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 

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. 

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. 

Hard Times Come, Hard Times Go

At this point in time, I have about 8 months left in my service. It occurred to me when I was posting Facebook pictures of the Areni Wine Festival two weekends ago that it was the last time I would be there. It's highly unlikely that I will ever attend another Areni Wine Festival. At the very least, I won't be gathering in the Field of Dreams with several other volunteers as the high sun moves west. And so,  I feel compelled to make the best out of what’s left before the time gets away from me. Yet, the following post is not going to be about the things that I know I will come to miss. I want to give a voice to my experience of hardships as a Peace Corps Armenia volunteer. I do it because it is the thing least spoken about publicly. I do it because I think shedding light on the difficult parts of volunteering is just as important as shining light on the positive ones.

I remember during my application process looking at an acquaintance’s pictures of the beginning of his service in Kazakhstan. While Armenia and Kazakhstan are not direct neighbors, they are in the same part of the post-soviet world. I recall seeing pictures of a television, cabinets, couches and rugs and I thought, “Are you kidding me? That’s not Peace Corps!” I was under the impression that hardship meant living in a hut under an oppressively hot sun. I thought Peace Corps was bare feet and eating with your hands. I thought it was reading by candlelight and going weeks without speaking to family or friends. That was what I wanted, that was what I felt I needed. I saw service as something cleansing, a sacrifice of values and luxury to get to the heart of life's meaning.

I definitely didn’t think that Peace Corps was electricity, Internet, a cell phone, or pizza and beers. I never imagined that I would become more self-conscious about the state of my clothes and the possibility of being seen without make-up in the Peace Corps than I had been in America. I wasn’t expecting to become obsessed with having as much privacy as possible, as opposed to spending time with people in my community or host family. I thought my heart was going to open, not close.

The reality that your expectations, your hopes and desires are probably not going to be met is hugely disappointing, even devastating. When does this realization come, if at all? I can’t speak for others but my moment of realization happened about ten months into my service. I had been feeling down and out for quite some time. I had been feeling confused and lost. I was angry a lot of the time. I felt isolated and misunderstood by anyone who wasn’t a fellow volunteer. There was so much I didn’t bother telling friends or family at home. They read my blog, they heard some stories but they could not imagine what it felt like. When I spoke to people back home it was to hear their voices, to smile at my niece and hear her high pitched giggle. It was to have a sense of normality, if only fleetingly. It was to not be gripped by the anger or anxiety I felt the rest of the time.

The moment this storm cloud, so to speak, moved on came while I was walking the Border2Border route in the month of June. Maybe it came from the strength I felt in my heart and bones, lungs and legs. Maybe it came from the beauty I was surrounded by and experiencing all day long. Because even though I was still being stared at and I was still not being understood fully, I inexplicably felt free. I remembered what freedom felt like in my heart and my head. I had been in a prison of my own fears and disappointments. I had been holding on to the idyll I had so badly wanted before arriving in Armenia. Over the course of that walk I was able to feel present and centered again.

As soon as I was done with the walk, I called my father asking him to fly me home at the end of the summer. I knew that if I was going to get through Year 2 in one whole, happy piece I was going to need to spend some time at the beach, and at my favorite place on earth - Lake George. At first, I felt somewhat ashamed of my decision. I felt weak for needing to go home FOR A SECOND TIME. Yet, as soon as I landed and was with friends the shame was gone. When I returned to Armenia, I knew I'd made the right decision for me. Sometimes as volunteers we get so caught up in this reality that in many ways we lose touch with actual reality. We tolerate treatment and behaviors that we would never stand for at home, in the name of respecting the culture and being a good volunteer. Sometimes this is healthy and appropriate but sometimes it's not, and it is SO difficult to know the difference between the two. 

What's my point here? I don't really know. It's not to complain and it's not to gain sympathy. It's to shed some light on the parts of being a volunteer that aren't so easy to articulate. It's so that if someone where to come across this blog while they're in their service, they know it's normal to feel unhappy. It's normal to be utterly frustrated and overwhelmed with the cultural differences. It doesn't make you a bad person, it doesn't make you a bad volunteer. It makes you a human being living in a place that you're not from, a place where you are constantly feeling the need to explain your self and answer for your country. It isn't easy and there are days I want to quit. But I won't, because the whole point in coming was to learn to live with discomfort in a healthy way. It was to see what I was made out of, and what I could endure.

And well shiiiiit, am I getting a lesson.

...and then sometimes you take the marshutnit home from Yerevan after a long night and the beauty of the country takes all of it away. You smile, because you know there's still room to grow and to love. 

Song Of The Week: Gin Wigmore- Happily Ever After

"Welcome Home! Btw, you need to move..."

Dearest Babies, Lovas and Friends,

It's been so long since we last spoke! I know Ari had her guest spot, but I have not sat down to share with you a tale or two in a over a month. I haven't taken this long of a hiatus in I don't know how long! You must forgive me as I was busy giving Ari the good 'ole Hayastani tour, then frolicking in the land of gold and honey, THEN some very unexpected housing upheavals. I have been trying to find the time/energy/will to write you all since I have been back but alas, it only came to pass now.

