Life As A Returned Peace Corps Volunteer (RPCV): Stop and Smell the Roses

I returned to America close to four months ago... so... that's weird. 

I have been meaning to sit down and write ( process) the end of my service and re-adjustment for about 6 months now. Yet, unlike the first big adjustment at the start of service, returning home and re-adjusting was nothing like the fantastically foreign experience from 2 years prior, it was far more nuanced. I didn't feel like Dorothy in Oz anymore but I felt similarly exhausted, naked and exposed. I understood the words coming out of everyone's mouths around me, but felt that I was speaking another language and generally not understood. Again, there was no greater comfort than the voices (and eventual presence) of my fellow PCVs. I wasn't a stranger in a strange land; I was in the homeland and people felt more ridiculous, judgmental, ignorant and fearful than I'd left them. 

We were told to be patient with ourselves during re-adjustment, to give it and ourselves time. They reminded us that we were changed and while we might have some consciousness of our differences, they would be felt in a wholly different capacity. It was emphasized that while folks would inquire about service, they in truth didn't care to hear the entirety of your experience. All of these things have proven true and it has admittedly been an uphill battle to feel simply normal and good. A recurring theme in conversations that I've had with other returned volunteers is how re-adjustment has mostly just been a numb experience. Things that we'd expected to be awesome and amazing don't have quite the glitter and glow we'd imagined. In a way it feels like the same old same old from before we left - and it is. 

So, I want to again remind my fellow re-adjusting babies of some things.

You just accomplished something amazing and unique, don't forget it! The next time somebody casually says, "I don't think I could/would ever do that," bask in the pride that you did. In the midst of a low day, do something you could not while in service whether it's going to the movies, or choosing an intricate meal to make and taking your time in the grocery store picking out all of the ingredients. In the last few months I have been guilty of sitting around, doing nothing and feeling poorly about my current place in life many, many, many times. I even went so far as to ask my mother if people thought I was a loser... then I proceeded to tell our neighbor that I felt like one - to which she responded incredulously. Yet, it's hard not to feel like one when living back with your parents, jobless even when I just accomplished something amazing. 

If you feel like you need a vacation from your vacation ( if unemployed like me) go and take it. Call a volunteer that you feel knows and understands you well. One of the most frustrating feelings upon return is the continued isolation. After having been an outsider for two years, often misunderstood and or not understanding the things around you, to have this continue in a similar but much more complex way is rather difficult. Get out of the house and do something with yourself, spend time with friends, or simply make plans to go see friends. I know that this seems so obvious and simple, but it really isn't. If the disappointment that America, while insanely abundant in food and comfort, and comfort food, is somehow not the glorious thing you'd been counting down the days for - make it so. 

Remind yourself that you went without some of the simplest things for so long. Next time you're driving, remind yourself,  "I'M DRIVING! I GET TO DRIVE MY OWN PERSONAL VEHICLE WITHOUT BREAKING ANY RULES!" Notice how smooth the ride is, think about the (at times) painfully nauseating roads we've left behind. Then take a look down at your shoes, when was the last time you were worried about their cleanliness?! Remember the layer of dirt that practically covered our entire lives?! I absolutely love no longer being concerned with the dirt on my shoes, LOVE IT. Once you've smiled to yourself at this simple, yet amazingly liberating notion, take solace in the fact that you are an American surrounded by other Americans, who don't give a single fuck about what you're wearing (except maybe if you wore that t-shirt for the last 3 days - this, my friend, you need to change), how you style your hair, whether or not you live alone, what you do with your free time, and what member(s) of the opposite (or same) sex you may or not be having relations with. How awesome, so many things we no longer have to be conscious of!

Try to do as many anonymous things as you can in a week and take satisfaction in that. Do whatever it is you feel like doing but go out and do something.  Next time you're in the grocery store, if feeling overwhelmed by the amount of choices remember that you can try something new every. single. goddamn. time. It would take you months to try all of the different selections, realize this and rejoice in it. Go outside and lie down on a patch of grass in a park, do whatever you want there. The next time you buy beer or wine, or whatever is your drink of choice remember that we have this great selection of tasty alcoholic beverages (though, MY GOD, the cost of them). If you're on the job search grind and find yourself more and more defeated every time you don't hear back, take a step away from your computer for an hour. Go outside or to a coffee shop or wherever you feel best able to connect. Take note of your surroundings, of your freedom, breathe in deeply with your eyes closed and remember: 

For two years you were giving it all you had, making it work, learning to be okay when many things were not, constantly having to let major and minor irritations go because there was nothing you could do. Now, you are in a place where you can mold your life, your surroundings, your relationships, and your work into a balance that both fulfills and contents you. Deeply acknowledge what a great privilege this is, remind yourself of all the other folks without this. America is a great place because you truly can do, say, and think however you please. Make yourself happy and don't ever forget what you purposefully went without so that when it came back into your life, it would be that much more meaningful. 

