, smoking. Inside, growing numbers of people standing outside the doors to their seats...for upwards of an hour without explanation.

We never did find out (perhaps it was announced in Armenian) why the delay, but we suspected that IMPORTANT PERSONS had not yet arrived. This particular concert was sponsored in part by the Office of the President of Armenia, so there were likely many VIPs present. In any event I was glad I took my own bottle of water because it got downright hot in the hallway and I was close to cranky by the time we got to sit down.

But it was all worth the wait for many reasons. First, it continues to amaze us that the demographics of the classical music audience here are so different from at home. Literally all ages in all manner of dress flock to these events. Last night was the largest audience I have seen in the hall--all three levels were full and people were standing during the first half (Haydn and Beethoven). Some cell phones went off, yes--and were especially noticeable since we were listening to solo piano. The Steinway was set center stage and had extra seats all around it on the stage.

Sitting in the aisle!

After intermission, many more people seemed to come out of nowhere and sat in the stepped aisles of our first balcony. It took me back to the day Denise and I saw Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz in "The Long, Long Trailer," in a Saturday matinee at the Wyandotte Show in 1953. Kids were sitting in the aisles!

Here the ushers were only interested in trying to get people to stop taking pictures and movies of the concert. They could have cared less about the fire hazard in the aisles (I had to work hard to get over it). We think perhaps at intermission the ticket-takers go home and others were then free to come into the concert. This created a rock concert ambiance for the second half.

After the intermission, Kissin played four Schubert Impromptus and then a Liszt piece to end the recital proper. Denise said, "The Schubert alone was worth the price of admission." This performer has the lightest touch on the keyboard--his hands fairly danced through the Impromptus. To our delight and that of our fellow concert-goers, he played two encores and took many bows and bouquets of flowers, including one from a 9-10 year old boy we had seen earlier with his flowers. Perhaps an aspiring prodigy and fan?

Write when you get work...

Well, I finally got some work to do here and I am so excited. Not that I don't enjoy going to the store and wandering around town and going to concerts and museums. I do. But one of my hopes for this sojourn was to be of use to people here.

The Women's Entrepreneurship Program (WEP) of the American University of Armenia's Extension Program has trained over 200 women in the basics of starting your own business. Many graduates have started small businesses, and some have used their new skills to get better jobs where they work now. 

I first learned about WEP when I met the Board of the Armenian International Women's Association in Boston last July (see July 19 post, WomanPower Armenian-style). AIWA is a principal sponsor of the program, whose director Dr. Arpie Balian was also present that day and she said right away that I could be helpful to her program.

Anahit

This year they will have a two-day conference at the end of November that will offer to their graduates and others both networking and learning experiences. My volunteer job is to assist the program administrator and former engineer, Anahit Ghazarian, with program and logistics planning. Does this sound familiar? The only part that is missing is Betsy, my colleague at NASW-VT! They have beautiful facilities on campus, so the main task is to develop a good program that participants will feel was worth their time away from their fledgling businesses.

Rilla and Betsy--The Dynamic Duo!

In addition, I will draft a proposal for a membership organization for the graduates of their program and other women business owners---by-laws, vision, mission, programs, etc.--which will then be discussed and modified through focus group discussions with graduates. This group would take on the networking and continuing education needs of graduates, advocate for women entrepreneurs, and maintain a close relationship with WEP.

It's really gratifying to think that I can use my skills and knowledge to promote women's empowerment in Armenia!

Restaurant Kitchen Confidential

Chef Mamulyan

On Sunday, I joined several other members of the International Women's Association of Yerevan (IWAY) in the kitchen at Ararat Hall, a restaurant devoted to the discovery and resurgence of true Armenian cooking. Led by local TV celebrity chef, Serdak Mamulyan, the president of an organization for the "Development and preservation of Armenian culinary traditions," this was an experience money can't buy.

Background:   In the Soviet era all restaurants were government-owned and no ethnic pride in foods was permitted. Food was pretty bland. So after independence 21 years ago Chef Mamulyan started by going door-to-door, asking people for their family recipes, explaining his hopes for reviving true Armenian cuisine. Ararat Hall is his lab and his pride.

