Impressions of Armenia / Impressions de l’Arménie

Dusk was falling, and from the plane window one could see fields and roads with just the occasional car. Then, looming above the valley in which Yerevan sits, there was Mount Aragats, massive and snow-capped. The airport is modern and the only thing to strike one walking towards the baggage claim was a large poster showing a Turkish head under the year 1915 and the head of Adolf Hitler under 1945. Yes, this was the centenary of the genocide and one was later to see tee-shirts with a message about Armenian capacity to survive and on hoardings, the words ‘I Remember and Demand’.

Yerevan is such a mixture of the spanking new, of dilapidated houses with wooden balconies and of the metal and concrete detritus of Soviet times. The road into the city is a jumble of nightclubs and casinos, of snack shops, of Mercedes showrooms and then one feels the full weight of Soviet imperialism in the grand stone buildings of Republic Square.

On the Tuesday morning we slowly shook off the lacklustre suburbs of the capital and found ourselves looking at irises on a slope from which we could see the massive form of Mount Aragats across the valley.

A visit to the Geghard monastery was followed by lunch in a private house set above the valley on the edge of which stands the Garni temple.

There, as we were to see frequently, sat the merchants of large cakes, of home-made vodka and of apricot leather (known locally as ‘fruit bread’ since it has the same flat form as the main type of bread in the country, ‘lavash’).

Later a tour of Yerevan revealed the ‘Cascades’, a very high, stepped flow of terraces descending to a new part of the city, the opera house and the Russian inspired leisure parks, with their cafes, friendly faces and play areas for children.

The highlight of the evening was the arrival, in the hands of the restaurant manageress, of a large dish of ‘fruit rice’, while she performed a local dance.

Wednesday saw us leave Yerevan en route for Dilijan (the Switzerland of Armenia). We climbed through high meadows, where Yezidi herders had set up their camps of tents and rusting Russian trailers, to visit the fortress of Amberd, the only one to resist the Mongols.

Everywhere there were streams and the impression was of a hillside in movement. Later, we stopped at a Russian village, the home of a particular religious group which Stalin had exiled and suddenly, everyone was tall and blond.

Dilijan is in thickly forested country and when we left the area on Friday we entered a tunnel on a mountain pass and on the other side found no trees, but a line of green hills. We pulled up to see some hillside flowers, but there was a river in the way. No problem, a four wheel drive vehicle appeared and ferried people across, four at a time.

That evening we were lodged in another Tufenkian Group heritage hotel, close to Lake Sevan and were told that since the road south was impassable by coach, our coach would cut back north and meet us on the other side of the lake. Thus began a minibus journey over potholes and ruts as we moved south and then west to turn around the southern end of the lake. This was a perfect example of the efficient ad hoc organisation which marked our whole visit.

In the evening, we wound our way down to the town of Goris, distinguished by its old stone houses, many with wooden balconies, and its water channels at the side of the road. In the nearby cliffs are troglodyte dwellings and the whole place is surrounded by mountains.

Next day, after a stop at the local bakery to buy lavash,

we set off for the Tatev monastery, sited, majestically, on its rock and backed by a cirque of mountains, many over 3000 meters.

The next, and final, day we headed back to Yerevan, visiting the Noravank monastery and eating in a cave restaurant in the gorge below.

One came away with impressions of an abundance of wild flowers, of the majesty of snow-capped mountains, of ancient monasteries. All around were streams, fruit trees, road-side produce and sheep and cattle making the transhumance. There are older, more soberly dressed people, but for the young, the tee-shirt is king and the promises on them – ‘All night long’ and ‘Count on an extra 87 miles per tank’, leave you with hope for Armenia.

Text: Jason Spencer-Cooke
Photos: Hubert Nivière, Jock Shearer, Christine Daniels