And, also, you're beautiful, special and I love you. 

Kisses and such,

Carol 

Less Than Three Months ( I'm still turning 27 after 2 years)

Here I sit with my 2nd sunburn of the warm season feeling more refreshed and lighthearted than I have in months. Winter has a way of creeping into your bones and this winter was one of the harshest the Armenians have claimed to see in a while. Yesterday my site mate Lauren came over to help me do some spring cleaning. We moved one of the soviet hammocks out to the 'patio' which in reality is the roof of the wood shed and we then hung an actual hammock on the upper bars of this contraption.

A week or so after writing my last post, I was very seriously considering ETing (Early Termination to end Peace Corps service prematurely). For a full week I started to make my plans, make up my mind. It was yet another low point, yet another bought of the blues. The reality which I will return to had finally hit me, knocking me right off my feet, gasping for air. I've always had the safety net of at least two or three girlfriends still living with their parents in our hometown of Babylon, NY. Knowing that I had dear friends to spend time with during my transition period at home was always a huge comfort and relief. I could ease the embarrassment I felt at having to return home and the anxiety at sharing a roof (and rules) with my parents. It made me feel like I wasn't alone in my place, my path.

Yet, since having struck out for Armenia very much has changed in life back home. Sure, people are mostly the same but that moment of youth has passed entirely. In Babylon there is a small tendency to hold on to that moment, to linger in its sunlit caresses. Growing up near a beach and spending summers working around or near the beach or pool on the bay, a person unwittingly becomes attached to that feeling. A feeling nearly indescribable but for those who were there alongside me, they know. Perhaps it is akin to omnipotence or immortality. Ironically, here I am feeling more sentimental about my teenage years than I have in years (because let's be real I am not THAT old) and yet it has been more so during my time in the Peace Corps that I've become fully aware of my youth, the fact that I am young and I have so much ahead of me.

I left America two years ago, certain that upon my return I would have everrrrything figured out. I would have a man, a job and a vision for my life. I don't really have any of those things fully, perhaps pieces of them. I recall preparing to leave and writing a post about this age-anxiety, focusing on the fact that I would be 27 when I returned- 27!!!! My Aunt Jeanie commented on the post saying, "No matter what, you'll be 27 in two years", and she was absolutely right. Time is going on out ahead of us in a whirlpool motion and struggling against the current, against the natural flow is a fools waste of energy.

Things are going to be different when I return home and I suppose that was always going to be true. My brothers and my girlfriends were all going to move into the next phase of their young adulthoods. My fervent desire to return home early a few weeks ago was an attempt to not feel as though I had missed this passing moment, the change in seasons, the turning of the page. As a romantic I yearn for these moments of culmination. As I told my friend's mother recently, I rather enjoy feeling my feelings and respect ceremonious events when it is the time to sit and reflect - to feel all the moments come up to that one and then go on like all the rest. My realization that this moment had come and gone without me for so many of my friends and would soon happen with my brother, my childhood companion and best friend, was like a slap in the face. I wanted to run home and be there in that moment in an effort to prevent it from happening at all. As if watching him cross the stage at his law school graduation was going to make it suck any less when he moves to California a week later. As if we hadn't already both grown up and began to walk separate paths.

Ok, I'm rambling here and losing the thread in a bout of sentimentality. What I am trying to get around to saying is that I can acutely feel this page turning, I just didn't realize it previously. Being so far away from everyone after so long is only just hitting me. When I first arrived in May 2012 I felt so homesick and was very aware that I wasn't at home.  After 23 months in Armenia I don't think about it so much; I found a way to cope and I've been riding the wave, aware in a very objective way how very far away I am, how disconnected. Now as the time comes for me to return home I am again aware of the distance and the disconnect. It's a little scary and unsettling, I had thought ripping the band aid off early would abate the pain but I know now it's more important that I feel my feelings over here, just like I have been for the last two years. I still have the mountains, the long marshutni rides, the summer dusk and the love of friends that aren't so new anymore. Friends that are going to be the only ones who know what I'm talking about when I reminisce in the future.


So...I have been here for two full years... when did that happen?


Songs In My Head: Philip Philips- Gone, Gone, Gone
Mumford & Sons - Hopeless Wanderer

Coming Full Circle

Our first week in Armenia, a walk in the mountains!

About two weeks ago I said goodbye to the best friend I made in this country. It’s taken me this long to write about it as I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt, or really how I could articulate my feelings. The morning that we spoke on the phone and she knew it was her time to go, the conversation was fluid and easy. I remember cooking myself breakfast in the now warm kitchen. The night before I’d attended my very first Armenian wedding and had a rather obvious full-circle moment.

