Days: 545 (22 December 2015 – 26 December 2015)

Total distance travelled: 137,600.6 kilometres (85,466.22 miles)

France is easily more famous, but believe it or not, Churchill (that’d be of the famous Sir Winston variety) favoured it… or to be more accurate, favoured its Cognac to the more globally renowned French drop.

He should know, as I’m pretty sure if legend and physique portray him correctly, he put away plenty in his time.

Aside from grievances with the Turks over the genocide at the turn of the last century and its standing as the first country in the world to adopt Christianity, in truth, we didn’t know too much about Armenia.

Like its northern and eastern neighbours, it was cut off from the western world for around seventy years, so other than an offering us the opportunity to enter Iran overland, we had few other expectations.

We had discovered we’d need a Visa, something we could arrange as an e-Visa (for around $30.00 US) or at the border on arrival for closer to $10.00 US.

No brainer really is it… although we quickly discovered the border guards weren’t interested in our crisp Andrew Jackson covered bill, but rather they wanted local currency, some Armenian Dram… or Georgian Lari in a pinch… and the Visa was even cheaper per person than the figure we’d gotten online!

Despite this, as we only had a couple of Georgian bills, we still got dudded on the exchange rate.

No big deal given that we still came out well ahead.

The only people aboard our marshrutka that had needed to sort out Visas (the rest were either local Georgians, Armenians and one Italian), we found our small posse waiting patiently on the Armenian side of the border, and we were again on our way.

Now it seems such a short time ago (because it was), that we’d awarded Georgia the title (among others) of the ‘Land of Rust’, but it was a title it would retain for merely a handful of days.

Enter Armenia, with first impressions suggesting that little had been built or repaired (unless with other pieces of rusted metal), other than the shiny and clean headstones we’d spot within the various cemeteries that dotted the landscape, since the country had been under Soviet rule/occupation.

As the snow that dotted to the countryside in patches seemed to increase in coverage, it did wonders to remove the decrepit look from the towns and villages that clustered together (possibly for warmth).

Onward we travelled and the patches of snow became total coverage as the elevation also slowly increased.

It made for spectacular armchair viewing!

Slowly the van began to empty, as the odd person got out here or there, often in the middle of nowhere, high on a plateau with little sign of anything other than snow.

We were hoped they had a connection that would soon be arriving.

As we finally neared our destination, the fee we’d paid back in Tbilisi for a ride to the centre of Yerevan became a case of “for ten Lari more I’ll take you to the centre”, so we said screw that (on principal), the Kilikia bus station would suffice.

Back in Tbilisi it hadn’t needed to be all that late in the day for it to be on the chilly side, and here at an even higher elevation, there was a touch of chilliness (plus we were both busting for a pee) that had us hustling away from the ‘station’ (really just a small collection of sheds surrounded by mini-vans) towards our hostel which was roughly three kilometres away.

We’d probably have gotten there sooner, but for my incessant need to wipe or blow my running nose (that’s what the freezing air will do to me), but we eventually found the address, hauled ourselves up to the fifth floor and checked ourselves in.

Some directions to some local eateries were acquired, then we thought fuck it, tonight is a beer and pizza kind of affair (we were starving by now, having eaten little since breakfast) and that was that.

After witnessing the poor state of the nation outside of the capital, Yerevan was something of a surprise.

Not totally glitz and glamour, but enough touches that you could see this was pretty young city, headed in a very modern direction.

We were also pretty excited to spot a public ice skating rink just beside the city Opera House… but that wouldn’t be us, not tonight at least!

Morning was a languid rise, but that wasn’t a problem as we weren’t in too much of a hurry, and breakfast wasn’t served in our hostel until 8:30am anyway.

Our city explorations kicked off where they’d ended the previous night, outside the Opera House which we quickly discovered is much prettier at night… when much of it is lost in shadow and darkness!

First stop was in fact a travel agency, as we just wanted a little confirmation that our bus to Tehran (in about a week), needn’t be booked with any urgency.