Annie, Achkhen, Wilma, Armine, Rilla, Gohar, Libby, Flora (whose son owns the butcher shop next door)

After turbaning up our heads with fashionable scarves or not-so-fashionable shower caps, we descended to the working restaurant kitchen to learn how to make an Armenian meal. We all washed our hands with soap and dried them on a shared terry towel. At that point I took off my public health hat and just went with the flow.

One of the prep trays

First--the kitchen itself is a madhouse of people doing a multitude of very specialized tasks--from carving up sides of lamb, to doing the prep trays for the chefs, to grilling meats on skewers on the built in grill. It is extremely HOT and quite noisy. On the counter immediately at our backs, staff were plating up meals for at least two large parties at the restaurant that afternoon.But when they noticed we were wilting, they served us raspberry juice in wine glasses to help deal with the heat.

A kitchen minion had prepared our grape leaves

Chef Mamulyan handed us over to his Number 2 Man who demonstrated how to make vegetable dolma with grape leaves and then meat dolma with rib lamb chops wrapped in cabbage leaf. I actually got to roll several of the veggie dolmas and learned principally that I could arrange the stuffing in the shape I wanted the finished product to be and that I must always always always put the veined side of the leaf on the inside. It's just nicer that way. 

Gohar watching Chef #2 saute onions for dolma

Number 2 Man was a prince fielding rapid-fire questions from the Armenian women who have their own ways of making these dishes and wanted to be sure he knew about them. A sense of humor must be a requirement for working in a restaurant kitchen.

The veggie dolmas were placed in a square clay pot with a removable, perforated bottom and a perforated "weight" layer as well as a lid. They were then covered with water and steamed in the oven. Several of us took advantage of the chef's connection who will sell us one of these bakers for 15,000 AMD (about $35) each. They are beautiful and practical and could be used for any number of things for generations.

Lamb chop-stuffed cabbage ready to bake

Ready to roll

Those lamb chop dolmas were placed on top of sliced tomatoes and onions in open clay dishes (think layer cake pan) and then surrounded by prunes and dried apricots and the herb mix. A lot of white wine was added and then boiling water. These were covered with foil and baked to perfection. This is a whole new way of thinking about stuffed cabbage, believe me.

Minced onions waiting for garlic

My eyes were on the knives most of the time. The knife skills of this guy were amazing and scary. When he minced something, it stayed minced. A technique for blending flavors that he pointed out was to mince, for example, the onions and then the garlic and then together and then the herbs and then together and then the tomatoes and then together. By the time you are ready to use this mix, the flavors are well-blended and the herbs have given up their oils and fragrance fully.

Sultanas in butter with cherry puree

After the dolma(s) we mostly watched--chicken poached and then cooked in a sauce made of sultanas (big yellow raisins) in melted butter with a garlic and walnut and olive oil paste and then blended with a fresh puree of a particular type of tart cherry that is ripe right now. 

I finally got to see what Armenian cooks do with the big ropes of what looks like herbs I see in the market. Not herbs, but dark greens (think kale), dried. First they are boiled to a fare-thee-well. The water is drained and they are reboiled (to get bitterness out) and then drained well and put in a large skillet with the tried and true garlic and walnut paste, some minced lamb fat, and then loaded up with fresh pomegranate seeds (you have to love a country that loves pomegranates!). The dish was then garnished with baked lavash chips (Have stale lavash? Sprinkle it with salt and pepper and bake it til it is crisp.)

Looking a little peaked

At some point I realized I was perspiring into the beautiful silk scarf Armine had tied around my head. But we were almost done. 

Greens with pomegranate in foregournd

Then suddenly, we were escorted into the Pomegranate Room--the one dining room where no smoking is permitted--to a beautifully set table with all sorts of starters, we did not see prepared. Breads, the ubiquitous and fabulous spring salad (of tomatoes and cukes and herbs), olives and lemons, pickles, and yogurt sauces. They poured us glasses of "tahn," a very good unsweetened yogurt drink.