As you may remember my very first visit to Malishka was quite alarming. Looking back on it now I wouldn’t react to the same scenario in this country so severely, but the truth is I was scared. I was scared when I first arrived, intimidated by the idea that I couldn’t express myself – a strength and inclination I’ve had my entire life. I was scared that I wasn’t cut out for Peace Corps, that I’d made a huge mistake. In truth, that first trip to Malishka was terrifying.

Site Announcement Day

Anyway, my guide or host was a young woman unable to communicate well in English. She wasn’t even the person I was told I was going to be with that day. She was no one, as far as I was concerned – a random member of the community. Already I was skeptical of the whole situation and then she didn’t stick to the plan I was aware of, the one where I get brought to my host family that has been vetted by the Peace Corps. I knew there was somewhere I was supposed to be and where I’d been brought wasn’t that.  I didn’t like this, not one bit. I didn’t like not being in control. I didn’t like that I had to ride this particular wave.  And yet I had no choice but to ride it, albeit cold sweats and a minor panic attack. Peace Corps had gotten real; I was alone in the middle of bumble fuck Armenia dependent on the good graces of others and depending on the good graces of others is not a thing I’m known for.

A birthday party during training, summer 2012

Flash forward to approximately 20 months later, in a silk party dress I used to wear at bars as an illegal underage patron, shoes from Italy and a simple braid in my hair because the blow dryer broke in the most inconvenient of moments, I watched as this same woman entered the reception hall in her wedding gown. Without realizing it, I was attending her wedding party. All I had known was that the bachelor of the school, the 30ish blue-eyed man that always had the teachers in giggles was finally getting married. I had no idea that he was marrying this particular girl. I laughed for about 30 minutes straight at the irony.

Areni Wine Festival 2012

Of all people in Peace Corps, Phi was going to understand exactly how hilarious this situation truly was. I texted her saying “I’m at my kidnappers wedding” and even though I hadn’t used that term in close to two years, she knew exactly to what I was referring, responding, “HAHAHAAH OMG”.  The next morning I called her after seeing a curious post on a private Facebook group for volunteers. She was offering up her printer, which is the equivalent to gold amongst volunteers. The moment I saw that post I knew what was happening. Later we had the conversation I had been prepared for, the one where I tell her it was the right thing to do, it was time to let go. I was lucky in that my schedule worked out and I got to say goodbye to her in person.

My 26th Birthday

We laughed, we cried and we indulged in our favorite food and drink, all of our favorite past times. The day after saying goodbye to her I was tired and irritable. I went to a performance at the school and encountered my greatest nemesis, snarky teenage boys. They have an uncanny ability to get under my skin and that day was no exception. I walked out of the school feeling beaten up and battered and had a most defeating realization, “There is only one person left. There is only one person in this whole country that I can call to comfort me because Brian is gone and Marisa is gone and now Phi.” It was one of the loneliest moments I have had in my time here. Maybe I am greedy, maybe I should be happy that there is at least one person. And I’m sorry for anyone reading this thinking, “But what about me?”. I can think of a few others who are comforts but they are not Phi, no one can begin to fill her shoes.

The last two weeks have been difficult. I’m mad at Armenia for taking my friend away. I’m jealous that she’s already home. I am tired of feeling tired and beaten up and needy. Then I have days that I want to continue the battle in memory of her … or something. I feel motivated and invigorated, ready to finish strong for the both of us.  In so many ways I feel my service has come full circle. With Phi gone, attending that young woman’s wedding, the start of Spring and the National Poetry Contest on the horizon… my time here is wrapping up. Like Dorothy before she leaves Oz there is a sense of both relief and sadness, a love and a hatred of all that has passed, the hope that calm and serenity will come now that some questions have been answered, and home isn’t really home anymore is it?

Pretty soon I’m going to wake up in my old bed, to sounds and smells so familiar they are a part of me, and wonder if it was all a dream.

I Declare It Spring!

As I write this I'm sitting barefoot in the still strong but fading sun on the stairs outside my house. Frank, as per usual, is crying intermittently in an attempt to be held. All doors leading out are open to let the fresh air into the house. It is warmer in the sun than inside the concrete palace which I reside. I had officially declared winter over after returning from Italy but I knew there was still some volunteers suffering the harsh winter cold. After just returning from Gyumri, where the local volunteers claim the coldest site, I feel safe in making my declaration official. Granted, there are still dangerously icy sidewalks dirtied with snow up there but things are melting consistently.