So, perhaps you are such an avid reader that I need not remind you of what was going on at the start of August but I fear the truth of the greater majority is that you do not have any clue nor do you care. Alas, a quick recap is needed. At the start of August I was wrapping up the grant completion report for this past National Poetry Recitation Contest and gathering together a team of volunteers to create a committee for the 2014 installment. Unfortunately, about two weeks after the first committee meeting the team lost its most valuable player as she decided to end her service early. Luckily, I have been able to keep the ball rolling without her, even though it just isn't quite the same. Expect more about the 2014 National Poetry Recitation Contest soon!

My time with Ari in the last two weeks of August was absolutely marvelous. It engendered a completely new lens through which I am currently viewing my service. While there are difficulties and challenges faced on a daily basis Armenia truly has a special place in my heart. From the comfort and love I share with my host family, to the beauty of the landscape, to the taxi drivers calling me their sister upon hearing my Armenian there was much I felt proud to show Ari. All these things and more began to take on a new shade of meaning. The thing I appreciated most about Ari's trip was our on-going in-depth conversation about the culture here. We did many a thing, met many a volunteer and spent our final night together on the green patch of grass in Yerevan until 2 a.m. waiting for out flight times.

On the morning of August 28th both Ari and I boarded flights back to JFK airport. Unfortanutely, our flights were booked about four months apart and we did not have the same itinerary. After a day of time travel I arrived in my beloved NY and was picked up by dear friend Meagan. The first thought I had upon exiting the baggage terminal was, "UGH, the freaking humidity!". I had truly forgotten the oppressive nature of late August heat in New York. Without hesitation Meagan and I headed over to the most reasonable sushi joint in Babylon. I thought I'd be a pal and take care of the check as she'd driven all the way out to pick me up. Good lord! America, can we please relax with the cost of a dinner out?! Jeez louise. In the morning I was very grateful to spend time with my other dear friend Kaitlin. In the bagel shop I exclaimed, "OMG, KAIT! LOOK! THEY HAVE ARIZONA ICED TEA IN HERE!!!!!", all the other normal Americans in the place looked at me like I was on drugs. I think I embarrassed Kaitlin a bit but after a lifetime of friendship this is merely something she has come to expect.

Lord, I could tell you every last detail of my trip home but it would truly take too long and I don't want to waste either of our time. The highlights of my vacation were as such : a most perfect beach day on Lake George swimming with my niece Soleil; docking the boat before a storm like a champ; gurlfrands and brothers camping; a night cap at The Point with MK and 'firsty'; a most perfect beach day on Long Island with Regina; mani pedis with Momma; a night out in Babylon full of ridiculousness; yet another beautiful day riding the Cross Island ferry to CT; good times with cousins; a tasty meal with brother Andrew and sister Tess; kitty snuggle fest; motorcycle rides in the night and day; last meal in America with seriously tasty mussels; the royal treatment to end it all perfectly. Whew, feels good to finally get that all out there. In all honesty, it was the perfect trip home and I am so glad I made the decision to do it.

After waking up for my connecting flight in the Paris airport with 30 seconds before the intended departure time, I safely arrived in Armenia. I headed over to my friend Ashley's apartment in a small village which sits directly outside Yerevan. The next morning my host father Samvell called me. I thought it was a kind 'Hey- welcome back!' but I shortly realized his phone call was so prompt due to necessity. The family whose house I'd been living in was set to return to Malishka in approximately 5 days. He explained that I had that same amount of time to leave the house. I was on such a high from America that I floated through this process as in a dream. I felt no rush to return to a place that was no longer my home so I instead visited my friend Phi at her somewhat new place.

Five days later, my site-mate Elisabeth and I packed up the OBSCENE amount of shit I have gathered since being out on my own, then into Samvel's car and later his house. I have been living back with my host family since September 16th.  There was a house which I fell in love with which wasn't approved about a week and a half ago. I don't want to remember the beautiful balcony there because it only makes me want to cry. Yet tomorrow I finally get to move into my new place. I will post pictures as soon as it's ready!

Songs Of The Month: Sara Lov - Frankie
The XX - Stars

A Guest Writer! (Also, my first visitor)

Hey Babies! I hope you're enjoying your last licks of summer, soaking up those rays and shameless wet breakfasts. The following post was written by my dear friend Arielle Schecter. I asked her if she wanted to write a guest post as I thoroughly enjoy her writing and also because it makes me feel special to do so. I haven't edited or altered anything beyond adding pictures to the narrative; it's pure Arielle! I will update ya'll on other happenings next time. Meanwhile, enjoy a fresh perspective!