A welcome form our host

Once seated, the staff began to serve us and our guests (some of the "cooks" invited their spouses to join us). It was an honor that the chef sat at the head of the table and continued to talk about his work in redeveloping Armenian cuisine and training young chefs. 
 

Ambassador John toasting our host

Many toasts were made using Armenian apricot vodka, a point of pride being that they were making fruit vodka before the Russians discovered potato vodka. (I wonder what they would think of our Vermont Gold from maple syrup?)

Wilma, Flora & Armine with the claycooker

Going in we had agreed to share the costs of this meal among the "cooks." The total bill presented for 16 diners was 44,000 AMD ($110) or about $7 each. This bill could not possibly have covered the costs, but it was then discounted for us 50%. I ended up paying my share, which was 2000 AMD ($5). Plus I am going to get one of those clay bakers at a 25% discount from the friend of the chef. Plus I have not even mentioned the Armenian cookbook with 70 dolma recipes inscribed personally by the Chef Mamulyan to me. (I am relying on Google Translate to use this!)

The overarching value of this experience--which had many parts--for me was the feeling of connection with the other women, feeling grateful for their generosity in translating for me, for being able to get to know them better. I walked out feeling very full indeed. Priceless.

Another Take on Stuff

We've all heard the George Carlin take on "Stuff." And even those of us who have been unloading for years have too much of it. Today I visited a small museum of "stuff," which is known as the Amernian Folk Art Museum. This is the kind of thing I have to do alone because I can never get anyone else excited about other people's stuff.

Handmade bedspread with sock and wool carders.

The visit started out on sort of the wrong foot. And it was not their fault, but my own quirkiness. Tell me the entrance price and include everything and I will pay whatever you ask (all-in-one resorts love me). Tell me the entry price but then keep adding fees for taking photos or having a guide, and I can get snarky, The lesson I thought I learned in Toledo when I refused to go to the magnificent cathedral because they charged admission (it was a moral issue for me) apparently did not take. I paid the 500 dram entry fee and said no to photos and a guide.

Carved birds that hold spices and swing out--my favorite!

The holdings are on two floors. I was accompanied by an elderly lady whose job it was to turn on the lights in the room and presumably make sure I did not touch or steal anything. She yawned a lot and tried to fight off sleep.

The collection is labeled minimally, with more facts left out than provided. "Tray" begs for information about where it is from, who might have carved it and when, let alone how this particular type of tray might have been used. The jewelry collection is stunning and labeled simply "women's decoration.".No dates, no explanation of the gems and metals used. Carved wooden spoons and wood salt cellars are beautiful and undated.There is nothing remotely weapon-like. Everything in the collection was made for home or church use.

A room full of exquisite, fine Armenian needlework (NOT crochet) took my breath away. I could imagine the hands that took perhaps years to create some of the large items--tablecloths and bedcovers--and wondered what happened to them.Were these pieces part of a trousseau?
 
A room of carpets and horse blankets stirred up even more questions. Who wove the huge carpet labeled 1901 and what hopes and dreams went into each slide of the shuttle? What hopes and dreams did the buyer bring to this rug? Was it a wedding gift? 

I am reading in quick succession my second book (Chris Bohjalian's The Sandcastle Girls) about the Armenian Genocide. This event, not yet acknowledged by Turkey despite evidence, is usually dated to about 1915, but in truth it started long before in the late 19th Century and lasted well into the 1920s. Over a 1.5 million Armenians were forced from their homes, robbed of their belongings, physically humiliated and murdered or left to die on desert routes out of eastern Turkey between 1915 and 1923 alone. Very few survived the forced marches to Aleppo, Syria.

So I feel a little haunted by this museum and its contents. I picture the women being forced out of their homes with the clothes on their backs, leaving behind the evidence of their connection to others and their everyday lives, how they lived and what they believed was important. History lives through stories. This muted collection holds but cannot tell those stories.

Oatmeal in Nine Languages

Nine languages to make a bowl of oatmeal and not one in an alphabet I recognize.