The weather has finally broken here in Vayots Dzor and with it my mood has lifted. Today I spontaneously baked banana cherry bread. I have had this jar of preserved cherries since last summer and was never able to open it, then this morning violà!  Afterwards Frank and I relaxed in the sunlight together and have been doing so on and off throughout the afternoon. One of the less obvious reasons warm weather is so healthy for me is that I can still enjoy my privacy and separateness but at once feel a part of the community I live in. While I read, the sounds of two siblings playing in the dirt calling out to each other in Armenian while their grandfather sighs over his garden work fades in and out. It reminds me where I am, keeping me grounded here in Armenia

This weekend was a lot more relaxed than the last one. I wrote and then later removed the following post on Facebook:

No doubt the most eventful Valentine's (and perhaps Peace Corps) Day I have ever had. 8:57am urgent phone call from Lauren Michelle that our sitemate Rosie Jeffery's dog (who doesn't have FB and THIS IS THE MOMENT I WANT HER TO!) that she is watching while Rosie is in America, has been violently ill for 48 hours. Hearing the hysteria in her voice, without question I tell Lauren I'll come over. Out the door at 9:05, hoping to have all necessary belongings. Phone call from Liam Johannes about the National Poetry Recitation Contest while waiting for the marshutni (bus). The bus passes by full and I instead hitch a ride from some good samaritan that asks not a single question, not even my destination. Receive a phone call from Meg, checking in with me about Lauren and the pup. Arrive in Yeghegnadzor at 9:30am, walk to Lauren's apartment. Enter Lauren's apartment and see she has cleaned up all the vomit, quaratined the dog in the bathroom and managed to cut open her thumb in the process. I remove my jacket and shoes, grab Lauren's Peace Corps medical kit (because when you're someone's site-mate you JUST KNOW THAT SHIT) wrap and tape her thumb. After triaging, we are out the door at 10:07 and into a taxi with a garbage bag full of vomit covered blankets, sleeping bags, towels, (because the routine hand-wash in this situation is incomprehensible) a newly bathed emaciated puppy, an apple, almonds and a veterinarian in wait. Along the way, our taxi driver comes upon a car accident saying, "One minute, I'm gonna see what's up", (a loose translation of dialect). Turns out a large vehicle had flipped over and was sinking into a decently size frozen pond, having uprooted two large trees. Getting into Yerevan around noon we make the decision to grab red eye iced-coffees and a sandwich to split to go, BECAUSE WHO CAN GO THROUGH THIS WITHOUT FOOD AND CAFFEINE? Prior to arriving at the vet's I told Lauren not to expect our norm having been there before. Arriving around 12:45, the vet greeted us, finishing a cigarette in his office/examination room. He assesses the situation and informs us the dog has Parvovirus, a very dangerous and deadly virus. Due to the fact that I had been with the puppy ( and Frank) when she was originally vaccinated the vet spoke to me as though I was responsible for not having given the second round of vaccinations. The guilt weighed on me as Nali's 2nd round of vac's were sitting in my barren refrigerator. The vet begins to explain that everything he is doing, we too, will need to do three times a day for 3 to 5 days. As has been the go-to mode of operation in Armenia, you merely accept that this just is the way it's going to be - you laugh, because it's absurd, because- SERIOUSLY? The vet begins to administer 14 different shots to the dog while informing us that this is a very, very bad situation. Lauren takes notes as the vet explains to me where and how much medicine needs to be administered. During this process in his most casual manor, the vet accidentally sprayed Lauren with some of the medicine, laughing. Before leaving, on non-descript paper the vet wrote out the needed 'prescription' for the dog. Lauren and I leave, dropping off her laundry at the dry cleaners and then head to the ATM for some cash-flow. At this point, we again assess the situation and start planning out each sentence for the phone call to Jennifer Abeles, being the saviour/founder of this particular puppy. Sitting on a bench to eat our sandwich in the area outside the Opera house, Lauren begins to create a make-shift leash from our taxi-ride-emergency-throw-up-garbage-bags when I spot the Archbishop of our town (the most influential individual in our area), waltzing through the square. I point out Lauren's boss to her as she uses her teeth to rip open the garbage bag for the makeshift leash (supposed to be at work). I really wanted to take a nap at this point. Lauren and I were delirious in our laughter over the situation. After 15 minutes or so we headed to the nearest human pharmacy, after having asked some by-standers where it is located, and bought all of the pup's meds for around 10 USD. Before heading to our bus stop, Lauren and I made sure to take the pup into the supermarket for chocolate, something salty and some gini. We were happy to discover that the marshutni (bus) bosses were cool with the puppy riding along. Home at 6:00 pm to administer 6 shots (ourselves) while the pup cried like a banshee. We have 3 more days to go. Pray Jesus.

Care for a sick puppy- $100

2 Coffees and a sandwich- $10

1 puppy, 2 exhausted volunteers transportation home- $5

Feeling like true Peace Corps Volunteers- Priceless.

Jeez, even looking at it now I understand why people were complaining about the length. I ended up taking the post down after some comments I misunderstood and a long conversation with my brother about whether or not Facebook was the appropriate forum for such a story. We argued our points back and forth; he stating that if I was looking for an outlet, perhaps calling a friend would have been a better option and I understood his point. Another reason I took the post down was because two days later, more than 20 injections and a lot of suffering on the part of the puppy and the humans involved this 4 month old pup, Nali, died in her sleep. I didn't want to make the death of this dog a lighthearted Facebook/ Peace Corps anecdote. Also, the somewhat brag-like tone in the final sentences as the AMEX commercials was in no way a reflection of our attitudes. 

