OMG--less than two weeks?

Suddenly I have less than two weeks left to enjoy Yerevan. Where has the time gone and why do I feel an impulse to cram lots of stuff in at the last moment, feeling guilty somehow I haven't made the MOST of this (which explains a lot)?

Tracking down those folks who have been elusive contacts, being sure I get every possible concert in (3, starting tonight), trying to find a day to go to the Vatican of Armenia called Echmiatsin, getting in one more restaurant kitchen cooking lesson and one more IWAY meeting, finishing a baby sweater,  reading as many books as I can on Denise's Kindle before she takes it back, and yes, trying to figure out what I will say at next week's national social work conference about what it takes to be a strong profession. Oh! and going to the new GIANT mall that just opened here in Yerevan featuring Marks and Spencer and Carrefour as well as paying one more visit to the Vernissage for goodies to bring home.

Unique floral arrangements

Kitty wonders where the Batsat cafe went?

And you just thought I was lolling around. Well, if I have been, I blame the weather. With days still sunny and warm, my impulse is to be outside or at least have the windows open while I speed read. Wiser folks than I have started to batten down the hatches for winter even though nary a clue of it has been sighted. Flower shops stubbornly display fall arrangements. The cafes that frame life in Yerevan through more than six months of the year are closing. Life is moving indoors. Today I saw a premenopausal woman with a white wool scarf around her neck wearing a red down coat, while I chided myself for dressing too warmly in my lightweight track suit and long sleeved tee, no socks in my Merrells.

Even the ice cream vendor wrapped up the season

I'd stay and chat, but I only have an hour to read before dinner and the finale of the International Music Festival, featuring two pianists from Israel.

Tsaghkadzor

Try pronouncing it. English native speakers will struggle to get just the right gutteral inflection. It goes something like "Zock - hot - soar." Sort of. Better, it means "gorge of flowers."

That's where we headed this weekend, about one hour NNW out of Yerevan on the same road we took to Dilijan. Denise provided training to trial lawyers on a model of standards for evaluating misconduct, as part of the continuing legal education offered by the ABA Rule of Law Project. I slept, walked, read, and loved watching Danny Craig do Casino Royale in Russian on TV. We also enjoyed a beautiful indoor swimming pool and plentiful food representing all the famous Armenian fat groups.

As in Vermont, this time of year in the mountains of Armenia could be called "stick season." No flowers, no snow. The brown leaves still hanging on some trees serve as perfect foils for the bright gold poplar sentinels planted in rows leading to somewhere many years ago.

Smoked fish for sale in a small grocery

Off-season ski towns always strike me (a non-skier) as a scene I shouldn't be seeing--like the inside of someone else's closet. Without a blanket of snow and cheerful skiers, they show the dust and rust, begrimed windows, and the skeletons of outdoor cafes. Nothing much is open and one wonders how the year-rounders can stand it.

Winter view of Lake Sevan from the slopes at Tsaghkadzor

But Tsaghadzor knows winter sports at the Olympic level. The Soviets trained for the 1988 Calgary Winter Olympics here and dominated in the medal count, followed closely by East Germany. (Some of you remember the days of the dreaded "Russian Judges.")





The ski season begins in December and runs through March and into April along the eastern slope of Mount Tegenis, 6000 ft+ above sea level--and with views of Lake Sevan to the east. The map of trails and chair lifts painted on a wall near the lift told me that at the top of the "black" runs the altitude is 2918 m above sea level.

Atrium of the Russia Hotel

Armenians generally do not flock to the slopes. For one thing, skiing is a relatively expensive sport and too many Armenians are at the low end of the income distribution curve.. For another Tsaghkhadzor has not until recent years been developed enough to encourage visitors. But Armenia wants to attract foreign skiers who expect more amenities. The new Russia Hotel (where we stayed) and a very spread-out new Marriott, as well as countless condo developments now under construction, may be the answer. Another ski resort is being developed in NW Armenia. Neighboring Georgia is a ski destination and the principal competition, with its claim to higher peaks in the Caucasus Mountains.