I guess I don't get out much. Living in Vermont where even the need for a little Spanish is a stretch, I am amazed by the multi-lingual instructions on food items and appliances here in Armenia. It's an efficient approach for international marketers, I'll grant. But I dare anyone who can read without the benefit of corrective lenses to find a language they understand and then read the instructions on my oatmeal packet. The best I could do was to figure out not one of these nine languages used an alphabet I could recognize. But with some things instructions are not so important. I poured boiling water on the contents, added honey and walnuts, and voila! a yummy breakfast.

The hair dryer I bought when we blew out the dual voltage one came with safety warnings in 32, count 'em, 32 languages. These are the kinds of instructions no one reads--don't use the hair dryer in the bathtub, etc. We are accustomed to these disclaimers in our own very litigious society, but I am wondering if maybe those international marketers could use their money more wisely in this instance.

My Armenian cellphone came with a pile of instruction books--not that I have ever read those in any language--all in Russian or Armenian. Happily, it is a Nokia phone with a model number I could find on the Internet and download the instructions. Although I had no intention of reading them, when I needed to find out how to unsilence the phone, they came in handy.

That's Malaga Wine OPI Gel!--the most conservative choice available.

And speaking of the Internet, how about that cool consolation prize Apple just gave all of us who fell for iPhone 4s within six months of the iPhone 5 coming out? I got to upgrade my 4s this morning. This means I presumably have access to all the problematic maps the 5 users have, plus now I have a file for all my tickets and boarding passes (they really think I am going digital) and direct access to Google. Now THERE is a feature worth having. No more need to go through Safari to get to Google Translate to find out what the word for manicure is in Armenian. By the way, in case you need it, it is մանիկյուր, pronounced "manikyur." See, not so hard.

Armenian Independence Day - September 21

This is the 21st anniversary of Armenia's independence from the Soviet Union. The day is definitely a school holiday, but most stores are open even though government offices are not. I talked with the women at Luxury Beauty Salon on Tumanyan Street, where I got a manicure this afternoon. I asked them if it was usual to work on a holiday. One said, "We work every day in Armenia." The manicurist added quickly--"Not on Thursdays."

Making flatbread in the floor oven

The bakers at the Georgian bakery across the street from our apartment were certainly not taking the day off.. They were busy producing the large (think medium pzza size) Georgia flatbread. I felt it was almost a patriotic gesture for me to buy some--like I need an excuse. The big loaf was 50 cents and made a great base for tomato and melted cheese open face sandwiches.

On my afternoon wander downtown I saw many small groups of young teens having a good time on their own. Girls with girls., boys with boys. Three or four groups of girls were busy wrapping themselves in the blue-red-and-orange national flag and taking each other's pictures. Sort of patriotic glamor shots. The boys were mostly horsing around, some carrying flags.

Northern Avenue--a pedestrian mall--was filled with caricature artists, face painters, and guys selling bubble-blowing devices. Rather than small children being the customers for face-painting, it was mostly young teens--boys and girls. A set of plump red lips puckered up like a kiss seemed to be popular among the boys. A children's store was totally getting into the holiday by giving a 21% discount today only. It felt like a Sunday afternoon but I suspect the crowds will gather as darkness falls.

Republic Square is where the action is tonight. A huge stage was erected in front of the fountains near the National Art Museum. Based on what I saw of last year's celebration on TV last night, the party will go on for hours. There will be national dance troupes performing, lots of music, a light and fountain show, and endless fireworks. I will be in my jammies at home,  switching channels trying to find live coverage (the National TV van was on the Square) and listening for the fireworks.

A New Calling Card

Three weeks into the visit I have calling cards that can speak two languages! As you can see from the photo, the Armenian side is pretty unrecognizable due to their unique alphabet script. Thank goodness for the transliterated words and street names that are often posted beside the script. Those signs use a western alphabet like ours to spell out what the word "sounds like." Except when I listen to the computer speaker say the words, I am more than befuddled about how he got what I heard from what I can see.

Our street name, for example is Alex Manoogian. In Armenian that looks like this:  Ալեք Մանուկյան. Transliterated it looks like this:  Alek’ Manukyan. So to the cab driver I try to say it crisply and add "tahss" for the number 10. It usually takes two tries before he can hear what I am after.