The experience of trying to save this puppy's life against all odds was a huge learning lesson in Armenian culture. We were lucky that the pup passed in her sleep, otherwise we were going to be responsible for euthanizing her. Two different Armenian vets insisted we continue the medicinal treatments, despite the fact the dog had a 20% chance to live. This would have never happened at home in the states. The veterinarian we met in our local town, Yeghegnadzor, was more open about how wrong he felt it was for us to intentionally put Nali down. He crossed himself saying, "This thing isn't done in Armenia, no one does this, I will not do it... if you want, leave her in the mountains." It was a hard thing to have the professionals in the room making Lauren and I feel like bad people for doing what we as Americans find more humane and reasonable. 

The irony in the vets aversion to putting the pup to sleep is in the flip side of Armenian attitudes toward domesticated animals. I don't want to sit here and put behaviors on blast without making it clear that there is a hierarchy of needs here in Armenia. Yeah, we have internet and electricity and cellphone service. Yes, a good majority of people have running water, but this is ultimately a developing country. Many Armenians can not afford proper health care, if any at all. Why would they even begin to give a shit about the animals around them that don't provide any source of food or income (aka cats and dogs)? The mistreatment of animals in this country is something every volunteer faces at one point or another. Some of us grow a thick cultural skin, feeling it's not something that can be changed. Others remain sensitive and make efforts to impress ideas of animals rights upon Armenians they are in relationship with. Personally, the issue of animal rights is something I want to leave alone. I care for my cat, really I love Frank dearly but after my experience with a sick animal I acutely felt how ridiculous all that we went through might seem from an outsider's perspective. 

Case in point was the reaction of my friends at school when I explained why my weekend was so terrible. "Oh a dog died?!?! Carolyn! I was worried there for a second!", and I knew this was going to be the case, so it didn't upset me. It's the reality of where I live and it is something I feel I must accept. I hate to sound so callous, but the truth of it is I feel most at peace as a volunteer when I surrender to the norm. The rock in the river flowing.

I am me and they are them and that is all. 

Seriously, only 5 more months left?!?!

For a while there I was thinking about leaving on a daily basis in a kind of cyclical manic-depressive-escapism way. (Don't care if that actually made sense). It wasn't good for me but I can't really say I'd been in a great place. Luckily though, I was not alone in my apathetic despondency. Depression this winter was at the very least less manic than last winter but just as affecting. Instead of feeling totally out of my head I just felt low... really, really low.

In general, my lack of writing on this blog is directly related to those feelings of depression. Not to say it came and never went away but when it left there was nothing much to say. Not only that, but I haven't been so closed in a long time. I wasn't writing because the things going on in my head weren't truly appropriate for this blog. Ultimately, I do answer to Peace Corps with what I say here and for good, understandable reasons. What I write can be easily misunderstood and misinterpreted and those two things are opposite of the Peace Corps 10 Commandments ( or 'Core Expectations'). Yet, I'm lucky to have friends both in and out of Peace Corps I can share my uncensored thoughts with, without harming my community or Armenia.

It's kind of crazy to think that the last time I blogged was before I even decided to book my plane ticket to Milan. When things got sticky in the fall I became totally focused on life after Peace Corps and was trying my hardest to get approval to leave a little early to attend a specific Yoga Teacher Training I had discovered in the Himalayan mountains. It took a while to find the one I was looking for, then there was some negotiating and around the time of my last blog post I was notified that my request had been once and for all officially declined. In retrospect it was good timing as the holidays were coming up and I had no choice but to forget about all that for a little while.

This year I hosted Christmas for some close friends of mine. I enjoyed picking out a fake tree and  decorating the house with some help. I did not enjoy when my pipes froze two days before Christmas, after the casual Christmas party ( that no one came to because it was freezing and we were all broke (( or so I tell myself)) and two days before actual Christmas. I am very grateful for the friends I do have though, as they helped to hold me and the holiday all together. Everyone was so good lending helping hands with fetching water, cooking, stoking the fire, gathering the fire wood, dealing with poo mountain and most of all keeping spirits relaxed and positive. Frank was even enjoying our company by the end of the four day affair.

It was the day after Christmas that I impulsively bought a ticket to visit my friend Caitlin in Italy. I had been holding on to a voucher from AirFrance that was about to expire and instead of looking into trips BLAHBLAHBLAH I simply booked my ticket and then notified my friend - because I've known her since Pre-K and BOOM, moves like that are totally okay! A few days later I traveled to Yerevan to meet with other volunteers and celebrate the New Year. I had a really amazing night, dancing with my friend David only how David and I can dance. My friend Chris came back to Malishka with me on the 2nd for a few nights. One night we almost died of smoke suffocation from my wood stove but HEY, we didn't and that's what counts. I also visited my host family for a very low-key 'Nor Tari' (New Year) celebration.