With those queries addressed (apparently there were plenty of seats available for either of the days we were considering to begin our adventures in the Islamic Republic), but with no real plan for the day, we had a little wander of the city, starting from the Republic Square.

Formerly under the moniker of Lenin Square, it is also a misnomer in the sense that it is hardly square at all, but rather more ovular in shape.

Beyond being a little pedantic about the name, it is home to some of the city’s premier buildings, the swanky Marriott hotel and the National Art Gallery.

Not feeling in the mood for anything arty, and with the Marriott way beyond our tight arse budget, we carried on, instead making our way towards sharp edged Surp Grigor Lusavorich Cathedral, getting distracted by a market and the prospect of some new gloves for Sarah in transit (having lost hers on our arrival in Georgia).

No luck was had, so it was across the road to check out the cathedral which looked as cold as the snow that surrounded it…

After dodging a guy intent on selling us some candles (I’m assuming for us to use as we cower in fear before god), we took a look inside where it was better lit than we’d expected, but not really any warmer

The weather had started to turn, not in a malicious manner (there was no wind, rain or snow), we just lost the sun as the skies greyed over, so we figured it was time to lunch.

Not quite feeling we’d left Turkey completely behind us I assume, it was a doner we sought, although despite us mixing it up and opting for pork (more Greek than Turkish to be honest), we were disappointed that we could taste little other than salt.

Gloomy was our mood and the state of the skies, but we thought we’d make the best of it and walk up towards the Matenadaran, in interesting sounding archive housing a massive collection of medieval manuscripts.

Built in the very late 1950’s, it’s not hard to understand why it therefore has a Communist look to its facade. It also didn’t look all that open, but the doors did indeed part when we tried them, we just needed to buy a ticket before we could go any further.

After Sarah got lost in the warren like basement (in search of the bathroom), we ascended a grand staircase to visit the manuscript collection.

Some of the rarer pieces remain out of the public eye (available to researchers, but otherwise mothballed), but it was still a pretty cool exhibition to explore.

The biggest limitation, which is a reflection upon the age from which the works have come (and who could afford to publish books at that time), is that the subject matter was not all that varied.

It was almost all of a religious nature!

On occasion a map might break up this monopoly, and there was a small section on fauna, but otherwise there was only so much one could take before succumbing to the monotony and calling time on the Matenadaran.

Seemingly behind this imposing structure (just a little higher up the hillside) stands the imposing Mayr Hayastan (Mother Armenia) who watches over the city.

By all accounts she’s not been ever vigilant, but was rather a replacement for the bronzed Stalin that once stood in its place.

When it was toppled after his death (sometime in the 60’s I believe) it crushed a nearby soldier, spawning the myth/unfortunate joke that he could still kill from beyond the grave (Stalin died back in 1953).

Despite its proximity, and despite our repeated efforts, we couldn’t however find a way to reach it, eventually abandoning such plans for another day.

Yerevan proved a great launching pad for several day trips, and it may come as little surprise (if you know anything of the country’s rich Christian roots) that the two separate trips to nearby UNESCO World Heritage sites were all fairly religious nature (I’ll cover those adventures separately).

Back at home base, the hostel was an odd mix of semi-permanent folk (a couple of young Indian university students, apparently searching for an apartment, but at the same time heavily crushing on the cute girl who works nights), and transients like us (a blonde Russian girl who we only met briefly and a US-Mexican guy travelling his way around the world).

To my surprise at least, both of the Indian’s were actually of the Christian faith (call it stereotyping, but I generally assume Hindu first), but perhaps even more surprising was that one was known as Twinkle (no shitting you, that’s his actual name)!

Apparently his dad had always been very fond of the stars…

Then one day after one of our adventures outside of the city, we returned to a full house and some loud music from the kitchen.

Slumped over the dining table sat a new guest… who appeared to have at least mentally checked out already, passed out as he was with a near empty bottle of vodka sitting beside him.

