My Building Has Every Convenience

Armenia is a country of varied locales, including villages, towns and cities.  Reflecting this variety is the different conditions in which people (including we volunteers) live.  And one of those that is common is Soviet apartment buildings.

This could be anywhere in the former Soviet Union

Most common are the Khrushchev era buildings known as “Khrushchovkas”.  The origin of these building is as follows (thanks to Wikipedia):

To ameliorate a severe housing shortage, during 1947-1951 Soviet architects evaluated various technologies attempting to reduce costs and completion time. During January 1950 an architects' convention, supervised by Khrushchev (then the party director of Moscow), declared low-cost, quick technologies the objective of Soviet architects.

The Khrushchovka design was an early attempt at industrialised and prefabricated building, the elements (or panels) made at concrete plants and trucked to the site as needed. Elevators were considered too costly and time consuming to build, and according to Soviet health/safety standards, five stories was the maximum height of a building without an elevator. Thus, almost all Khrushyovkas have five stories.

Krushchovka in Yerevan

 

Typically these buildings do not have a common lobby so there are many entrances to different areas of the building.  To find someone’s apartment, you must first know which side of the building and which entrance to use.  While they seem to have been clearly marked when built, many of the signs are now gone.  Therefore, getting directions is a challenge and usually involves directing people past multiple grocery stores, laundry lines and trash receptacles. Once you find the entrance, the quality of the door is variable also.

Security is not a priority

At least this one has a number

More often than not, I have to duck through the entrance of these buildings.

 

A lot of times I see resident listings inside the door.  There must have been an expectation of permanence since all of these signs I have seen are painted on wood, therefore not allowing for changes so if you are looking for someone who is a rental tenant, you will not see the name there. Inside the front door, you will also see mailboxes that don’t seem to be used, electric and gas meters and – in some buildings – a list of tenants who are late in paying their utilities. Some have garbage disposal chutes while in others you need to carry trash out to an external dumpster.  From what I have seen, the trash chutes that exist go to an area on the ground floor that may or may not be emptied regularly.

As a rule, the stairs are uneven.  Someone once told me that Soviet building specifications included the number of steps in a flight of stairs but nothing about the stair height.  As a result, you may see a very short step seemingly tacked onto the top of one to meet the quota.  

I have been in some of the buildings that have elevators.  In every one I have been in, pushing the call button won’t do anything if the elevator is already in motion so you need to listen for it to stop and then push.  They tend to be very narrow and any seem to have been designed to prove that three is a crowd.  In some cases, the elevator stops at the floor you are going to, while in others there is a landing between floors and you go either up or down the stairs to get to your destination.

 

Everyone owns their apartments and seem to put in their own doors, so they don’t all match although there are several styles that seem to be popular.

It is unclear to me who (if anyone) is responsible for the common areas, so I usually see worn out paint and exposed wiring but no functioning lights in the stairways so a flashlight is a good idea after dark. Any windows in the stairwells normally no longer have glass.

 

With unmarked entrances, the lack of names on doors, the lack of lighting, losing count when walking up multiple flights of stairs (floor markings are scarce also), taking an elevator that doesn’t stop on the floor you want and the commonality of doors, it is pretty easy to wind up in the wrong place. More than once, I have knocked on a door and been greeted by a confused look from the resident who was not the person I was expecting to see.

Inside the apartments themselves, it is a mixed bag.  If the family could afford to renovate, there may be modern appliances, nice bathroom fixtures and other nice features.  Most often, though, especially with rental units, everything is a wee bit dated. Some buildings have a common layout, so I have been to two apartments in separate buildings in Sevan that have identical floor plans.  Some have seemingly random rooms and oddly placed toilets compared to where the bathroom is.  

Kitchens tend to be functional and some can be roomy (by New York standards, at least).  While there is usually a stove and oven, they don't always work so electric ovens and propane stoves are pretty common.  The sinks tend to be pretty small.

 

When looking to rent an apartment, it is crucial to ask about the water schedule.  Depending on where you live, you may have water all the time, several hours a day or not at all.  In Gyumri, one of my fellow volunteers has water two hours per day while I have it 24/7.  A volunteer in a village an hour away has to carry water from a pipe on the street up four flights to his apartment.  In another village near him, a water truck comes in periodically for the residents to draw from.  All of this adds to the challenge of washing dishes in a miniature sink.  Buckets and barrels of stored water are the norm.

The bathrooms are more of a challenge.  Living on a water schedule not only makes bathing difficult, but also flushing.  Some store up water in buckets, some use the bathtub.  The faucet for the sink is sometimes the same faucet for the tub which makes filling buckets somewhat easier. 