8/21/13

Church, Yerevan 

We were in Yerevan yesterday and the day before. I jogged across a tall bridge yesterday morning, over and back, over and back. I pretended in my head that I was an elite athlete training for the Olympics, hoping the gawking men would understand my fiction and be proud for me. I don't think it worked.

There's a park underneath the bridge where smooching young people go at night, but not too late. Carolyn tells me that women in Armenia are virtuous, or they're considered 'bad girls'. I don't think you're allowed to be a combination of both. The men all have tattoos on their thumbflesh webs indicating blood type - a souvenir from army conscription.

Lots of women wear high heels here. Carolyn admits this doesn't make sense in the villages, where the roads are bad, but they do it anyway. That's why the old women have smushed-up feet and backs.

Yesterday we saw a radiant pregnant lady in a white dress. She walked with her cautious-looking spouse through a park near the biggest church in Armenia. I got dizzy just looking at the arched ceiling in there. Carolyn got propositioned by an elderly gent who at first scolded her for taking photos of a janitorial worker. "I think they think it's shameful to do that to her while she's doing that kind of work," Carolyn explained.

Piano, Yerevan

We lit orange vigil candles in a side room and walked over to the park, where a man in a striped shirt made conspicuous circles around us on his child-sized white and red mountain bike. We didn't like that, so we left for an outdoor cafe near a giant wading pool guarded by a set of honking black swans. There was also a piano made out of fake grass. I bought my niece a coloring book from a vendor who shook his calculator at me when I failed to understand the 200-dram (50-cent) price quote. I think people assume I'm Armenian not because I look like one but because they're not used to foreigners. I'm getting a lot of practice for my smile-and-nod routine.

As the Clouds Roll In, Lake Sevan

8/22/13
It rained yesterday at Lake Sevan. We sulked in a tented cafe while Euro-pop blared from the speakers. I think I had five espressos. A fly-covered dog tried to befriend Carolyn, but she wasn't having it. "He's probably dying," she pronounced.

I've already broken my watch and dropped a towel in a muddy puddle. Things are going well otherwise. Carolyn picked a rose flower from her yard to put on the table alongside the almonds, coffees, and German yogurt cups. She's on the phone planning a poetry recitation contest for her students. She's already informed me that if we wanted to smoke cigarettes or have a glass of wine while I'm here, we'd have to do these things in secret.

Carolyn and Dog, Lake Sevan

There is a pear tree in Carolyn's yard, and also one with figs. There is a nice view of the garden from the outhouse doorway.

Judging by Carolyn's stickered pantry items, olive oil is nearly three times more expensive than sunflower oil. Tomato paste is a popular Armenian cooking ingredient; it comes in large jars. The water tank suspended over the sink is a great conservation motivator.

The requested imports of peanut butter and Papermate Flair pens are displayed prominently in the kitchen. I've never seen Carolyn as excited as she was when we found pesto in the SAS grocery store in Yerevan. "You don't understand," she enthused. "This is unprecedented." I smiled encouragingly. "And tuna!" she almost shouted. "Ari, they have tuna!"

(I asked Ari if she wanted to wrap-up her post; she declined. I can not leave the post in the middle of the highway...so...this is where I say "To Be Continued" and you anxiously await the next episode!)

Summer Unplug-ish

Well, well, well. My efforts to remove myself from the outside are and were not as solid as originally planned. I never expected that the grant report I was working on would require so much communication with my advisors and supportive friends. Unfortunately, my version of Microsoft Office is not compatible with the format and therefore I had to travel into the capital where our Peace Corps Office is so that I could put all the required information into the form. There were some other complications and hiccups, plus the beer at lunch time helped none for motivation. I ended up staying at a friend's for the night so that I could finish work the next day. Now, all I need to do is collect all necessary documents and receipts and send that bad boy in to staff. Yay for a completed project!! (In case you were wondering, this report is for the National Poetry Contest that took place back in May).

While to my great embarrassment I have been checking Facebook and gmail daily, then yesterday I spent two hours gchatting with girlfriends at home, I still have been getting things done that I sought out to do when the Unplug was planned. Most important among those things is spending more time with community members here in Malishka. One of my goals for Year 2 is to spend more time socializing with Armenians, not saving my social hours for Americans. It will also continue helping my language along. Speaking of, I have had a lot of funny language incidents recently.

One came with my little boyfriends who will be in the 5th grade next year ( they have the naivete and energy of boys entering the 3rd grade in America...). My neighbor's son Tigran will come over my house nearly everyday and occasssionally his friend Eric will join him. They enjoy using my electric fly swatter and playing 21 questions. Typically, once I shoo them away they will come barreling up the stairs one last time, just for the thrill of getting yelled at when they reach the top. Once they're really on their way out, they will break roses off the bush in my front yard and shoot them into the kitchen window with Tigran's hand made bow and arrow; which I might add, is pretty impressive...now making me suspicious of who actually made it...anyway, I digress.