A small trick I have found successful in trying to communicate even in English is to say the words like an Armenian speaker would say them. So "Cascade" (the name of a beautiful part of town) becomes "cahs-cod" to the cab driver and Bob's your uncle, we are on our way.   When I asked for the Marriott Hotel the way I would in the U.S., it took several rounds before I remembered to try it as "mah-ree-oat."

I continue to work on trying to memorize some basic, basic words that I could use daily--like the numbers, right, left, more, less, yes,  no. In this I wish I had the abandon of preschoolers who count numbers and sing the alphabet, not worrying about whether they are right or wrong but just practicing, practicing, practicing...without fear of making fools of themselves!

Reaching Out to Others

When I moved to The Netherlands for the first time in 1984, I couldn't be bothered with finding the American Women's Club. I was there to be immersed in Dutch culture and learn the language by living there and doing a little study. 

By 1990 when I moved there for a second time I had wised up. When you have an empty nest, you have to find new ways to reach out, I learned. I found the AWC of Amsterdam and became very active. In fact, my work with AWCA is what took me to Casablanca for an international conference in 1992! 

The club was mostly American women living in The Netherlands temporarily because their spouses were on assignment there from Boeing or AT&T or DeLoitte Touche. Some were Dutch women married to Americans living in Holland permanently. It was a good experience and I made some nice friends and had a good time going on club excursions.

So when I heard about the International Women's Association of Yerevan (IWAY), I was more than ready to participate. Today there were 32 women, aged 30 to 70, gathered in a special room at the Marriott Hotel for morning coffee and pastries. 

President Pam Karg

Several members are American, including the Wisconsin-born president, Pam Karg, who is an educator. But many are Armenian women who have returned to Yerevan after living in Aleppo, Beirut, the U.S. Still others are from Denmark, Finland, Germany, and Britain. 

I found four women whom I had met on Sunday doing the art walk sponsored by IWAY (see 9/17/12 post), which immediately gave me a feeling of connection. Several Embassy spouses were there, including Libby Heffern, wife of the US Ambassador. I had the good fortune to meet Jane, a retired Foreign Service Officer whose husband has still not retired from the FS.. She is a social worker-turned FSO by way of another master's degree in International Relations. Adrienne still has one child in high school and two in college in the States. She loves the FS life.

Armine--our art walk guide--is organizing a cooking class this Sunday in a closed restaurant where we will prepare and then share a meal of Armenian food. Others are organizing city tours and play groups for those with young children. A whole lot of work is starting on the annual charity bazaar. 

This is one thing I like about groups like this--they are always looking for a way to make things better where they are. Last year's fund-raising went to help make improvements to the gym and also to buy sports equipment for a school in eastern Armenia.  Now they are taking suggestions for the next beneficiary of the funds they raise. I felt a little sorry I won't even be here when they hold the bazaar, but I can enjoy the handicraft days they will hold leading up to it!

And next month's meeting will be held at the US Ambassador's Residence. What's not to like about this camaraderie so far from home?

Yoga in Yerevan

One of the keys to a good experience and establishing connections with other people while living overseas, I have learned, is to get involved with activities or events that you enjoy at home. My daughter found a Spanish chorus to join in Madrid, which led to many new Spanish friends she would never have made without that connection.

But exercising when you are away from home? Not usually my priority given my firmly held belief that calories consumed away from home don't count. Thanks to Denise, I am doing some fast-paced walking in the morning in addition to my slower-paced walking the rest of the day. The "gyms" here are not promising for many reasons, one being that they don't open until 9:00 a.m. We are out walking at 7:00!

Missing Geezum Crow!

What I find I am missing is a chance to unwind and let go--the kind of opportunity that a good yoga class at Geezum Crow in Montpelier offers. Except I can't practice on my own. With what seems like an increasingly compromised short-term memory, I can hardly remember the names of the poses, let alone in what order I should be doing them on my own.   And, of course, it never occurred to me to bring my yoga mat and DVDs from home. So I did what any modern woman would do--I googled "yoga in Yerevan."