My lowest was after all of this. The sun had not shone in about two weeks and the temperature was staying between 0 and 15 degrees Fahrenheit. It was in that time I just felt empty, bored and despondent. I didn't have school and I didn't really have anywhere to be. I started writing in my 'ledger' at this point, a gift from a friend. The ledger is a daily account of my life's happenings. At first it was just about giving myself something to do and then it sort of took on a life of its own. Luckily, I soon discovered Beyonce's new album and I again had purpose in my life- to writhe around my living room as though I was the sexy goddess that Beyonce is. This helped to lift my spirits immensely until school started up again. I knew that all I had to do was to get through two weeks of school and then it was vacation time!

Not to forget January's 'Great Pet Caravan to Yerevan' where myself and Frank, two puppies, two kittens and two other volunteers gathered in a taxi to head to the veterinarian in Yerevan. Frank made me so proud on this day, so much so that when giving his name for his kitty passport (so that he can come home with me in July) I went with 'Francis Scott'. No, not after Francis Scott Key but F. Scott Fitzgerald. I have my friend Jenny to thank for that one. Either way it was an adventure and not nearly as stressful as I'd previously envisioned. After having that experience I feel confident about Frank's ability to travel to America!


Instead of writing another 11 paragraphs about Italy and how amazing and beautiful and sexy and comforting and invigorating and liberating and perfect it was in every single way I'll wrap up saying this: I'm going to make the rest of my days here count, savoring all the moments I have left. I'm going to try and keep my heart open, even when it hurts, especially when it hurts. I'm going to love Armenia and let it love me.

One of the Good Ones

A post about an Armenian that makes me feel like I can stay…

Admittedly, my posts have been infrequent as I find it difficult to put finger to key board and write happy things when I’m not happy. Winter has come and with it seasonal depression. I am homesick for my family (in all of their madness) around the holidays. I am sad that I will miss my niece’s 5^th birthday and it breaks my heart that she’s been asking me if I will come and visit her. Few people truly like winter and the constant roller coaster of emotions as a volunteer don’t help. Yet, today I am inspired to write about a person in my life who soothes my anxiety and makes me feel truly welcome.

Movsisyan in Siranush's house taken with Photobooth

The first time that I met Movsisyan (this is the name by which I know and refer to her but her first name is actually Satenik) was in Siranush’s kitchen during my very first visit to Malishka. I was having my first “ Oh my GOD, what have I done?!” moment as a Peace Corps trainee. The saint that she is, Siranush sensed this and ordered me to lay day and rest after an hour or so into our first meeting. When I finally summed up the courage to leave the room that was to become mine in a month or so, I headed straight for the kitchen. As I entered the kitchen, Movsisyan and Siranush momentarily stopped dinner preparation to welcome my arrival.

Movsisyan’s deep-set eyes examined me with a well-intentioned curiosity.  She reminded me of photographs of my maternal great grandmother with long salt and pepper hair pulled up into a tightly wound bun. Just as many other older women in Armenia, over the years she had collected a mouth full of shiny gold teeth. She pulled out a stool from under the table and ordered me to sit. She cleared an open space in front of me rearranging the surface crowded with peppers, tomatoes, onions, garlic, salt, pepper, sugar, coffee, miniature Turkish coffee cups and a large decorative glass bottle that I could only assume was filled with homemade vodka. Siranush placed in front of me a small cup of Turkish coffee, seemingly from out of nowhere.  I sat in silence, allowing the calm of the home’s hearth to wash over me in a dream like state.

“Do you like tomatoes?” Movsisyan inquired. “Yes, I like them very much,” I responded like a small child and not the 25-year-old woman that I was. “Good, because we are making a soup with tomatoes, potatoes and onions,” she stated. For the next twenty minutes I intently watched her prepare the meal with Siranush. Her hands moved methodically wielding the knife like an extension of her own body. Cutting boards are not something you can expect to be found in an Armenian kitchen. Using sharp knives half the size of an average utensil women hold the vegetable in one hand and cut with the other. Preparing food in this way comes so naturally that while I sat and watched Movsisyan’s hand, she stood watching me watch her. Every now and then our eyes would meet, her calm and piercing stare  reassuring me that I was okay and everything would be okay.

From the beginning I have appreciated Movsisyan’s ability to speak with her eyes. Not only does she speak with them, she analyzes, contemplates and understands with them as well. While I understand that this is true for most people she does it in a way that a spectator can notice. With all of the staring and looks that I endure on a daily basis you come to know all sorts of stares. The difference between a kind and a cruel one, one of judgment and another of compassion is evident. When she looks at you she is truly looking at you, drinking in all of your movements, expressions and reactions like a foreign cocktail. She swishes the combination of these things around in her mind deciding if it brings her pleasure or not. 

