Well hello, my darlings! I have missed you like the desert misses the rain! (Remember that tune from the mid to late 90’s? “Annnnndd I misss youuu yeaaahh”).
I had the great intention of writing a new post directly after the weekend, but it just so happens that frolicking in the grass barefoot until the sun goes down when you are on the back end of a cold is a terrible, terrible idea. I am not one for sickness, I can often be found boasting an immune system of equal strength as my astrological sign during cold season. So, knowing this, you might guess I am appalled at my body’s recent inability to kick a simple cold. Maybe it is the lack of understanding about how colds are passed here in Armenia, maybe it was all the cigarettes Friday night, maybe it is the frolicking barefootness – one will never be able to say. All I know is, I don’t have a bathtub to cry in over the ordeal while in the fetal position so as to cope, and it’s really beginning to wear on me.
I digress.
This past Friday was Teacher’s Day at school. Classes were cut short and school let out around 12:30 so that the teachers could all go home and get ready for the party. I have had my fair share of experiences with Armenian parties, so to an extent I knew what would transpire; I would be asked to toast, to dance, to eat a lot, and encouraged to drink amounts of alcohol that no other female Armenian would consider appropriate with my Director. In the meantime, I would be on call to give directions to any volunteer leaving the capital trying to find their way down to Vayots Dzor for the Wine Fesitval.
I was genuinely looking forward to seeing both familiar and unfamiliar faces over the weekend. I also had plans (for the first time) to cook a big brunch Sunday morning for both my friends and host family. I left the teacher party earlier to go get sassed-up and head to the nearby town where my fellow Club Yeg members and their guests would be awaiting my arrival. (Well, this isn’t exactly true. I may or may not have harassed my friend Chris with an overuse of vulgar language on the drive over with my host dad. Some might say the recent increase in my affinity for speaking vulgarly, because those around me do not understand a word of it, is becoming a slight problem). I had spontaneously cut bangs into my hair the night before and was anxious for positive attention. Mommy got what she wanted!
When we got home my family had the honor and privilege of experiencing my friend Phi. That’s right, you don’t meet Phi, so much as you experience her. They were delighted with her goofiness and fun loving nature – the same reasons we are such good friends. Where I am rough around the edges, Phi is soft, and we balance one another out well. We had a lazy morning and headed for the festival around one.
At the festival, I quickly ditched my host family so that I may be uninhibited. Also, my host father was getting a little irritated with Phi and I for not speaking in Armenian, so it was time to part ways. We soon found another volunteer and he acted as our tour guide for a short time. Afterwards we walked around, taking in all of the sights: impromptu Hikakhan dancing (Armenian style), the President’s body guards and car but not the man himself, and all the free wine a wino like myself could dream of. There were cheeses to taste as well, but something about the hot sun and warm white wine made the cheese extremely unappealing.
Later on, Phi and I eventually made it out to the field where the rest of the volunteers had gathered. I really have no idea who originally found this place, but it is was key. We had all the freedom to be our most ridiculous selves, and ya’ll know I took full advantage of this. The last couple of times I have spoken with friends or family back home, I’ve tried to explain the nature of these get-togethers. I know for me, one of my most regular and needed releases is unavailable to me in my daily life. What is this, you ask? Busting chops. Good lord. I don’t think I really understood how much this was a part of my personality. Even if I knew how to bust chops in Armenian, it wouldn’t exactly be appropriate. Essentially, all of this pent up sarcasm is near boiling over by the time I am with other Americans. And man, do I let loose. As someone whose life has been characterized by being, how shall I say this, a little odd – being ‘proper’ and ‘appropriate’ is seriously exhausting for me. I can only speak for myself, but I think this is true for everyone to varying degrees. Alas, the get-togethers.
Over the weekend I took a lot of pictures, did cartwheels and yoga as the sun set over the mountains, conversed with a good amount of people and in general had a really good time. In the past, my summers have had at least a few occasions similar to the wine festival, so being able to get one last lick in before the cold weather comes was absolutely worth the bad cold.
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