One thing I learned is that the Armenian word for breath is "shoonch," which is what I sound like when I let out a big sigh! There is a yoga studio called Shoonch  here that is located close to the city center.. It not only offers yoga but also pilates and a variety of massages at reasonable prices. OMG, could like be better than this?

I figured I could "check it out" by scheduling a massage at a time when I could peak in on yoga classes as well.  In others words, strictly a reconnaissance mission. When I walked into the studio, I immediately felt as if I were transported to an island of calm in the midst of frantic midday traffic. A little incense did not hurt. 

Zara

I was greeted by Zara Nahapetya,who is a graduate of Yerevan State Linguistic University, majoring in Spanish and English. As the first point of contact for new people, Zara's sunny smile and her excellent English were reassuring.  She told me they will celebrate their 5th anniversary soon and that they were the first yoga studio in Yerevan. All of the instructors trained in the US or India.

 

Shoushanik

My appointment was with Shoushanik Stepanyan, who got her training at Yerevan State University.  Shoushanik did not speak English at all but she gave me a very good relaxation massage.Some things just don't require language, thank goodness.

Now I have the class schedule and was assured by Zara I could borrow a mat, I am set to return. If I could speak Armenian I would go on their Yoga Retreat this weekend! Oh well, other exciting things are on tap.

A Walking Tour Introduction to Armenian Art

Armine, our guide

Recently we joined a group of about 9 (seven women and two men), including US Ambassador John Heffern and his wife Libby Heffern,  for a walking tour focused on art in Northern Yerevan. Led by artist and fashion designer, Armine Tumanyan, the walk was sponsored by the International Women's Association of Yerevan. We met our tour

leader at 28 Moskovian Street, the site of a travel agency that specializes in tours to Nagorno-Karabakh, a part of Armenia that is also claimed by Azerbaijan. On the wall outside is a four-story mosaic created by young artists participating in a program to beautify streetscapes in Yerevan. Another program resulted in painted murals in previously dark passages. 

Mosaic at 28 Moskovian Street

Vilik Zarakyn in his studio

Armine led us from there to the studio of Vilik Zarakyn, one of her art teachers and an active contemporary painter. Vilik  was very generous in showing us his work, talking about his own development as an artist, and answering the kinds of questions that probably drive artists of any stripe nuts (e.g., where do you get your ideas, what does this mean, etc.).

Ironwork fence along street at the Writer's Union

As we ambled along we came across an important and perhaps once grand building, which is home to the Armenian Writers Union. During the Soviet Era each socialist republic had its own Writers Union and there was also a collective or grand writer's union. A point of Armenian pride is that an Armenian writer was at one time the President of the Soviet Union's Writer's Union. I was struck by the ironwork fence and building detail. The building now looks a little down-at-its-heels, but is actively in use for the continuing purpose of bringing writers together.

Botero's healthy kitty cat

Our  next stop was the sculpture garden at the base of the Cascade (which future posts will describe in detail). Due north of Opera Square and France Square, this is one of the best maintained and obviously most-loved areas in the city. It's in a neighborhood of beautiful apartments buildings on tree-lined streets. Plantings of creeping thyme provide a carpet for designs of sweet alyssum and other annuals and a short green hedge that functions like boxwood. his large space with generous walkways is filled with sculptures by Colombian sculptor Juan Botero and others.

The teapot has an Alice in Wonderland feel to it.

One of my favorites is a lacy-looking teapot that has seats inside it and a door (padlocked) to the inside. This particular piece must draw a lot of attention by visitors (I am guilty)  with a desire to touch it because two guards stand nearby to tell you not to tough the sculptures. Never mind that other pieces, especially the big Botero pieces (at least 3) have shiny places where lots of people have rubbed the surface to shiny. Tell me people have not been touching that cat's paws.

Kochar was often seen with his pipe.

In front of The Disasters of War

The final stop on  our walking tour was a one-artist museum dedicated to the man who is considered the father of surrealism in Armenia. Ermand Kochar expressed himself in a wide range of media--from sculpture to drawings to paintings. One of his most famous paintings, The Disasters of War, holds pride of place in this small museum where we had enjoyed an enthusiastic commentary by the head curator.