She was introduced to me as the family 'tatik' (grandmother) but I learned later that she in fact was not a blood relative. Armenians are quick to give friends family denotations whether it be ‘sister’, ‘brother’ or ‘grandma’ and ‘grandpa’. I also learned that Movsisyan was the ‘master’ (homeroom) teacher of the twin sisters Hasmik and Anna. She had been their ‘homeroom’ teacher since the third grade and the relationship is a different than that which we are accustomed to in America.  Your master teacher, if unchanged from the third until the 12^th grade becomes an equally respected, feared and loved figured as that of a parent. Movsisyan and Siranush became close when Siranush returned from her University studies in Yerevan during the ‘Dark Time’ to begin teaching Armenian language classes at the school. Being her senior by at least twenty years and an Armenian language teacher herself, Movsisyan took Siranush under her wing forging an invaluable relationship of trust and support.

I have forever felt grateful for both women extending this relationship toward me. Social politics at the school can at times be similar to walking a tight rope. One wrong move and then a long fall (hopefully) to your safety net. This past year at school has been particularly difficult for me in the social/political realm. A person whom at first meeting I was weary of has made a point of being an antagonist in my life. Details are unimportant but the presence of this individual is a thing I at once fear and dread. When things came to a head a little over a month ago it brought me to a new level of low concerning feelings of isolation and community integration.

In the school there is a small room tucked away on the second floor, far from the teacher’s lounge and Director’s office called the language cabinet. In it, the senior Armenian language teachers including Movsisyan and Siranush each their lunch, drink coffee, grade papers and socialize in there with the other language teachers. I have realized that when I first came to the school and Siranush told me to treat this room like it was a space for me as well that I wasn’t fully aware of the privilege that I had been afforded. This small cabinet has become my refuge in the school. It dawned on me one day that only Movsisyan and another elderly woman spent their free periods in there. It was clear to me that my counterparts did not feel it was appropriate for them to casually hang out in there, while that is exactly what I do.

As of late Movsisyan has been extra careful to make me feel included and cared for. If she is making herself a cup of coffee or tea, she makes one for me as well. If she has brought some cheese and lavash to snack on, she will make me a small wrap and tell me to eat. She never asks how I’m doing and yells at me when she doesn’t believe I am dressed warm enough. After being sick and missing school for a few days she inquired where I’d been and why I didn’t tell anyone I was sick because I can’t just let people sit around and worry that I’ve been stolen or got lost. All of these things combined have served to shine a bright spotlight onto Movsisyan’s kindness and her role in my life here.  To say it shortly, she means a lot to me and has been a huge influence on my time here. 

Movsisyan is one of the good ones and I love her for all that she provides me. 

Nothing But The Water

I have seen

What man can do

When the evil lives inside of you

Many are the weak and the strong are few

but with water, we'll start anew

Won't you take me down

to the levy

take me down

to the stream

take me down

to the water

We're gonna wash our souls clean

Take me down 

to the river

take me down 

to the lake

Yes, we'll all go together

We're gonna do it for the good lord's sake

I have fallen so many times

for the devil's sweet cunning rhymes

this old world has brought me pain

but there's hope for me again

Won't you take me down

to the levy

take me down

to the stream

take me down

to the water

We're gonna wash our souls clean

Take me down 

to the river

take me down 

to the lake

Yes, we'll all go together

We're gonna do it for the good lord's sake

I've tried my hand at the Bible

tried my hand at prayer

but now nothin' but the water

is gonna bring my soul to bear

but now nothin' but the water

is gonna bring my soul

to bear. 

Listen to "Nothing But the Water" by Grace Potter

Tsaghadzor

Hello my beloved followers, secret stalkers, lovers and friends. Yet another month (two!!) has passed by without a posting by yours truly. Just recently I was telling my Aunt Therese that I suppose I've been feeling uninspired as of late; that it just feels like the same-old, same-old. While that's true to a certain degree, it's not the entire truth. Before I update ya'll on thangs I'd first like to explain why I posted these song lyrics. 

About a month ago I had drafted this post, with these lyrics as you see them. I had just returned from my final All Volunteer conference in Tsaghadzor. The conference was scheduled over Halloween weekend so volunteers wanted to enjoy their time in the evening and this year a talent show was organized. For anyone who has known me for any length of time they will know how much I love performing for people, or no one at all it doesn't actually matter. Anyway, I never got around to officially signing up before the conference but I was in luck as not too many others had as well and the MC's opened up the floor for whomever felt inspired. I of course, could not pass down this opportunity. I hadn't prepared anything so I decided to sing the first song that came into my head. I also was inspired my friend Phi's performance (which you can watch here). The song carries a lot of meaning for her and while she was singing, the only song that felt appropriate to follow up with was 'Nothing But The Water' by Grace Potter. I strongly identify with this song and most of my family members and friends have already been forced to listen to it as I find it so powerful; but for those of you who have not please have a listen into the deep recesses of my psyche.