The boys love to meet other volunteers who come through town and were particularly infatuated with a boy from Chicago for his desirable good looks (blonde haired, blue eyed boys are admired by all for their Caucasian beauty) and athleticism. Last week, when Eric returned from a little vacation with his family, he and Tigran came for their usual visit. I hadn't seen Eric since the Border2Border team was staying at my house so we had a lot of catching up to do.

But first, a quick lesson in language. In Armenian, if you want to indicate that a person or thing is in a certain location, you add "oom" (ում) to the end of the place. For example, if I wanted to tell my family that I was in Yerevan, not Malishka I would say: "Yes Yerevanum em, hima. Malishkaum chem." (I am in Yerevan, now. I'm not in Malishka). Ok, hopefully you can understand that. I will now give a transcript of my conversation with Eric.

Eric: "Ms. Caroline - do you have a place in Chicago?"
Me: "In Chicago?" (Having not understand that 'chikagoyum', pronounced with a hard 'ch' sound instead of the 'sh' Americans use, was indicating in chicago, thinking instead that it was an object).
Eric: "Yea, you know - like your friends."
Me: "Uh, I don't know Eric."
Eric: "UGH, IN CHICAGO, DO YOU HAVE A PLACE? IN CHICAGO!? IN CHICAGO?!"
Me: "What is this word, I don't know this word 'chikagoyum'... what is it, can you explain?"
Tigran: "ERRRRIIIC, she doesn't understand. But she's from New York."
Me: (Beginning to pick up the gist) "Eric, are you asking me what state I'm from?"
Eric: "Yes. No. I mean, do you have a place in Chicago!?"
Tigran: "No, my brother, she is from New York. Her parents live there."
Eric: "Yea, brother, but does she have a place in Chicago?"
Tigran: "Oh my god, Eric, you're an idiot."
Me: "Ok, Eric, say this word again I will find out what you mean."
Eric: "Chi-ka-go-yum."
Me: "Alright, I'll ask someone."
Tigran: "Ms. Caroline, did you call Kevin yet? I want him to bring us an electric fly swatter like yours, so call him - okay? OKAY?!"
Me: "Yea... I don't know Tigran, maybe. Alright, goodbye youse, I have work to do."
Tigran and Eric: "AAAAAAAHHHHHHH GOODBYE( in English)!!!!!!", as they run out the door and down the stairs.


The next day I met with my student, Christine, who will travel to Texas on August 5th to stay and learn for one year in an American high school. I wanted to take her out for ice cream in Yeghegnadzor and catch up on lost time. If you remember, this is the Malishka gem that I've referred to in the past. She's incredibly intelligent and mature. Even though I am ten years older than her, I admire her in many different ways. On our way back to the village, I remembered my conversation with the boys and decided to ask her about what it meant. As I was trying to remember the exact way that Eric had pronounced it, I ended up using the soft 'sh' that as Americans we use in pronouncing Chicago. The moment it left my mouth, I realized the misunderstanding. Together, Christine and I laughed at this very simple word that got seriously lost in translation.

A couple of days later, my gas tank (with which I cook) emptied. I called my host father Samvell to take care of business, as he so loves. A few hours later he and his friend showed up, took the tank, called the electrician about my dying refrigerator and headed into town. They returned less than an hour later and then took me over to the host family's to do laundry. I was unexpectedly and pleasantly surprised to find Siranush's mother, two sister-in-laws and their beloved family friend Shushan all sitting around the table. I had arrived just in time to be fed (which, lets be honest, is always the case). I didn't realize how much I'd missed tatik's (grandmother's) cooking. When I was living with the family she'd come over a few times a month and cook us a meal. I haven't had her cooking since probably March. She was just as excited to see me as I was her, heating up the food and setting me a place at the table. She didn't sit down until I was totally situated.

Over the next two hours, I sat listening to the women laugh and trade stories. It reminded me of sitting around the table in my Nana's house in Rhode Island as a kid with my cousin, Sara. My mother and her sisters would relish in the company of one another. Sharing stories about their husbands, laughing so hard they cry, reminiscing about ridiculous times from their youth and just like the women at the table in Siranush's house forgetting for a while that they had an audience and talking about...adult subjects. It has been a long time since I sat around listening to my mother and her sisters laugh with one another. It didn't exactly make me homesick, as I simply felt grateful to be a part of a sisterhood like that once again.

It's moments like that when I forget that I am not 'one of them' and feel at home. It's moments like that, when I can see and understand why I am who I am. One of the things I appreciate most about being in Armenia is the very different colored lenses through which I am able to reflect on my life. In general, I am very introspective and reflect on all things that occur in my life, good or bad. I try to understand them fully and intricately. Often times I will be in the midst of a moment or experience here and suddenly memories will come to me, things that I have not thought about in forever. Not that they'd been forgotten, but that they had gotten lost in the mix of things. Generally, they are positive memories. Almost always the thought following the memory is something along the lines of, "God, at that point in time, I would have never imagined my life where it is today. At this table, with these women, in this language, and me - 26 years old. Ha. Weird."