Check it out--full pints of brandy and vodka in the mini-bar

Apart from the slopes, the village offers the Kecharis church/monastery and the Orbeli Brothers Museum. Archeological studies show that monastic activity began at Kecharis (as the village was once named) as early as the 5th C. The present large church and two other buildings date from the 11-12th C. When we arrived by foot late on Saturday afternoon a baptism had just been performed, the baby in a long white dress and sweet eyelet cap that tied under her chin. The grass in the church grounds looked green and well-kept, the snapdragons and petunias still giving it their all, their beds well-tended.

Candles are lit in each building by visitors

Oldest portions of Kecharis

Orbeli Boys

The Orbeli Brothers House Museum was irresistible. Right next door is a triple bust of the brothers anchoring a square and now-dry fountain. The Orbeli boys, Rouben, Levan, and Joseph, came from a long line of wealthy and well-educated men. They had a Russian princess in their genealogy somewhere. All three continued the tradition, one of them founding the field of marine archeology. Unfortunately for me, the whole museum is in Armenian and Russian, featuring primarily framed printed materials and photographs. The few pieces of furniture included beautiful wood desks (one standing desk) and sofas that looked like they dated to the early 20th C.

Walking around the village by myself in the early afternoon left me feeling a little down. Partly it was that November thing--let's face it, it's a downer of a month if you live anywhere north of the 38th parallel. Second, despite my desire to do so, there was no place to spend money.

The village square, now completely abandoned, is decorated with public art, some whimsical, some very solemn.

But I was also struck by the wide disparities in housing. Large, walled, and recently built homes stood out in sharp contrast to the more numerous very run down plots with the detritus of decades lying about at the edges of vegetable gardens now giving up enormous cabbages. It seemed to me the essence of "eking out a living."

Only restored house

I saw only one house that looked as if it has been restored before being expanded out the back into a large guest house.

Helping the landscapers at the hotel

Keeping the trees trimmed

Cows wander freely, eating their way through the shrubs and low-hanging tree branches. They head home at milking time and then head back out afterwards, some times alone, usually in small groups. It occurred to me to wonder if they had a "home when the street lights come on" rule.

Going home for milking

Back at home in Yerevan we headed for the Green Bean Cafe for lunch, enjoying a warm fall day--the kind I keep thinking are going to end any day now.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Today, October 27, 2012, is my dad's 92nd birthday. If you see him around town in Montpelier today, tell him "Happy Birthday!"

He is the third of three generations of men named William Reinka to be born in the month of October and he shared his birthday with his grandfather, someone I knew as "Old Grandpa" in my childhood, someone who emigrated as a very young boy from Germany to the United States. Born nearly eleven months after his parents married in January, 1920 (against the wishes of my great-grandmother), he was forever Billy Boy to his grandparents, who lived across the driveway most of his young life.

At Positive Pie for a family lunch

My dad -- what images arise in my mind when I think about him! He was a bomber pilot in the Pacific Theater when I was born (in fact he did not "meet" me until I was 13 months old!). He taught me to ice skate and he took me with him to baseball games he played long after his fledgling "pro" career was over. I remember vividly the night he won the Batting Championship in 1954, a trophy that was presented under the lights at Pulaski Park in Wyandotte, Michigan, where I grew up. It must have been about the same time I attended his college graduation. He earned two degrees going to night school while he supported my mom and three kids, finishing his MBA not long before I got my BA.


Meanwhile, he could always be counted on to produce pumpkins or whatever else was needed by the Girl Scout Troop or my school class. He served on the St. Stephen's vestry and taught Sunday School. He was an active Mason and later a leader in the Red Cross Blood Drives and Rotary. He was devoted to Gordie Howe and the Detroit Red Wings, as well as the Tigers and Lions before he had the chance to get religion and switch his loyalties to the Boston Red Sox.