As to the tub itself, Wilikpedia offers the following:

Khrushchyovkas featured combined bathrooms. They had been introduced with Ivan Zholtovsky's prize-winning Bolshaya Kaluzhskaya building, but Lagutenko continued the space-saving idea, replacing regular-sized bathtubs with 120 centimeter (4 foot) long "sitting baths". Сompleted bathrooms cubicles, assembled at a Khoroshevsky plant, were trucked to the site; construction crews would lower them in place and connect the piping. Some theorists even considered combining toilet bowl functions with the shower's sink, but the idea was discarded.

With regard to the last line, all I can say is that I am glad that common sense prevailed. Here is a picture of one of the sitting baths mentioned. 

 

Heating also varies by building and what the family can afford.  Some have gas heaters, some electric and some just put up with the cold.

Also notable about these buildings is that many were designed as "disposable" with 25 year lives.  Given that the Soviet Union has already been gone for 21 years.....

It is also interesting to see how the standards evolved over the course of the Soviet period as many pre- Khrushchovka buildings survive today.  In real estate listings, you see buildings described as “Stalinist” and those are comparatively nice.  The ones I have been in have large rooms, high ceilings and the buildings have some character to them (reminding me of the desirable “pre-war” buildings in New York to an extent). Beyond that, they have many similarities with the later models – multiple entrances now lacking markings, unlighted stairways, unmaintained hallways, etc. They were discontinued during the Khrushchev era due to the unnecessary cost of the decorative elements.

When you rent an apartment here, you (usually) get it fully furnished.  This can include multiple sofa-beds (likely because Armenian families often have many people in one home and also to provide for visiting relatives), odd assortments of dishes and old clothing.  There is usually a locked room where the landlord will put away things that are not part of the rental but it is always an adventure to see what was left for the tenant to use.

In Gyumri, there are many of the Stalinist buildings (such as the two pictured above) and the five story Khrushchovkas.  Virtually all of the higher buildings collapsed during the earthquake, but there is a cluster that somehow survived even though everything around them was devastated.

Anything constructed after the earthquake has been limited to five stories and some are quite modern. There are areas being developed to provide long-overdue permanent housing to the people living in domiks, but they are a fair distance from the center of the city.

Mush II District

In the past few years, there has been a building spree in Yerevan and many of the buildings have real conveniences like central heating.  With prices that rival parts of the US, you can imagine that they are not selling too well.

So, yet again, I find myself happy for what I have.  My Gyumri apartment is comfortable and I still have my place in New York that I look forward to going back to.  And no matter what may happen when I get there, I can guarantee that I won't be complaining about it much.

Seasons Change and So Do I

After a seemingly endless winter, spring finally arrived here.  But, as with everything here still, the way it arrived this year surprised me.

When I left Gyumri for vacation at the end of March, it was about 30 degrees outside.  A few days earlier, I had spent a couple of hours chipping through the ice outside my doorway, some of it more than an inch thick.  The man next door had spent several days shoveling the snow out of the space between his iron gate and his house (I hesitate to call it a front yard but I suppose that's what it is) and had amassed a pile of snow more than three feet high in the street.  As I headed to the marshutni station, it was the first time in months I had gone outside in Gyumri without long underwear. Knowing I would not need it during vacation I didn't want to have to carry it around and figured I could manage for the short while until I reached Yerevan where it is typically warmer.

Two weeks later, I arrived home and the temperature in Gyumri was about 65 degrees. There was no trace of snow anywhere - even in the places that still did not get direct sunlight.  My neighbor's snow pile was gone as was the skating pond outside my door.  For the first time since September, I didn't need a hat, so sunblock is a daily necessity again.  

The next week, attending the conference I wrote about last time, I saw snow in that village but it was limited and I don't think I will be walking through any more of it in Armenia.

This has been quite a change from last year, when spring eased its way in more.  I recall last March, going for a long walk on roads that were mostly clear but still with pockets of snow - this year, long walks in March were out of the question.  April was mostly rain and gradual warming and May was beautiful.  This year, I went directly from my winter coat directly to the lightest jacket I have (when I even need a jacket, that is) and rain was limited to overnights until recently.  It has rained here every day so far in May.

We still experience significant changes in temperature over the course of a day - afternoons can be in the 60s or 70s, but it still can fall to the 30s and 40s at night.  I am still sleeping in the living room, but with only two blankets instead of three and, starting this week, without having to turn the heat on.  

The signs of spring are everywhere - and not just the flowers and leaves budding on the trees.  Women are outside, cleaning their rugs on the sidewalk or hanging out of their windows, washing them.  I notice people dismantling the heating pipes from their houses and carrying their wood stoves to storage sheds.  Outdoor cafes are starting to reopen, although one on the main square had to delay because their canopy collapsed under the snow this winter and is being reconstructed.  The Ferris wheel in the park is open again.  Cucumbers, spinach and other green vegetables are showing up in the markets again (as is basil, so I made my first batch of pesto this year). And the snow has been replaced by mud.