I will continue with my unplug as planned until the 1st of August. Now that the bulk of the grant report work is finished I can sit back and relax. I picked up one of my favorite books, Forever by Pete Hamill, at the Peace Corps Office so I have something to occupy my time with. Some of you should expect letters in the mail, as I have been writing more of those than usual.

Alright my babies, back into my bubble I go. Tell yourself I said, "hi". Then, go buy a nice bottle of dry Sauvignon Blanc and drink it on my behalf. Stare at the stars and moon, and know I do the same every night.


Lovers youse

p.s. Can you (Phil, Crystal, Mom, Dad) give my baby Soleil a kiss for me? Tell her I miss her to death.

Summertime And The Livin's Easy

Hey There Beautiful/Handsome!

I hope you got your groove on just as I did this past 4th of July. The celebration with my site mates this year blew last year's out of the water. That probably has to do with the fact that we got to call all of the shots. Elisabeth and I put together a traditional American style BBQ, complete with tasty cheeseburgers, pasta salad, beers, chocolate chip cookies, watermelon and my first ever brownies from scratch. I thoroughly enjoyed both preparing for the get-together and the time spent with my site mates - new and old.

Last week, the three volunteers that will officially become Peace Corps Volunteers six weeks from now and then move to Vayots Dzor (the region of Armenia in which I currently reside) were here for four nights. If you have been following my blog since its birth then perhaps you remember my 'site visit' to Malishka. It was the first time Peace Corps felt real, and my first experience without the Peace Corps training wheels. Site visit can be many things, but my current site mates and I made it a point to insure that the new volunteers' visit was memorable in a positive way. Hence, the BBQ Liz and I planned together. After stuffing our faces and sharing a few good laughs, we sent the newbies on their merry way and Lauren, Liz and I got down to business. And by business, I mean a well needed girls-only dance party.

The next day our honorary PCV, Lucy (a Fullbright) came down to stay with Liz and I for the night. She and Liz put together a nice pasta dinner with a tasty homemade alla vodka sauce, the first I've had since being in Armenia ( or possible ever, I don't really think I've ever had homemade alla vodka...). Afterwards, we watched 'Grave Encounters' in the dark, dead of the night. It was both hilarious and thrilling in that thriller/suspense way only bad scary movies can be. The next morning I helped Lucy get on her way down to Kapan. She is in the process of seeing what she can of Armenia before ending her time here and heading back to America. It's been a delight having her here during my service and I look forward to meeting again Stateside.

Later that afternoon, I left Liz at home to meet up with the newbies and my current sitemates. Together we headed down to the river outside of Yeghegnadzor. There is no direct road down to the river and on our way there we had a few hiccups. The final one, was my, Lauren and Rosie's attempt to wade down the river with our backpacks on. Considering I had my speakers and good headphones on me, this maybe wasn't the most well thought-out idea. A half hour or so later we finally met the guys down near the bridge where there is a place to sit around and lounge. Lauren and I decided to get in the water and go for a little swim. She suggested that we ride the current downstream and see where it took us (as least I think that was her suggestion). Lauren is from Colorado and has had far more experience with rivers than oceans, where I am the opposite. Before I knew what was happening I was being pulled quickly downstream. Luckily, I do have faith that I am a strong swimmer so I didn't panic. Yet, I can easily see that having gone in a much worse direction had I not the faith in myself as I do. That shit was no joke!

Good lord! Do I trust the ocean, know the ocean and miss the ocean with all my heart. Sigh.

That same evening, back at home, Liz and I had laid down for bed with a movie on. Around 10:30 she stepped outside for a pee break and heard someone coming up the stairs (but couldn't see him). He heard her and they both stopped. "Carol?", he called out. She came scampering inside saying, "Carolyn - there's a man at your house!" So I ran and grabbed my coverup, then went outside with a hammering heart. "Alo?" I called. "Carol?" my landlord responded. While I was able to exhale, it was still a little disconcerting and took me a second or two to regain my senses. I continued down the steps and asked him what was up. "Look at the bees!" he declared. A week earlier, it had become clear that some bees had made a hive in the outdoor couch downstairs. That evening he had come over to kill them. The hive was about a foot by a foot. An hour and a half later he called for me again- and very proudly presented the massacred hive. I went to bed happy that I no longer had a bee problem nor a man-killing-bugs problem.

The very next day was a children's holiday here in Armenia called Vardavar, or "Water's Day". Essentially, children spend the day outside dousing each other with buckets of water. Last year I did not participate in the festivities - and no I don't have a good reason. But this year - I had Liz with me to join in on the fun. For about an hour we played with the neighborhood kids. I had a really good time and am glad that I let my hair down for a day with the kids.

Tomorrow I will go to Yerevan for yet another, lovely, Peace Corps training/conference. Then on Saturday I will spend the day with my beloved Brian Bokhart, before he leaves the country for good. I am going to miss him to the moon- but more on that next post. My eye lids are beginning to shut and the bugs are driving me crazy!