Mom and Dad in 2006 when Mom got an award for Community Service

Almost always in tandem with his high school sweetheart, Irene, my dad has always offered an enviable record of service to whatever community he lived in. They worked in a homeless shelter and raised money for church outreach programs. They set up the coffee after the 8:00 a.m. service at St. Lawrence in Libertyville, IL for years. They are still hospice volunteers.


And what a sense of humor and creativity! My dad has the gift of creating an alternate reality right before your eyes that you willingly walk into and enjoy. When we were young, my brother and sister and I would be "interviewed" by a Man-on-the-Street reporter using an empty milk bottle for a microphone. Even today he sits at the counter in my sister's kitchen and starts a conversation you can imagine someone in a diner might start if you were seated on adjacent stools.  One Christmas when we all enjoyed the family tradition of a Christmas Eve talent show, he performed the "Give 'Em the Old Razzle Dazzle" song and dance number from the show "Chicago" to the delight and amazement of all of us. My poem reading paled into "easily forgotten" by comparison.

Can you tell that I think a lot of my dad? I could go on and on. I could snort with laughter, just like he does, remembering euchre games, the way he calmly explained to my baby daughter the rules of hockey, how much he loves the Three Stooges and "Some Like 'Em Hot."

Standing next to a B-24, the plane he flew on 44 missions in the Pacific in 1944-1945.

Mainly I just want to say Happy Birthday, Dad, from far away, but with all the love I can send through cyberspace. See you before long!

Last Lovely Day of Fall?

A perfect pear for a salad with fresh curds, walnuts, and a honey-yogurt dressing on romaine

The weather is starting to change here in Yerevan. In fact, we may actually have rain for a few days according to the weather forecast. Of course, I knew the atmospheric pressure was changing before this was announced because my migraine sensors were working overtime!

Each warm sunny day recently has seemed like it might be the last. Today I decided to enjoy it by taking a long walk in a lovely part of the city--what we might think of as the NE quadrant of the central city. This is an area anchored by the Opera House and Cascade at the western edge (or 12 o'clock) and reaching to Abovian Street (3:00 o'clock), which is the longest street in the city at 1.6 km long.

Abovian--who disappeared at age 39 in 1848

Khachatur Abovian was an early 19th C writer who first wrote in what became known as the Eastern Armenian language. In fact he wrote the first novel in that language, Verk Hayastani (Wounds of Armenia), and his statue crowns the street named after him in the circle just outside the National Folk Art Museum and at the base of the hills which surround the city. The statue of Mother Armenia looks down on the circle from high above. I am sure she is proud.

I felt a certain sense of melancholy as I walked today--the changing air, the yellowing and falling leaves. But the green space or green belt in that part of the city was full and lively, if a little subdued by the season. Young men were enjoying the publicly available ping pong tables, couples were taking advantage of the privacy that public spaces offer, groups of friends of all ages were gathered here and there on benches, around ponds and fountains.

Some of the summer cafes are facing the inevitable and packing it up for the season. Others are holding out, waiting for a sign more certain than a date  on a calendar that their season is over. One clue that a change is upon us is that different fruits available. Now we see pears and apples more than berries and figs. Whole (I am talking whole, not half) walnuts are available everywhere. The farmers are busy drying fruits, putting up honey, harvesting the nuts and fall fruits, and probably making conserves as well.

We missed the cruelly hot summer for the most part and simply sailed into a lovely fall--at first pretty warm and sunny, now dryer and a little more cloudy and cooler by 15 degrees or more. I think we lucked out, don't you?

Road Trip - Part 2

Haghartsin

Two of the big draws in the Dilijan area are monasteries. Just as the cathedrals in England each make a claim (Salisbury is tallest), each monastery makes a claim. Haghartsin, once a great center of learning, was in sorry shape until reconstruction of a new monastery began there about six years ago. The work has been a combination of new construction (for the new students) and partial reconstruction of the original complex.

Altar at Haghartsin

A glimpse into what was

 

900 yr old walnut tree with nearly as old visitor

Near the entrance is a walnut tree considered to be 900 years old. Women who wanted to have a baby came here and went through a highly prescribed ritual that involved squeezing through a crevice in the trunk. This process had an eerie similarity to the natural birth process and there were even special instructions about how to get free if you got stuck!



