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. 

Week 3 in Akunk

This last week was the roughest one thus far.  Now that the adrenaline and excitement has worn off, reality has settled in some. Language class has gotten increasingly difficult and we only get one day off a week. There are few stolen moments of down time.  It may not appear that way to my host family, but it’s hard to consider it down time when you’re not in your home, not speaking your native tongue and have to let several people know of your whereabouts at all times.

Things were a little different this week, as the TEFL director insisted that her two-hour trainings be treated with the same importance as language class. We did an experiment where TEFL training was switched into the morning slot and language the afternoon. Nobody, nobody I tell you, was happy (this is false). Sitting through four hours of Armenian in a hot stuffy classroom after eating a heavy lunch is not ideal. I’m not complaining, but… well I guess I am. 

I so look forward to getting more familiar with the culture and eventually being off on my own. It’s easy to forget how awesome having FREEDOM can be. I am free in the philosophical sense but a lot of my life is scheduled here. There are things I have to do that frankly, I do not want to do. It’s also weird to feel guilty about wanting/needing to decompress. Some days I feel like a monkey in a cage whom needs to be performing at all times.  My host sisters are sort of fascinated with me; when I come home from school they want to hear all about it and take me places, and all I want to do is take a nap. Having a younger host sister is making me appreciate the fact that I was the baby of my family. It’s definitely a switch up in the roles…and necessarily an easy one.

Six days a week, I walk to and from school twice a day. One morning an enormous, hideous, terrifying bird began harassing me. It is the first time that I have felt truly afraid since being in Armenia. I have never seen a bird like this in America, but he’s a little smaller than a seagull and loud as hell. He was darting and squawking at me over and over until I literally started running a little bit. Just in time, I realized that I was about to trample over two other similar looking birds.  I was glad to understand why he was harassing me, but it didn’t make it any less scary. The next day, I saw some of the little boys that live near there messing with the hurt (maybe old?) birds. And as you might have already guessed, this same bird was losing his mind again.

Now, everyday I have to suck it up as this bird does his best to scare me away. Then on the way home, I have to get tough for the 10 little boys that harass me. They range in ages five to about fifteen. Some days, I feel like an 8yr old again. My new defense mechanism for the boy gang is to speak to them in English, just as they speak to me in Armenian. That worked for about two days…

But don’t worry. There is a lot of laughter, with my host mother and my friends here in Akunk. On Thursday of last week we had the opportunity to meet up with the group of volunteers who got here one year ago (A-19’s). We had group sessions for about three hours or so and then everyone went out to the field to play Capture the Flag. It was so much fun. I forgot how much I love to compete in big team games like that.  On the hour drive back to Akunk, in my favorite seat on our bus, Bobby D crooned through my headphones as the sun began to set across the Armenian landscape. Moments and images like these are truly worth every frustration. I smile to myself, giggle like an insane person and realize again, I AM IN ARMENIA!! 

Sentiments Before Departing

It's my last real morning at home in Babylon. The weather has been beautiful the last couple of days, but currently, it's foggy and overcast. I've left home so many times, for college each year, for AmeriCorps in Boston, and now for Peace Corps in Armenia. This time though, is truly the last. All of my things are packed so that when I do return to the states I can easily ship out. And this time, I can feel it in my bones that it is the end of a certain chapter in my life.

Last week I met my brother Andrew out in the eastern north fork of Long Island, wine country. I have and will always cherish our friendship. There is a Bob Dylan lyric (get used to this readers, because I will probably use his lyrics to process what happens over in Armenia as well) that pretty much sums up the backbone of our relationship, "We always did feel the same, we just saw it from a different point of view". We spent the afternoon tasting delicious wines and soul-talking (as I like to call it). The conversation began at a cute bistro in Cutchogue for lunch, where we started with the future. What was my flight itinerary? 2014, eh? Have plans for you return before you do Carolyn, promise me. Eventually, we got to the past. We spoke of ugly and pretty moments we've shared, things we're not proud of and those that we are.

On the ride home, this wave of emotion hit me and I started to cry. Not because I was upset over the thought that we most likely won't see one another for two years and not because I am scared or sad to leave. It was a feeling that's somewhat new to me, but it's something which I am getting used to. It's gratitude and acceptance of where I've been and where I'm headed. On those back country roads with the sun beginning to set, I knew with not a single doubt that I'd made it. I got through the tough stuff, I climbed out of the quick sand and it is the most amazing feeling.

And now, I get to leave, like I've always wanted. I get to go out with my head held high, with my friends and family behind me. It is the most beautiful thing I've experienced thus far.

Cold Feet

Yep, it's already happening, I might as well confront it. There has always been a part of me unsure if going into the Peace Corps is what's best for me. Eventually though, the voice that got me to apply in the first place gets back on the loud speaker. It says, "Are you for real? You're going to pass up this opportunity for a world you are already familiar and bored with? It's time. Go."

The very first time the icy tendrils crept up my toes was after I got nominated. I was with my family in Lake George for Labor Day weekend. My brother, cousin, their ladies and I were all camping on an island for the night. My conflicting feelings of joy and sorrow kept running through my head, so I decided to stay behind while the rest of the group went fishing. It was my duty to get a fire started before the sun went down and the chill set in. Something so simple as building a fire can be a needed ego gratifying experience. "I can provide this very important need for myself and others. I am skilled." But my somber mood persisted. I was beginning to realize what it would mean in reality to make the commitment. It left me feeling despondent in a way. I wouldn't get to watch my niece, Soleil, continually develop into a little girl. I would be alone and removed from things that are dear and precious to me, whether they be one noun or another. (Though, there a only a few 'things' that are dear and precious to me).

We had taken a radio with us and at some point the frequency had changed or cut out, leaving an oppressive silence. It was completely dark at this point; the fire and stillness of the lake had put me in a sort of trance. Then out of nowhere, the radio picked up a station again. Clear as a bell, Bob Dylan's whiny voice pierced the silence. It just so happened to be at the beginning of the last verse of "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue". The lyrics hit me with such force, it felt like he was speaking to me directly. I was unfamiliar with the tune before then, but now it has become a personal mantra. The lyrics of the last verse are:

Leave your stepping stones behind now, something it calls for you

Forget the dead you've left, they will not follow you

The vagabond who's rapping at your door

 Is standing in the clothes that you once wore

Strike another match, go start anew

And it's all over now, baby blue

 I have no idea what my life will be like in Armenia. The things I know of here,  are all I can truly have feelings about. In a perfect world, while in the Peace Corps, I could go visit friends and family whenever my heart desired, spend a weekend in Lake George, call a friend, or go to happy hour. But, the convenience and luxury of these things will need to be sacrificed for the experience. There are moments when wonder if I'm making the right choice. Thinking that maybe I should go the average route; start a career oriented job, settle into a place of my own. Finally get that kitten and puppy duo I've been dreaming of, and call it a day. I don't know, maybe I should. Yet, if I don't even try, there will always be the 'what if's' and regrets. I definitely do not want to live a life of regrets.