I am also getting to experience an election season here (the once-every-five-years parliamentary elections are this Sunday but the Presidential election is next year).  All over town, I see what I assume are lists of registered voters at polling stations and crowds around party and campaign offices.

Something ironic about a polling station at a puppet theater

The election date is not a firm one but is "called" within certain parameters, and only four weeks of campaigning are allowed prior to the election date. This past week has seen several rallies for the different parties, but in true Armenian tradition they include singing and traditional Armenian dancing.

Political rally in Gyumri

Next day, same place, different party

Having said that, until what happened in Yerevan yesterday, I had never heard of balloon and cigarette explosions at a political rally before either.  No such excitement at the Gyumri ones.  

Contrast all of that with the two-years or so of campaigning in the US (even with the explosion), and it is downright civilized.  Walking with a young lady who attends some of my programs the other day, she complained that the campaigning is so negative - the candidates don't talk about their accomplishments, they only talk about how bad their opponents are.  Sounds kinda familiar.......

Likewise, I am continuing to change with the seasons.  Although I did not want to do it, and had managed not to until recently, my nearly compulsive tracking of time now focuses more on how much longer I will be here than on how long I already have been (three months left, for those following along at home).  Senioritis has definitely set in, but that is accompanied by some low-level panic about trying to finish things or recruit people to carry on programs after I leave.  

With the nicer weather, I have resumed my weekend walking, continuing to discover pockets of the city that I had missed before or taking repeat looks at others.  In the course of these walks, I also get to see again how the city is evolving.  Domiks disappear as families finally get real housing, vacant stores are under reconstruction, a closed cafe becomes a rug store, another store that was once empty, then a cafe, then a pawnshop is now a pharmacy.  The lions are still in the park, but the cages seem even less secure when there was just a padlock.

Yes, there are two lions in there

Also, I see new puppies on the street who don't make me sad the way the winter puppies do - the current crop are more likely to survive (and maybe bite a future volunteer, but that is another issue).

And, speaking of which, spring means that the new group of volunteers will arrive soon (three weeks from now).  As I mentioned last year, it was odd moving into the "experienced" role as we entered our second year, but to the new group we will be the elder statesmen (okay - statespersons).  We have an online group to provide advice to the new people and reading through it makes me realize how far I have come in two years.  The panic I felt trying to get myself ready then has been replaced by melancholy as I start getting myself ready to go back (other than the low-level panic I mentioned above).  Maybe it is the calming influence of living in a slower-paced society.  Maybe it is getting older.

Or maybe it is realizing that, having seen what people here can live through and still dance at every possible occasion, I have learned a lot.

And You May Ask Yourself, Well, How Did I Get Here?

I just returned from the Peace Corps "Close of Service" conference for my volunteer group.  The conference covers topics such as readjusting to life after service, the volumes of paperwork that we need to complete as we finish, a lot of talk about getting a job afterward and other related topics.  The best part, though, was the (probably) last opportunity to get together with what remains of the group with whom I arrived in Armenia almost two years ago. I say “what remains of the group” since some have left for various reasons – medical reasons, personal reasons, jobs, etc.  As of today, our original group of 58 now stands at 47.

One of the conference sessions was to help with ways to describe to people (family, friends, potential employers) what I have actually been doing here.  On a day-to-day basis, people often feel that they are not doing (let alone accomplishing) anything.  And despite the advice to arrive with no expectations, it is natural for people to want to work on specific things when they are here.  This can lead to a lot of frustration because the site where a volunteer is placed may have needs that are much different from what the PCV wanted to or expected to be doing.  While that frustration sticks in your mind, once you sit down and start thinking through how things accumulate, you realize that they really do add up and what you really accomplish creeps up on you and takes forms you never would have expected. As an example, an IT volunteer who only expected to work on IT has helped a women's center become more sustainable when they started making and selling teddy bears.  The bears became characters in environmentally-focused cartoons.  Who'da thunk it?

The same goes for the way we change while we are here.  Another session was about the “reverse culture shock” that people experience after Peace Corps.  It is senseless to predict how that will impact me when I get back to New York, but I can notice how my perspective about Armenia and how I do things has changed.  It is premature to cover all of that since I still have a few months here and I will talk about that closer to my actual departure date. 

But another session that really got me thinking was when we were asked to chart the high points and low points of our time here.  And I can honestly say that my low points were pretty few and mostly not that bad.  There were definitely times that I was not happy, but those didn’t last long and were over pretty minor things (like the time I lost my patience with one of my language teachers).  