At the edge of Haghartsin is a tree loaded with what looks like rags. This is a custom that seems to be a cross between a prayer and a wish. Gotta love those pagan customs that have moved forward! Each rag represents one person's innermost hopes or dreams. It looks raggy on the outside, but my heart aches imagining what is behind each petition.


Goshavank -- our second monastery of the weekend --is unusual among Armenian monasteries in that it is not walled or set apart from the village of Gosh. In fact when our car pulled in we were in the midst of the village market, where we bought some dried thyme. Check out those cabbages--much bigger than your head!

Goshavank dates to the 12th C and is the place where Mkhitar Gosh first formally codified Armenian law, partly as a defense against Sharia law. I think Denise can now put on her resume that she has been here. Only the Armenian "in-crowd" will understand but it sure would be a talking point.

Khachkar by Poghos

Another thing Goshavank is known for is perhaps the finest or most delicate example of a khachkar (memorial stones, remember?). This was done by an artist whose work was so fine he was known as Poghos the Embroiderer. He carved twin stones for his parents. One remains at Goshavank and the other is in the National History Museum in Yerevan. This work is so fine that when I saw it, I gasped. I knew immediately it was by Poghos--the design literally jumps out of the stone.

The monastery was known for its 13th C library, which held 1600 volumes (remember folks, this was pre-printing press, so they were all hand-done, illuminated, etc.) when the Mongol invaders set it on fire a hundred years later. These were probably the same guys that did NOT burn down Noravank because of the fiery red stones in the canyon (see post from October 8--Wait--are we in Utah?). 

Looking at wool carders and looms

A friendly local lady sort of adopted us and walked us around, telling us about the history (including the fire, complete with sounds effects) entirely in Russian, but with great enthusiasm. She led us to a small museum of artifacts from the village and gave each of us a walnut to keep as a good luck charm. It's in my coat pocket for the winter and every time I touch it I think of her and her smile.

Lake Parz in autumn

Our plan before lunch was to walk through the woods to Lake Parz from Gosh Village, but negotiations with a local youth about showing us the path broke down rapidly because of language limitations and his demand for 8,000 AMD (about $20) to show us the way. Instead, our driver took us to the lake, which was indeed lovely and full of very noisy ducks. 

Jemima Puddleduck and her brood

A Soviet era restaurant still operates at the lake's edge.  Inflated rafts and paddle boats are available for rent. The restaurant was expecting a large group that day and wanted us to go away for an hour, they were that busy. But we persuaded them we would be happy with Spas (yogurt and bulghur soup that is the Armenian version of chicken-soup-good-for-you) and bread. They could handle that. And we were indeed happy with our lunch.

Road Trip - Destination Dilijan

Old Dilijan Complex hotel, restaurant, shops

Road trip! I know you probably think I would be sick of getting out and seeing new places, at least in a car. For a few days after the 750 km trip with Peter, I admit I was loathe to get in a car for anything longer than a taxi ride to the opera house. But that only lasted a few days.

Reconstruction WITH satellite dishes

Ready to go again, Denise and I took a fun weekend in a town named Dilijan, in Tavoush marz (province) about 75 minutes north of Yerevan. An office friend arranged a taxi for us for about $80 round trip. The car even had seats belts in the back seat!

The guidebook and friends all promised a weekend of rest as well as great hiking (national park) and...you guessed it!...monasteries, especially Goshavank in the village of Gosh near Lake Parz. Beautiful autumn scenery, cooler temps (now down to 70 or so), clear air, history, hiking, AND it's a center for traditional crafts. Hog 

heaven.

The road to Dilijan is a national highway that eventually leads to Tbilisi, Georgia. Outside of the portion that serves Greater Yerevan, the road gets more narrow, the surface less smooth, and switchbacks up and down the mountains are common. The narrow twisting mountain road does not in any way impede drivers from passing on curves (I was thinking "These seatbelts are not going to be a lot of help if we  go careening over the side into the valley.")