Missing all of his upper front teeth, this (we’d later learn) was our new Russian co-habitant, Oleg.

In an impressive feat of endurance, he eventually roused himself, only to wander out into the night as we began to fear for his well-being.

What if he, in his drunken stupor, passed out somewhere whilst the mercury plummeted?

The night had been getting down to around minus seven degrees Celsius, so surely that couldn’t be good for one’s health!

Our concerns were baseless. Oleg knew what he was doing, returning soon enough with another bottle of vodka clutched to his chest like a newborn baby.

All present were a little less impressed when he later passed out on the hostels only toilet with his pants around his ankles…

That was how we concluded our Xmas eve for 2015… only it wasn’t Xmas eve, at least not in Armenia (or Georgia for that matter).

In one of those regional anomalies, they don’t celebrate it here until January 6 or 7, meaning there’d be no Xmas this year… no big deal really!

What it does mean however, is that whilst back home, in the UK or USA, where the commercial retailers are probably already starting to gear up for the Easter assault (seriously), here it’s still Xmas carols on the streets, faerie lights above the road and even the odd nativity scene.

With no presents to share between us on our frugal travellers budget, we decided a nice bottle of wine and perhaps some meats and cheeses might be a nice treat, but despite us spotting several likely candidates during our daytime wanderings, try as we might, we couldn’t find a single one come night!

After wandering for just shy of an hour, we decided to wander to the Republic Square to at least see the city’s large Xmas tree all lit up.

Metres away from our destination, we spotted the entrance to an underground restaurant that we decided would have to do, but not before we checked out the tree!

As we made the short descent below street level, we at first thought the restaurant to be empty, before noticing a rather large Armenian family gathering to our left.

Making short work of the menu, we decided this would do and minutes after taking our seats, a carafe of wine had appeared on our table.

Turns out the friendly local family had decided we could do with a real Xmas gift!

We thanked them as best we could, before placing a small order to share between us.

The free wine proved ample enough, so feeling a little guilty about how little we’d spent we ordered a cheese platter to see us through the remainder of the decent, if a little sweeter than we’d normally drink, wine (give us a dry red any day).

One more surprise lay in store for us on this most festive of days/nights, and it was received upon our return to the hostel.

Once reconnected to the hostel Wi-Fi, Sarah’s phone began to flash madly.

Turns out we had a series of missed calls, but not to her actual cell phone, nor via Skype, but instead missed video calls through Facebook (I didn’t know this was possible).

With all the occupants of our dorm still awake, we decided there was still time enough to call them to at least share Xmas with some of our family.

Much palinka (Hungarian rakija) had been consumed, so it made for an amusing conversation, at least from  our perspective!!

After another excursion the following morning, we returned to a bit of a surprise.

Seventy one years ago, Don Gardner put pen to paper and wrote “All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth”

This year, good old Saint Nicholas appears to have delivered, as we were greeted by a grinning, much more sober Oleg, sporting a brand new set of front teeth!

A serve of chocolate cake for breakfast got us up and going for our last day in Yerevan, where we kicked things off with a wander around Vernisage (market), where you could buy all manner of souvenirs, carpets, soviet era medals, old clothes, and all sorts of other junk.

With the day relatively clear (by Yerevan in winter standards), we were keen to not linger too long, as we were eager to head over towards the grand stairway known as the Cascade whilst the sun was still out and we had blue skies above.

To our surprise, the area before the stairs was a sculpture garden (that wasn’t the surprise, although we didn’t know it was there), with a variety of pieces from all over the world.

What had us excited, was that fact that three of the sculptures were actually Botero pieces. Our favourite sculptor from Latin America (he’s Colombian), here in Yerevan!

Ahead of us lay quite the climb, but we got stuck into it, keen to make our way to the top, check out the needle like monument to fifty years of Soviet Armenia that stands at its top, as well as get across to the Mother Armenia statue we’d been unable to reach days earlier.

Near the top of the hill, it’s something of a shambles, apparently an old construction site that has lain dormant for many years, but was originally supposed to be a vast museum complex.