The only time that I felt really low was last month.  One night, late into the seemingly endless winter, I was walking home in yet another snowstorm, along an unlit, unpaved, ice-covered road.  Snow was pelting my eyes and as I struggled to keep my footing, I was temporarily blinded by a car coming toward me with high beams on, and I knew that I was expected to yield the right-of-way even though there was not sidewalk and I couldn’t see enough to judge where the best place to move was.  When I did get home, I had piles of paperwork to get through and I knew I would be up past midnight working on it (as I had been all month) and knowing that the project it was related to was doomed. While I had a vacation to look forward to, I didn’t have the time to make the plans and reservations that I needed to.  It was the first time in my service that I thought “This sucks”.  It passed, though, and even at the time I realized that I was very lucky that it took until having been here 22 months for it to happen.  

Now that the winter has really ended, the doomed project is behind me and I am back from my vacation, things are fine again.  I am still busy – too much so at times – but the nice weather alleviates that somewhat and I can go out for long walks again.  And so I am back to life as “normal” as a situation such as Peace Corps can be.  While I have never had a day where I considered leaving early, I do have these moments when I have to laugh at how ridiculous some things are – things that I never would have believed I would be experiencing but (as I have written before) don't seem so strange at the time.  Such as sitting at the edge of my tub, late on a Saturday night, trying to do laundry by the light of a flashlight because the electricity had gone off for the second time within a day for no apparent reason.   

And at times like that, when the oddness breaks through, I do ask myself “how did I get here?”

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Yes, this is a short and relatively lazy post because I was on vacation for the two weeks before the conference so I am still getting caught up from being away for three weeks.  Anyone interested in the vacation can see pictures added to my prior vacation album here.

Integration

Every four months, we need to submit a form to Peace Corps to report on progress in various areas.  One question that we need to answer is "How integrated do you feel in your community?" This is always a difficult question to answer because it depends on the place where you are assigned to live, the circumstances of your work assignment, and on you individually.

As I wrote previously, I don't think I will ever fully blend in here as anyone who looks at me can tell I am not Armenian. No matter how long I study the language, I can't imagine myself being so fluent that I would not still have to say "I don't understand"sometimes and no matter how long I live here, there are certain customs that will always seem odd to me because I have not grown up with them.

Regardless of that, on my latest report I finally notched up my answer from "Somewhat integrated" to "Integrated".  It is something that I think about a lot and it was the accumulation of various things that finally allowed me to claim that.  As I think back on my time here so far, I can identify specific things that have signaled my acceptance by the people here.

Taking pictures.  I learned early on that people here like to have their pictures taken.  I sometimes walk around with my camera and people will call me over asking me to photograph them. Later on, I usually brought prints to them which has led to anything from nodding acquaintances, to people stopping me on the street to chat, to getting discounts or free stuff from the people selling in the market.  

Working in the hay fields.  Living in Solak, everyone knew I am from New York.  I imagine they viewed me as a "city-slicker"or whatever the equivalent Armenian phrase would be. For most of the time I lived there, when I offered help to my host father with any physical work he would decline.  But when the beginning of August rolled around and the family headed to the hay fields, I was asked to come along.  Although it was a much longer day than I expected and I got pretty severely dehydrated, working alongside the two sons-in-law gave me some credibility.  I noted a breakthrough when, during one of the breaks we took, one of the sons-in-law (Gagik) sat right next to me, close enough for our shoulders to touch.  While in New York sitting this way in a wide open field would seem like an invasion of space, here I recognized it as a sign that I was accepted as a friend. Now, when I go back to Solak for visits, Gagik is the one hanging around with me (like young Gevorg does).

Dancing in the square.  A few months after I moved to Gyumri, there was the annual Gyumri Day celebration.  I went, intending to just stand on the sidelines and observe, take some pictures and soak up the atmosphere.  At one point, I was standing with some other volunteers and a group of teenagers waved us over.  After the usual questions, they resumed the dancing that Armenians are compelled to do any time there is a crowd and music and they suggested we join in.  I have never been big on dancing, particularly when it is of a national variety that has prescribed steps for different songs and I can't even differentiate those.  But, having learned a lesson from a Greek wedding I attended years ago, I jumped in and faked it.  And the response was enormous - like speaking, it doesn't matter if you do it badly as long as you try.  And some people told me that I looked like I knew what I was doing. Forget "dance like no one is watching" - this is more like "dance although you know you are on television". And I was.

Participating in Vardevar and snowball fights. Before I moved into my apartment, I had heard from another volunteer who had lived there that the kids in the neighborhood were unfriendly.  After living there for a while, even though I didn't find them unfriendly our relationship was mostly cordial.  When Vardevar rolled around last year (see my post about that here) I arrived home in the middle of the day to see a full-blown water fight in the middle of the street.  They stopped for me at first but, when I let it be known that I was willing to take part, all hell broke loose and we all had a lot of fun. Since then, the kids go out of their way to say hello to me, shake my hand and are completely friendly.  Early in the winter, when I took part in a snowball fight with them, that sort of cemented it.   

