A Future Thrown Open: Armenia
In the summer of 1997, I lived for two months in Armenia. The country was free of the Soviet Union for less than six years, and free from its war with neighboring Azerbaijan for fewer still. But as an entity, as a people, it's as old as they come. I, by conrast, was an unseasoned twenty-four-year-old, somehow finding my second home among old, stone churches and Soviet Modernism. My experience of Armenia is among the highlights of my life.
Below is an excerpt from Somewhere Found.
Outside of our school and meal routines, we explore the city, learning its rhythms, studying its machinery, examining the stitching of its fabric. Afternoons often find us at Mutant Duck Pond for a beer. This is not the official name of the city’s central park, but we’ve dubbed it so. The resident ducks are strange, ugly specimens with faces that seem stuck on upside down. The surrounding city blocks are packed end-to-end with imposing five-story buildings constructed of tuff, a volcanic stone unique in its shifting hues of pink, rust, and orange. In contrast to their heaviness, the arches around doors and windows are carved with delicate grapevine and pomegranate designs, an aesthetic heritage passed down from the last millennium.
In the green spaces between buildings, lone middle-aged men in dark trousers shuffle to and fro, sucking their teeth and lips, spitting sunflower seeds, and eyeing us with guarded curiosity. Old women rest on park benches to chat among themselves, sharing grandchild stories or counting the months or years until they retire their black dresses, the war dead duly mourned. Quite their opposite, young women in clumsy high heels cluster on sidewalks, hoping to be noticed. Their inexperience and insecurity are poorly disguised with short neon skirts and makeup seemingly applied with thick-tipped markers. All these elements mix unsteadily, unsure how — or whether — to assimilate or remain entrenched in old customs. Dating back to the eighth century BC, Yerevan is one of the world’s oldest cities, and we’ve arrived at a unique moment in its history, as the seat of a newly independent republic. Like us students fresh into adulthood, the city seems dazed by the future thrown open at its lap, by the existential dread that’s often handmaiden to hope.
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