Today it is just a collection of rusting cranes and old concrete.

As for the monument to Soviet Armenia, well I hope the locals are as unimpressed as we were.

From there at least, it was only a short walk to the Mother Armenia statue, she herself an example of what can happen when the Armenian people were unhappy with their Soviet masters.

Designed as a monument to the Second World War, the pedestal upon which she stands, was actually first home to a rather Romanesque looking (seriously, google it) Joseph Stalin.

First unveiled in 1950, only nine years after big Joe had kicked the bucket, the locals decided they’d had enough of his stern visage and pulled him down.

I’m not sure what methods were used to achieve this, but by all accounts they were pretty poor.

As it fell, one soldier was killed and with many more injured, the myth was born that Stalin had the power to still kill from beyond the grave (because the fifty million deaths he is credited with in life, were simply not enough)!

In and around the pedestal is a military museum, although as we strolled past it didn’t look all that open (we didn’t really look too hard either), so I had to be content with simply looking at some of the aged military hardware that was placed nearby.

The reason we didn’t want to dawdle too long was a desire for lunch, and we wanted to get over to the Armenian Genocide memorial complex atop Tsitsernakaberd, a hill on the edge of central Yerevan (so really, it should have been reasons).

Apparently it closed around 4pm, so we needed to get our skates on if we wanted to spend any meaningful time there to check it out.

At about this time, most normal people would probably fork out a few dram for a cab and be there in a matter of minutes.

Not this pair of tight-arses, no sir-ee.

Despite all that we had read stating a taxi was easiest, we decided to walk it, all five or six kilometres of it.

We had a vague idea of where it was, but the problem is, it’s separated from the rest of the city by a deep gorge and a wide river, but thinking that we could spy a bridge in the distance, we got to it.

Once in the shadows, we were in the realm where the sun couldn’t reach, which meant there was all of a sudden a whole lot of snow, and a whole lot of ice, which for people with our footwear, spelled danger.

Fortunately we had no accidents, but at one point we did find ourselves scrambling up a rocky, snow covered embankment, as the path we were following didn’t seem to want to head in the direction we desired.

Still, we eventually found it, sitting just beyond a very communist looking music venue that also rests atop this large hill.

Around the monument sits a small copse of conifers, this man made forest of pines in fact an ever growing wood, as each tree represents a donation by an organisation or individual in recognition of the genocide.

Beside another needle monument sits an eternal flame, but try as we might we couldn’t find the apparently impressive memorial museum.

A few quick questions to a security guard pointed us in the right direction, and after eventually finding it, we discovered it was closed.

The clock hadn’t snuck up to 4pm without us noticing, rather it was closed until January!

Why the security guard hadn’t informed us of this, we, and three French guys who’d also received directions from her, shall never know.

Then we had to walk all the way back…

Which meant that by days end, we’d well and truly had enough, the answer, well we found it at the bottom of a bottle (well a couple of bottles), and the bottles, well we found them just around the corner from our hostel.

There sat the wine bar we’d searched for in vain the night before, so with some glasses of Armenian red in us, as well as a delicious platter of cheeses and cold cuts, we thought it time we finally got our skates on (literally this time), and hit the frozen Swan Lake which sits in the centre of the city.

Given that we’d by now had two bottles of wine between us, although disappointing at the time, it was likely for the best that we got there just shy of 10pm, only to find they would not let us enter (the lake closes at 11pm, but the ticket booth at 10pm)…

 

Notes:

* Our marshrutka from Tbilisi to Yerevan cost us ₾35.00 Lari per person.

* Entrance into Armenia required a Visa (paid for and arranged on arrival) which cost 3,000.00 Dram (although we got overcharged at ₾20,000.00 Lari, having only Georgian money).

* The entrance fee for the Matenadaran was 1,000 Dram each, with an additional 2,500 Dram fee if you wish to take pictures (otherwise, you’d best be sneaky).