Accepting a coffee invitation.  One of the neighbor kids stopped me on the street one day and invited me into his house to meet his family. I used to feel really awkward about accepting invitations like that, but realized that if people are going out of their way to invite you, the least you can do is graciously accept. Over the course of a half hour, I was given a lot to eat, I was treated to the younger brother's singing (Italian arias!), and I formed a sort of bond with the people I could really now call neighbors. You get a lot of questions - why are you here? which is better - the US or Armenia? where have you visited in Armenia? do you like it here? - but find that people are not being nosy, they are generally interested.  And you come to realize that not only are people being polite, but they seem honored to have you as a guest.

Subsequent times I was invited over by someone I had met on the marshutni from Tbilisi, a man who I simply knew from seeing on the street all the time and a family from whom I asked directions. Some of these families clearly had little money but bombarded me with things to eat and drink. Another keeps calling me (from another part of the country) asking when I will come back so he can have a khorovats for me. Time permitting, I accept these invitations readily now because, early on in my time in Gyumri, I was invited into someone's house for coffee and reflexively (and truthfully) answered "I don't like coffee."  I have been kicking myself about that ever since.

Accepting an arm-wrestling challenge. When I first discovered the gym that I now go to, everyone there wondered what I wanted and why I was there.  Few of them speak English and my knowledge of Gyumri dialect was (and still is) very limited, so I would just go and do my workout and not really engage with anyone.  Periodically, the guys there start challenging each other to arm-wrestling matches and everyone else gathers to watch while I continue with what I am doing.  One day, one of the regulars sent someone over to me to ask if I wanted to arm-wrestle.  The challenger is about half my age and noticeably strong (my nickname for him is "Wolverine") so I knew I would get crushed.  My response was "why not?" and, as expected, it was over in about half a second (a full second if you count the second time he beat me).  From then on, though, when I see the others from the gym - either there or in other parts of the city - I get a nod, a hello, or even get called "akber jan" or "ap jan" - sort of an Armenian way of calling someone "buddy".

Being interviewed on TV.  This one is odd because it actually caused some trouble.  I attended a meeting about a program for people in Armenian civil society organizations that sends them to the US for six weeks to observe the US legal system.  I stepped out into the hallway at one point and a TV reporter asked if he could interview me.  I brought along someone to translate and answered his questions in English.  When the news story ran, though, my voice had been dubbed over and words put in my mouth different that what I actually said - they had me saying things that were very critical of the Armenian legal system. Various American officials who learned of the broadcast had to be assured of what I had (and had not) said and, to my knowledge, the matter got smoothed over.  Shortly after that, I was walking down the street and a woman I had never seen before approached me, shook my hand without saying a word and walked away.  A man in the market likewise called me over to say hello and has been very friendly to me ever since. I must point out that I don't recommend this one as an integration strategy.   


Going to a wake.  As I wrote a few posts ago, I attended a wake recently for one of my neighbors.  At first, I was hesitant to go for a few reasons - I didn't know the proper protocol, I wasn't sure who the person was, I didn't have anyone to bring me (all the other volunteers I know who have attended wakes went along with someone close to the deceased).  But I soon learned that it was the grandmother of my friendly-neighbor-kid and his Italian-aria-singing brother.  I had been in their house and met the woman and felt it was appropriate to pay my respects, even if I was solo. While I was there, I realized that it was the right thing to do despite the surprised looks on the faces of the other mourners - the mother of the family (the daughter of the deceased) seemed genuinely pleased that I had made the effort, and the friendly-neighbor-kid gave me a hello kiss - like the shoulder-touching sitting distance I mention above, a common occurrence between male friends here (this is the first time it had happened to me).  And since then, I have noticed that more of the older people in the neighborhood say hello to me on the street.


Each of these have marked instances when I could afterward notice a change in how people treat me.  Just as importantly, I can't overstate the value of just talking to people.  Many times I have hesitated to speak with people because I knew I would make mistakes.  I tend to practice in my head what I need to say but that does not prepare me for any follow up questions.  But even when a conversation goes badly and both parties involved walk away frustrated at not being able to communicate, I can tell that the effort made is appreciated.  The fact that I have bothered to learn the language at all is a sign to many people that I want to communicate.  Even if I knew Russian (which virtually everyone here speaks) that wouldn't have the same impact.   

Other volunteers have told me of great strides they have made in connecting with people by sitting down to a game of chess or nardi (a form of backgammon) - you don't even need to speak the language for that.  Having made progress with villagers, teenagers, kids, gym rats and old women, I regret that I long ago forgot how to play chess and have not yet learned nardi. But there is still time to do that and bond with the old men...and then maybe I can notch myself up to "Well Integrated" before I go home.