Songs Of The Week: 'The Sun' The Naked and Famous
                                  'Back To Black' Beyonce & Andre 3000

Quotes Of The Week: "MARIAH!"

Border2Border Part III: How Do You Say Hostess In Armenian?

That is the question I asked my host mother Siranush, as I continued to kill time at her house - hiding from my guests. I am lucky to have someone like her, because nearly 100% of the time our natural ability to understand and communicate with one another always leads to the word I am seeking. Our conversation went something like this:

"Carol-jan, are you hungry?"
"Yes, very much so."
"Sit down, I made your favorite."
"I love you Siranush."
"Oh, Carol."
"So, I have all these people at the house right now. What does that make me?"
"I don't understand you."
"Ok, I have guests, right? So then, I am...what?"
"Carol, I don't understand."
"Ok, ok. When you have children you are a mother, when you have guests you are..."
"A hostess! Hahaha, oh Carol-jan."
"Yes! This word! I am a bad hostess."
"Ha, carol, carol, carol. Why are you bad?"
"Because, I am always trying to leave the house."
"Ahhh, whatever. Sit, relax, eat your lunch and take your time. Let them work in your garden for five days - who cares? Come here everyday."
"Yeah, I probably will."

Brotherhood (Malishka)

   The morning of June 20th, I departed from Sisian and soon arrived in Malishka. Once home, I realized my landlord had turned my water off. I called him, he said he would be over in an hour...that turned into four. Meanwhile I walked in circles around the house, throwing away the food that went bad in the refrigerator because it had turned itself off at some point.  I was smart enough to leave myself some eggs, but didn't have much of an appetite. I decided to finally do some redecorating in my living room, pulling out letters, postcards and pictures. I thought I would make something pretty in my free time before the group's arrival.

The next morning was pretty rainy and cloudy. I was happy to be in my house, and not out there battling the forces of nature. Without much thought I sent a text message to Lauren, letting her know that if the group wanted they could come a day early. I was thinking that two nights with everyone was 100% doable. A little later she called me, and asked that I check weather. It was around 10 a.m. and they hadn't yet moved from the so-called shelter of an abandoned building they sought the night before. The forecast wasn't' looking too good for the next day and a half. I jokingly mentioned that it was going to be 80's in Malishka the next day. I told Lauren to let me know what they were going to decide. About a half an hour later I got a phone, explaining that while they 'weren't proud' everyone wanted to come to 'Florida'. ( I secretly believe that their missing of me was too much to bear, and the weather a convenient excuse).

Do you not realize I have a knife in my hand?

I called my host father, Samvell, to help me figure out how to get taxis to the middle of nowhere and back to Malishka. Without a moment's hesitation he decided that together we would go rescue my friends from the rain. A little while later we were on our way with another car in tow. They turned out to be an hours drive from my house. Once we picked them up, we stopped in the town of Vayk (where two new volunteers are bound in August!) to grab food stuffs.

Meg is a boss.

Kevin plays human knot with my babes!

Once in Malishka, I promptly began politely barking rules. No shoes in the house; wear these shoes in the out house, smoke outside, smoke outside and use this ashtray, no luggage/clothes/dirty socks/
basicallyanythingbutmyshitandyoursleepingbags in the living/bedroom; if you cook you don't clean; if you're not cooking or helping to prepare the meal you better be doing something useful; we do not fall asleep with the t.v. on; limit your peanut butter intake; morning voices until I say; there's organic and non organic trash- do not confuse them; this is the pee bucket- do not cook with it...and so on and so forth.

First dinner on the 'patio'.

After everyone was fed and beveraged, I took off for my host family's house. They'd told me a letter had arrived while I was gone. I love receiving letters and it was a convenient excuse to escape. I told everyone I would be gone for 30 minutes, I returned 3 hours later. At my family's I caught up, told them how I wanted to prepare for B2B in Malishka. Samvell and I drank his wine, and then he remembered the letter. When I looked at the return address my draw dropped. I had forgotten writing this individual at all. I crumbled up the letter and put it in my pocket. Samvell gave me a funny look, and gestured ' What the f?' I laughed, and explained I wasn't ready to see what was inside.

I had purposefully left my phone back at the house so no one could call me while I was gone. Once I waltzed back into the door, the gang was already laying down for bed. I informed them that I had a letter, grabbed a cigarette and shut the front door behind me. Afterwards, I crawled into bed with Lauren and began reciting lines from the letter. "Dear Carolyn," followed by insane laughter.

Putting the boys to work.