Acorn season!

On the highway, on the smaller roads, and even on the town streets, cows wander pretty freely. We saw pigs and sheep doing the same for the first time. Chickens seem to know their way around too. The litter of piglets foraging for nuts was our favorite.

Large gas pipe along the mountain road

Something we see all the time was more noticeable during this trip. In this earthquake-prone region, the gas pipes are laid above ground. One sees them all over Yerevan, in parks, as well as along the roads and highways. Much of the gas comes from Iran, which maintains a friendly and very active trade with Armenia in everything from edibles to energy.

Mineral water fountain

At almost 5,000 feet above sea level, Dilijan has long been a favorite of kings, and later of rich people from across Transcaucasia who built summer villas here. Its forests, lake, 3 rivers and mineral springs drew people for rest and cultural events. Next year in 2013, a major banking and finance center will open here led by the Central Bank of Armenia. There is already an international school. Word has it as a motivation to move here to work, employers are offering that after five years you would own your own apartment. I might be in on that, how about you?

No sugar maples but lots of golds from the beeches and birches

We hit the fall colors maybe about a week beyond peak, but still lovely, so we got our Vermont on, doing the usual oohs and ahhs as we looked here and there. The weather was very cloudy, so at times the colors did not sing as much as at others, but we did get a little autumn satisfaction anyway.

Thick as thieves at the amphitheater

Traditional style small house

Trucks, cement mixers in the yard--on its way back?

On the ground it is difficult to imagine that Dilijan is going to be ready for all this activity in a year. There is, like here in Yerevan, a lot of construction underway (or abandoned--it is not always easy to tell if any progress is being made). But there is also a ton of obviously abandoned real estate and old spa hotels from the Soviet era when grand buildings and walkways were installed around mineral springs. There is an effort underway to rebuild walkways along the river and around a pond in the center of town. To be fair we visited at low season. I am sure things are hopping in the summer.

Hand-carving on the cello

We stumbled onto the Dilijan Museum where we were surprised to find two Rockwell Kent paintings side by side as well as a painting by Vilik Zarakyan, an Armenian painter we met in September on our walking tour in Yerevan (see September 17 post). I was also drawn to a hand-carved string quartet of instruments displayed on a beautiful Armenian carpet. 


We also visited a small folk art museum, formerly the home of another painter. Standing on the upper level porch of this old house, it was easy to imagine spending summers here, looking out on the river and up to the forested hills--before all the modern day construction took place. This is especially true if you just don't look at the hideous Soviet monument to the unity of the Caucasus (Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan) under Soviet rule.

Carved spoons

Baby cradle and carpets

A second museum of life in Tavoush province consisted of one very heavily furnished room that included very good examples of furnishings from the early 20th C.--from saddlebags to parlor games to kitchen items to a baby cradle.

Apple pie

During our stay at the Old Dilijan Complex, which is run by the Tufenkian Foundation of rug fame, we had perhaps the best food we have had in Armenia. Lamb stew with prunes and green beans, lamb stew with apricots, beef stew with pomegranates, a mushroom and apricot soup, orange and pear and bell pepper salad. There is a theme here that I love--fruit with everything else imaginable. Desserts are not overly sweet. The apple pie was a mixture of apples, raisins, cinnamon rolled in a light pastry and sliced into generous portions. From the dining room we could see ripe pears hanging on a tree in the yard next door. It all felt very localvore!!

Sliced wood floor in a shop

Part of this restoration is a "street" of handicrafts shops--a woodcarver, a potter, and a couple of other gift shops, one of which was filled with Grandma-bait, including a $150 hand-painted silk skirt (size 4) with an autumn theme, complete with crinoline. I confess, I thought about how much fun Mica Reed (Peter's oldest granddaughter) would have wearing that skirt and then decided (happily for my pocket book) that it would likely be too small for her.We ended up patronizing most of them in some small way and bought carved pear wood pomegranate ornaments for the Christmas tree from the wood carver.