Get Me to the Church on Time

One of the big cultural events I was afraid I would miss out on here was going to a real wedding.  I specify a “real” wedding as I did attend a fake one last year.  [One of my fellow volunteers worked at an organization that started a “Culture Club” that has periodic events to showcase the customs of different nations.  The first event was about Armenia and they staged a wedding, with a Peace Corps volunteer as the bride and a European volunteer as the groom.  Since virtually all the people at the event were Armenian, one might ask why they needed an event to educate them about their own customs, but it was fun anyway (at least the parts I attended).]

This one didn't really count

You can always tell when there is a wedding going on in Armenia as cars speed through town honking their horns, so you hear it before you see it.  When the cars pass, you see someone with a video camera in the lead car, hanging out of a window or with his head through the sunroof, and you see an arm stuck out of a window holding a decorated sword (but more on that later). 

Weddings here happen every day of the week so the noise pollution rarely stops.  One (uncorroborated) story I heard to explain the horns relates to the Soviet period and the suppression of religion.  Since church bells could not be rung, the car horns became a substitute and the tradition stuck. 

Last year, I was told that weddings were generally not held during Lent as many people foreswear numerous things – no meat at all during the period, and you are supposed to abstain from various other things such as “carnal pleasures” - which would put a damper on the wedding business, I think.  While I did notice a reduction in wedding-related horn honking last year, there have been plenty in the main Gyumri church this year, so maybe things are loosening up.

Another difference from the US is that brides don’t buy their dresses – they rent them.  Early in my time here I started to notice a lot of shops that had both bridal dresses and flowers in the windows, which I now understand are one-stop bridal shops.

Luckily, a friend here overheard me say that I hadn’t been to a wedding and, coincidentally, his cousin was getting married two days later.  He invited me to go and I jumped at the chance.  When I accepted, he hastened to add “Bring your camera”, which made it even more interesting – I became the quasi-official wedding photographer. As a bonus, the wedding was in a village (really, in several, but I’ll get to that) where more of the traditions were held to than in the cities.

Things began at the groom’s house in Gharibjuryan, a village southwest of Gyumri.  We were told to be there by 10AM but, when we arrived, the groom was not there.  Unlike the way things are in the US, it is not unusual for the groom to help out the bride with last-minute arrangements on the morning of the wedding.  Also, he and others had been up late decorating the restaurant where the party would be later, so nobody seemed too surprised that he was late.  Plus, this is Armenia where everything is late. 

Waiting for the son

We hung around the wood burning stove with various relatives while other guys were outside decorating the cars.  There were also three musicians – one with an accordion, one with a drum and one with a clarinet.  Baskets had been prepared, filled with things for the wedding.  One held the bride’s shoes, veil and bouquet; another had chocolate and wine; another fruits and candies; yet another had wedding favors; and the last was filled with rose petals.  These would be carried from place to place throughout the day.  The table was set for a typical Armenian feast.

There are two men who perform the duties we would give to the “Best Man” – one who acts as godfather (and there is a corresponding godmother for the bride) and the “azapbashi”, who is sort of a bodyguard. The godparents are married (and I believe usually to each other and selected by the groom) while the azapbashi is unmarried.  Only the latter was present at first, as collecting the godfather is part of the process.

When the groom arrived, things started to roll.  His clothes had been laid out along with the baskets. The azapbashi helped him to get dressed and then the band started playing, and everyone started to dance.  The azapbashi carries a sword decorated with apples and ribbons, and this one had toothpicks jutting out of the apples – I suppose to prevent it being stolen.  As the bodyguard, the azapbashi must hold onto the sword and people try to steal it.  At some point, coins are added to the apples as a wish for good fortune.  

Everyone danced around the house for a while and then we all got in the cars waiting outside, the azapbashi carrying his sword and others carrying the baskets.  We were off to collect the godfather.

Now is the time in the wedding when we dance

The godfather lives in Azatan, another village southeast of Gyumri.  Because the road between the two villages was blocked from the winter’s mounds of snow, the procession drove into, through and out of Gyumri to get there.  When we got to the godfather’s house, everyone piled out of the cars, the band started again and everyone danced into the house.  The music stopped, toasts were offered (and some snacks were eaten since there was another table laid out) and then the crowd danced back outside with the godfather and back into the cars.  Then it was back to the groom’s house.

Leaving the godfather's house

When we arrived, everyone got out of the cars, the band was playing, and the crowd danced into the house again.  The music and dancing continues as the mother of the groom pinned a flower to the godfather’s jacket.  A bunch of people (mostly the men) sat at the table and started to eat the piles of food there and, of course, there shots of vodka, wine and brandy.   

Celebrating the pinning of the godfather (at center)....

...while others thought it wiser to eat.