It feels a bit overwhelming to try and recount in great detail the goings-on of the last few months. There was some drama with my counterparts at the school but that situation was resolved and things are back to their usual  one part gratifying, two parts frustrating normalcy. Things that frustrate me at school are the general culture and atmosphere at the school. It's also frustrating that these things are still frustrating. One wants to believe that after being in a place for 20 months that they would become accustomed to attitudes and behaviors but I suppose some things are just immutable.

Frank in his spot.

I believe I mentioned previously that I was given a teenage kitty by my host father back in the middle of October. At first he was very scared and spent most of his time hiding under the bed or staying within five feet of my person. Now, 1.5 months later he insists on being held in some form or fashion at all moments of the day that I am not moving around (and sometimes even when I'm moving around.) It's heart warming to have this little animal be so obsessed with me. My favorite part about living with Frank is that each evening and morning he will crawl into the covers of my bed and curl up under my chin into my neck. I've had many cats in my life, but none that I've raised on my own and I've definitely turned him into the ultimate lover cuddle kitty. I like to complain about it to my friends but they all know how much I love it.

Thanksgiving crew

Once again this year I celebrated Thanksgiving in the southern most part of the country, Meghri. Last year we were at Tall Tom's place in a nearby village but this year my good friend David hosted us in his most energetically positive home. (Check out how close we were to the Iranian border here!) This Thanksgiving was quite possibly one of the most enjoyable in recent memory. David and Jessica planned a two day extravaganza of crafting and cooking. I was happy to arrive in Meghri a day early to have David and his house all to myself. I am not so sure that Frank agrees with this sentiment but I was sure to save him a kitty treat to serve him once returning from my four day vacation.

My metro stop

About a week ago my wood stove was finally installed. At the beginning of November my site-mate Elisabeth and I had purchased a total of six cubic meters of wood together. Her half was sent over to her nearby village of Shatin while the rest remained with me. At the time, I was still comfortable enough to have only my space heater on. Yet, just as in most of American right now- the last two weeks have been pretty chilly and snowy. I love having my wood stove but GOOD LORD is it a lot of work. I'm lucky enough to be familiar with starting fires in my parent's wood stove back in New York but I am working with the 1990 Toyota of a wood stove while they have a 2013 Cadillac. I am hoping that I will eventually get over the difference and learn to simply enjoy the fact that for the most part I am toasty and warm.

Marshutni ( in summer)

In other news, volunteers recently had a gathering in Yerevan to celebrate Christmas before folks started heading home for the holidays. It's incredible to me that this time last year I was at home, hanging out in my parent's hot tub imbibing all the best chilled white wines I could lay my hands on. I can NOT believe that was already one year ago. Throughout my time in Armenia it has never ceased to surprise me how fast time moves.

A bad decision

Anyway, the day after the party my other site-mate Rosie and I decided to travel back home together. Typically this drive takes about 2.5 hours and it takes around 30 minutes to get from the center of Yerevan to our bus stop. On my way over to the bus station it had been raining but by the time the marshutni (pictured left) departed there were already big fat snow flakes coming down at a good rate. I looked at Rosie saying, "It's going to be a long ride today." Little did I know that the particular marshutni we were seated in was in no way equipped to handle the weather conditions. The only reason we made it over the mountain was because after four hours a good samaritan in an Army Jeep towed us with a thick metal chain. The entire experience was at once exhausting, terrifying, hilarious and absurd. After 8 hours of traveling, I finally hopped off at the side of the road outside Malishka. Then I peed my pants, then once I got home I realized the power was out in the whole neighborhood, AND THEN I realized I had locked Frank's food and water in a separate room, explaining his erratic and disconcerting behavior upon my arrival home. Now, one might expect to cry in this situation out of frustration. I was in surivival mood though, making sure to change my pants, feed the cat and start a fire in the dark. Thank god for trusty flashlights! Just another day in Armenia, folks! You can read a more detailed account of our journey, written by Rosie here.

Saying goodbye to my dear friend, Marisa, a volunteer who ended her service early.

In other news: The latest winter fashion in Armenia is the classic peacoat. Half of the female teachers in school have recently purchased one and I'm glad to know that my trusty old grey guy has suddenly become fashionable once again. It's nice to wear something right once in a while.

Next On Carolyn's Blog: Christmas is Ruined!... It was a Christmas Miracle!!!

Shows I've been obsessively watching: Breaking Bad, Mad Men, Mob Wives and The Daily Show
A book I read: My Name Is Red by Orhan Pamuk
A Song I've been listening to: TKO Justin Timberlake

A quote: "I GOT YOUR DAD!!!!"