Part of the complex is an Armenian Apostolic Church congregation, but at this time it does not look like a church until you get inside. The Old Dilijan Complex is part of the rebirth of Dilijan. They have done well architecturally in creating a very attractive space. My usual complaint applies here though--no good reading lights, no comfy places to sit and read. Good thing I took my head lamp.

A Special Invitation

Welcome to Nairi Zaryan School 130 and Teacher Appreciation Day! 

Make your teacher smile today!

Our friend Armine Tumanyan (of IWAY walking tour fame) invited me and two other friends from the International Women's Association of Yerevan (IWAY) to join her for a very special program today at the school her children attend. It was almost like being a grandma for an afternoon!

The STAR of our show: Arpie giving one of her lines

Armine's 11 year old daughter Arpie and her 6th grade classmates celebrated their teachers with song and skits performed for parents and teachers. In English! In addition to learning several songs, each student also learned several lines which they recited in turn.

Arpie claims they learned it all in a matter of days, but I am sure it took a little longer than that. The recitations and songs were accompanied by a slide show and music and supplemented by skits that demonstrated just how important the teachers are to these pupils.

They joked about wondering if their teachers were real people? If they wore pajamas at home and had families?

Spelling out T-E-A-C-H-E-R in mum arrangements!

Here we are after the show--with the school director and teachers with their beautiful bouquets. Like the teachers, we too received flowers and a special card made by a student, each with a quote about how important a teacher is.

In this school, which goes through grade 9, children study three languages from the start:  Armenian, Russian, and English. The emphasis in the early years in Armenian is on writing and reading, starting with the alphabet. The "a" classroom is filled with desks for very short people and colorful collages of their photos. They learn the entire Armenian alphabet and begin to read and write words and sentences in this year. In addition, they begin to learn to speak English and Russian.

Part of a collage of this "sunflower" class of 2012-2013

Everyone has a place on the letter "a."

Director Hovhannisyan graciously met with us in her office and gave us tea and special caramel candies after the performance. From left, Armine Hovhannisyan and IWAY members Surekha Dani (Mumbai), Armine Tumanyan (Yerevan), and Vilma Maria Hagan (Puerto Rico).

The director of the school, Armine Hovhannisyan, is a career educator, who began as a teacher in after-school programs and rose through the ranks to be director. She has led school 130 for seven years, starting with only 300 students. Now there are over 800 students in the very orderly and clean school.

Her commitment to the students and to her teachers is obvious in conversation with her. She is able to take the teachers on a couple of retreats each year where they simply relax and have fun together for a few days out of town.

They obviously care a great deal about all the children and this is reflected in how contented and happy the children seem to be. There is plenty of hugging and personal attention.

As a public school, school 130 is inspected regularly--or it would be more correct to say that the inspectors come to review paperwork. Director H would prefer that they go into the classrooms and see for themselves how the children are learning and developing. If for some reason the paperwork falls short, the Director must pay a fine--from her own pocket. But some citations are unavoidable. For example, the school received a donation of several pressed board desks from the government. But then they were dinged for not having desks that were all solid wood.

A "trout" in the making with scales cut from old CDs!

Still, Director H loves teaching and being with the children, watching them develop. She knows the names of every child in the school and is very proud of their accomplishments. When we visited the art room after the performance, we learned that this school won a big competition last year for creating "dragon" artwork from trash materials. This year the students (without teacher help) are already busy creating fish from recycled CDs, plastic bags, and other cast-offs.

Harout takes a shot!

We also got a glimpse of a very busy boys' basketball practice in the gymnasium, where two volunteers are helping the physical education teacher to teach the children the fundamentals. This is where we caught up with Armine's son (Arpie's brother) Harout, who was doing a great job of sinking the ball. And check out the shorts--Carolina blue! We might be able to recruit him to UNC-Chapel Hill.

In front of School 130

Our hostesses for the afternoon: Arpie and Armine--a beautiful pair!