Then, you guessed it – everyone danced back out to the cars.  This time, we were headed to the bride’s house. And by now, the crowd had gotten big enough that the procession included a rented marshutni.

An old tradition is to put a fox on the hood of the car that will get to the bride’s house first.  I haven’t gotten a good answer on what that is supposed to represent, although the old saying about “a fox in the henhouse” may be it.  Apparently, that tradition is not entirely lost as I saw one a few weeks ago.

The bride’s family lived in Keti, a village north of Gyumri and the procession headed there. When we arrived, the band started up again, the dancing resumed and everyone went into the house. By this point, we were running about two hours late and I was told that many a bride waits a long time, worrying if her groom is going to show. 

Into the bride's house

The basket with the bride’s shoes, veil and bouquet was brought to her bedroom, where she was surrounded by her female relatives and friends.  The bride’s brother put on her shoes, after carrying out the traditional “ransoming” of one of them.  He threatened not to put it on, thereby preventing the wedding, until the godfather gave him some money.  I have heard that in some places, all of the bride’s single female relatives and friends sign the bottom of the shoes (and the names get crossed off as they later get married).  I did not see that happen but it was kinda crowded….

Next, the veil was waved around the bride’s head three times while the godmother sang to her.  Similar to the signing of the shoes, sometimes the veil will also be waved above all the single ladies, but not that day. 

At some point, green and red ribbons were pinned to the groom’s shirt. Traditionally, the groom’s mother does this, with the red ribbon symbolizing health (pinned from the left shoulder down to the right) and the green ribbon symbolizes happiness (pinned from the right shoulder down to the left). Sometimes the bride’s mother is asked to assist with the ribbons “to add more motherly love as their children take one of the most important journeys of their life”.  Or something like that.

While all of this was going on, most of the men were in a separate room.  As with every other house visited in this process, there was a feast laid out with khorovats, meat, cheese, vegetables, juice, soda….and vodka, wine and brandy.  More toasts, more shots.   

The bridal party came into the room with the table o’ food and posed for pictures with the adorable kiddies who had been added to the bridal party.

Godmother, bride, groom, godfather, azapbashi and the kiddies

Once the pictures were done, the band started up again and the (even bigger) crowd danced its way out of the house to the vehicles, which by now included two marshutnis.  We got in the cars and headed into the center of Gyumri for the wedding itself.  After circling the main square (during which the marshutni I was in fishtailed during one of the turns, incidentally), we parked and everyone made their way into the church. 

The ceremony itself was shorter than I had witnessed in the US, but nonetheless interesting.  A priest read some prayers, blessed the rings and blessed the couple once the rings were exchanged.  They were brought up to the altar and crowns were placed on their heads, after which they stood with the crowns touching while the godfather held a cross at their heads.

A final blessing was accompanied by the bridal party eating the chocolate and drinking the wine that had been in one of the baskets.  After a receiving line and the taking of pictures on the altar, everyone moved outside where a pair of birds was given to the bride and groom. The birds – one representing love and the other happiness – were released and they flew off.  Or at least back to their owners down the block who rent them for these occasions. 

Then it was back into the cars and back to the groom’s house.  As we arrived the band and the dancing resumed.  Lavash (wrapped in plastic, like a sash) was placed over the shoulders of the bride and groom.  The mother of the groom had a pair of dishes prepared to welcome the newlyweds to the house (as the bride normally moves in with her in-laws).   

Get a load of these dishes

The plates were placed just inside the door and the couple stepped on them to smash them – warding off evil spirits.  And then it was more pictures and, of course, more toasts.  Then it was off to the reception.

Mazel tov!

The reception was at a restaurant in Bayandur, yet another village.  A dais was set up and tables throughout the room.  There did not seem to be seat assignments so people rushed to get the seats they wanted.  Naturally, there was food piled on all the tables – meats, cheese, greens, fruits, bread and lavash, vegetables and nuts.  And the usual assortment of mineral water, juice, soda, vodka, wine and brandy. 

When the newlyweds came in, they had their first dance and then took their place at the dais – from which they didn’t move much for a while.  At one point, the groom jumped up to dance and was dragged back to his bride by the godfather.  They did do a round of the tables at one point and did join in on one of the dances, but mostly they danced in their seats.

As more food was brought out during the party, I was surprised to see that, even though it was in a restaurant, some of the female guests were the ones bringing out the food (and maybe cooking it also).  

The presentation of the khorovats

oh shit

The same musicians from earlier in the day were also playing at the party, most of it traditional Armenian songs. During their breaks, pop music from Russia and elsewhere filled in.

From then on, it was a blur of dancing, toasts and eating.  I was cajoled into all three, but in moderation.  