The next morning I woke at 5:30am and decided this was an opportune time to clean and organize all the packs, hanging the wet tents etc before anyone else got up. About two hours later Lauren and Kevin woke up and enjoyed the last of the American coffee my dear cousin Regina had sent me. We had a full beautiful day ahead of us and that afternoon Kevin, Jesse and I worked in the garden gathering berries, clearing a patio space and loads of other things. That evening we enjoyed our first meal out on the patio, then later prepared the berries to be turned into wine. I had quite the time mashing them up with my feet. When the boys and I decided to embark on the endeavor in the early afternoon, I had no idea what a long process it would actually end up being. Hopefully in a few weeks I will report that it was worth all the effort.

B2B in Malishka!

The next day, the gang left to teach in Vayk early while I stayed behind. I wanted to clean the house again, bring laundry over to my family's house and shower there as well. Once back in Malishka, the team headed to the river for some swimming and I stayed behind to begin preparing dinner. I had been looking forward to making them cookies and eggplant parmesan since the beginning of B2B. The next morning, we had the Malishka edition of Border2Border. Our Peace Corps Country Director came out for the day to watch and visit my village. We had a huge turnout and it was so awesome to see all my little babies again. I had four of my most responsible girls come and be our team teachers, and it was great to see them as well (two of whom are my host twin sisters). Afterwards, Siranush invited us all over to the house for coffee and treats, which in the end turned into a full blown meal.

From Left: Hasmik, Tsoghik, Me, Anna, Christine

It was only then that I took a big sigh of relief. My part was totally done! Now, I could just lean back, kick my feet up and watch. The next day the team in the North arrived in Yeghegnadzor. Again, I let the group go ahead as I wanted some decompression time to myself. I met them all for dinner a few hours later and was elated to see some of my closest friends for the first time in over a month! After dinner, we all grabbed some food and headed back to the house. I had switched up some of my guests, taking all my best friends from the North Team into my home. The end of their route was rough like the beginning of our route had been.

South Team and my family.

The next morning we set out for the finale. The teams taught (sans yours truly) together for the 87 kids that showed up that day. Afterwards, we had a small get together at a nearby restaurant where we watched a slideshow of all the pictures that had been taken. Everybody was pretty tired, so we all headed home to relax shortly thereafter.

I must admit, the end of B2B felt anti-climatic. I was so focused on getting things together in Malishka, and staying in one piece (peacefully) while hosting six people for a week that the 'finale' seemed sort of irrelevant. It felt like the whole shebang wasn't done until my eventual return back to site after going up to Yerevan for Site Announcement. Site Announcement is where the current trainees learn of their permanent site. All current volunteers go for the big announcement and then hang out afterwards.   It was great finding out who will be joining our little Club Yegh family come August. We are getting three new volunteers, a young man and woman, and an older woman. It'll be interesting to see the ways in which the dynamic changes...


Yay! I am done! It is done! A huge thanks from the soft part of my heart needs to go to Siranush and Samvell (my host parents, for all the favors they do with nothing asked in return), Phi ( my unwavering source of love and support),  Brian Bokhart (kisses when I ask), Meg McGinty ( Irish twin sister, agape love), Marisa Mitchell (nobullshittoughlove), David Corsar ( garden talks, dance raging, reading my mind ALWAYS),  and most importantly Andrew Rodga ( the voice I need at 5am).


And now, let normal life resume...

Border2Border Part I: Hitting The Road to Kapan

Note: Due to the fact that there is SO much to say, I have decided to split the post into three parts. This is the beginning.

Babies! Lovas! Oh, how I have missed thee! I must admit, most of you were not on my mind throughout the last month, as Border2Border literally took over my life. Although, there was one person on my mind the whole time. My walk was dedicated to my dear, life long friend Kaitlin. At the moment she is facing her own challenges with great strength and courage. Throughout the walk I was wearing the necklace that she made for me prior to leaving for Armenia. Every time that the I wanted to stop, that I thought I couldn't take another step, I reached for the beads around my neck and carried on. I made it through the walk and then some; I know she will do the same. I love you, babygirl.


   So anyway, we last left off with me a mild nervous wreck, butterflies in stomach as I awaited the arrival of the girls. Together we rode six hours south, arriving in Meghri around dinner time. The car ride was beautiful and once in our final destination the temperature difference was apparent. It was as though we left late Spring and entered full blown Summer. My dear friend, David, was gracious enough to open his home up to my teammates and I. We were at his 'Summer House' for two nights preparing for the walk ahead. David participated in Border2Border as well, but walked in the North. We had our final showers, hot meals and rest before gearing up for the three week walk ahead of us. On the final evening in Meghri, my anxiety levels were at an uncomfortable level, so I did the right thing- and began my yoga practice. David's home has a second story balcony/porch that overlooks the mountainside, facing west. As the sun burned itself into evening, I flowed like I haven't in months. I feel it was David's existing energy in the house that facilitated such a practice. I love you too, babyboy.

      Alright, there is one more shout-out to get through before I get to the walk itself. Next is my dear Aunt Therese. Before leaving for Armenia she took me out to a nice lunch and then insisted we shop around. She wanted me to pick out something that would without a doubt become handy. We entered this quaint, overcrowded shop full of pretty little hand made things. It took me all of 5 minutes to find the glass case of mahogany dyed leather bound journals, and all but 30 seconds to know which one I wanted.