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to stay to the end as I needed to take a taxi home and I was told I wouldn’t get one past 10:00 (the party, I am told, ended about 2:00).  As I was leaving, they were just cutting the cake and I missed the throwing of the bouquet and garter (not Armenian traditions, but seeping in from the West). And, undoubtedly, there was a lot more dancing.

Another thing that I missed was the morning after.  As I have written before, a bride is expected to be a virgin on her wedding day. Traditionally, the family of the groom brings red apples to the family of the bride the day after the wedding as a way of reporting that, how shall we say…evidence was present in the bridal chamber.    

Anyone who has read my previous post would not be surprised that, as I am told, the couple met two weeks before the wedding.  But at least the song for the first dance wasn’t this.

Given my unofficial role at the wedding, I have way more pictures in this album.

Now if I can only get invited to an Army Party….. 

On Death and Dying

Gyumri is a place where you are always reminded of death in one way or another.  While not the epicenter of the 1988 earthquake (the village of Spitak was) it was hit the hardest in terms of casualties, being a much more heavily populated area.  The collapsed buildings that remain all over the city are constant reminders.  Everyone you speak to has a story about the earthquake and knows someone who died (or, in the case of younger people, there were family members they never got to meet).

Throughout Armenia, there are also constant reminders of the Genocide.  Unlike the earthquake, which is more present due to the fact that it was relatively recent, the memory of the Genocide is kept alive in part because Armenia is still struggling for it to be recognized as such.  No matter the reason, you always meet people whose families were from Istanbul or somewhere else in Turkey and whose families fled at that time.

Everywhere you go in Armenia, you see memorials to the departed.  Many are in the form of "khachkars" (cross-stones) which are a distinct part of Armenian culture.  You may notice a strong resemblance to the Celtic cross, which was pointed out to me by the bishop with whom I work as one of many indicators that the Irish and the Armenians are related somehow.

Other memorials are in the form of fountains - some of which are simple drinking fountains, others look more decorative, but are still used by people to drink from or wash their hands.

 

Throughout the cemeteries in and around Gyumri (and some of the memorials along the streets) you see markings for those killed in the earthquake. Beside the telltale "1988" marking, there is usually a clock that shows 11:41, the time it hit.

Most of the graves here have pictures of the deceased.  I assume that many of the pictures are based on a favorite photograph provided by  the family, which would explain why they include the logo clothing that many people here are fond of. 

On a side note, one thing I find amazing (and which is a testament to the artistry here) is that the portraits are done freehand - not using computer technology.


As with everything else here, the rituals that people follow are interesting to me.  Recently, one of my neighbors died and I went to pay my respects to the family.  Not wanting to offend (or make a fool of myself) I asked around for the appropriate protocol and what is normally said to the family (answer: "Ցավակցում եմ ձեզ" - tsavaktsum em dzez - I sympathize with you).  As you approach the home of someone in mourning, you see the coffin lid outside and, often, flower arrangements.  As I entered my neighbors' house, the open casket was laid out in the living room surrounded by flowers, candles and benches for people to sit.  The immediate family was alongside the casket and after I offered my condolences, I sat on one of the benches.  I had been told by others that normally only women sit inside, but the cold may have kept some of the male visitors inside also. I am told that in some villages, the men and women gather in separate rooms of the house for mourning.

The sign of a funeral within

Not knowing the family too well, I didn't stay too long.  As I was leaving, I passed the group of men outside the house smoking - one aspect I had been told about that held true.


As I was sitting in the house, I had noticed that a portrait of the deceased was on the wall, with a black ribbon across one of the lower corners.  While I did not go to the funeral/burial itself, I have seen processions where the portrait is placed on the front of the lead car going to the cemetery.  After, it takes its place back in the house.

This "death picture" is another of the reminders throughout the country as almost every home I have been in has had a portrait over the living room couch.  The portraits are of the family matriarch or patriarch or both.

In Solak, Razmik's father's portrait

This is something people prepare for.  One of my fellow volunteers who left last year, a very gifted photographer, was asked by a neighbor to take her portrait for this specific purpose.  I haven't been asked a similar favor but would be honored if I was. 

Traditionally, there is another commemoration 40 days after the death and another on the one year anniversary.  One of my fellow volunteers was asked by her landlady to vacate her apartment for a funeral (the landlady's husband) and again for the 40 day commemoration.  I am not clear if these are universally formal where room needs to be made for visitors, but I do know there are informal aspects also.  These normally involve men drinking shots of vodka at the graveside.

Twice last year, I was part of an informal remembrance - once when I was on the walk across Armenia.  Approaching a village where we were spending the night, we passed a cemetery just off the road and were greeted by a group of men.  After pleasantries were exchanged, they told us all the great qualities of their friend, shared the food they had with them and shared their vodka.  And we took pictures.

So the traditions often take on a celebratory aspect - talking about the fond memories of the departed.  Just like an Irish wake....