This little guy kept me sane throughout the walk. You're a doll Auntie Therese, I lover you!

      On the morning of June 7th after a sleepless night, we set out for our first teaching site in Shvanidzor. Due to Iranian border restrictions we were unable to walk this length of the route. It was surreal driving along the fence that separates the two countries, as a place that was once only a name on the television became a mountain-scape before my eyes. Once in Shvanidzor, Tom Cyrs helped set us up with the school. Our first day of teaching was a great success and around noon we headed out with six students for the hike ahead.

       For the next 6 hours we walked at a relatively steep incline for 17 kilometers (10 miles), heavy packs weighing us down. This walk was, at least for me, the most difficult of all. Most of the time I was with Meg and her dog Mia. At one point we felt totally alone and decided this was a good opportunity to play the screaming game. The point is to see who can yell the most powerfully. We were enjoying this challenge, until a group of roadside workers came scrambling along the road. They thought we were being murdered; we explained we were weird Americans playing a game. They then invited us to a 'chill' spot where we could rest and drink some water. We naively assumed it was a legitimate establishment, but it really just ended up being their truck and a blanket. We got our water bottles filled and got out of there.
      Just at the point of exhaustion, we made it to our destination for the evening. We stayed in the 'dacha' (Russian for summer home), of a previous volunteer's family. A little old lady who lived up on a hill had been awaiting our arrival all day. She  served us tea, bread and cheese before we all passed out for the evening around 8pm. The next morning we got an early start around 7:30. It wasn't until 3pm that the estimated 23 kilometers (14 miles) had been walked. The only problem was, we were in the middle of nowhere and not the village of Tsav. After everyone got a turn at the map, it was clear that we had been marked to the river Tsav, not the village. There were another 3 miles to go. Nobody was happy about this turn of events.

      Once in Tsav, our spirits were lifted by the hospitality that awaited us there. We were welcomed by the Mayor and a woman associated with the school we would be teaching at the next day. The school's neighbor saw our arrival and decided to feed us. She brought us jarred sauce, fresh cheese, greens, mashed potatoes and bread. That night we slept on the floor of the school's gym. In the morning we woke to teach the kids. One little baby, Tigran, became my new best friend. This sweet little four year old hung out with me all day as I taught, took pictures and did whatever tasks needed doing.

After teaching, Kevin arranged for a bus to take us about 10 kilometers outside our next destination, the city of Kapan. During the downhill we kept focused on the cold beers, hot pizza and the showers that awaited us. There are three volunteers in the city, one of whom happens to be a close friend of mine. Marisa is the 65 year old version of me. She says what she wants, how she wants, and pulls no punches. What most people don't realize is that she is as authentic and loyal as it gets. Once she loves, you're in forever and stay that way. I am lucky enough to be one of those on the inner circle and got to have a nice bed all to myself while some of my other teammates remained on the floor with another volunteer. I practically collapsed onto her floor when I arrived at her apartment. While the first walk was the hardest, after this third day of strain my body knew it could shut down and sort of did so. It was close to 45 minutes until I could move myself to the bathroom for an hour long shower. 

    The next day we taught in Kapan at the American Corners. After another night of luxury, we had a short walk to the nearby town of Syunik. There we were greeted by singing children, a traditionally braided bread with dipping salt, and our most hospitable director of all the sites combined. This man was jovial, charismatic, and welcoming. It was our biggest turnout yet, and the first time we got to do the environmental bottle project ( empty plastic bottles used to create plant pots).

   As we were leaving the school to head back towards Kapan, a woman and her two daughters invited us back to their house for lunch. This is very common in Armenian culture. They have this incredible ability to go from a normal average day, to the most amazing hosts you could imagine. They don't begrudge the lack of notice and take great pride in the hot food and strong drinks put on the table. We had a wonderful lunch with this family, and left with a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of homemade. To say the least our spirits were soaring high on our way out of Kapan. 

In my mind, this is part one of the trip. It is more vivd in my mind than the middle and took a lot more out of me physically than any other part. A huge thanks to David Corsar, Marisa Mitchell, Terrance Stevenson and Tom Cyrs for making it all possible. You guys are gems :)


Memorable Quotes: 
"Your demon voice lacks a certain baritone."
"Himself."
"Bad Ju-Ju, man, bad ju-ju."
"I feel like I'm in a North Korean war camp with these goddamn rice balls." 
"It's the husband, it's always the husband." (In regards to a marathon of SVU)
"Ok, I'm not talking for an hour."
"Nooooo, crazy-pants."

Songs Listened to Repeatedly While Walking:

"New York State Mind" Billy Joel
"Let Me Talk To You" Justin Timberlake
"Bad Romance" Lady Gaga
"Heads Will Roll" Yeah Yeah Yeahs
"Jigsaw Falling Into Place" Radiohead