I am the lord of the dance...

It was a dance dance revolution at Pavana last night. The AA treated us interns to a rousing good time. We ate, we danced, we ate, we danced and we didn’t leave until 3 ½ hours later. The longer I’m here, the more clear the benefits of being an Armenian becomes.

We arrived to tables filled with bowls of fruit, madzoon (yogurt), vodka and lavash, lavash, lavash. I soon realized that there is an art to eating and dancing in succession without tipping toward sickness or hunger or exhaustion.

I am rushing around the office today, translating the website text into french. A most delicious task. Hard to keep my head in one place or one language and I'm banking on slipping into french during Armenian class this evening but, hey, the more the merrier, right? How do you say that in Russian?

Harriedly from the ATDA office,

Samantha

I found the golden ticket...

...while watching the U.S. Embassy's promotional video!

Yesterday, the AAA interns had the honor of visiting the U.S. Embassy and meeting with a few of our foreign service officials. The charge(insert accent) d'affaires, Anthony Godfrey, is currently fulfilling many of the ambassadorial duties. Last year, the Ambassador to Armenia was removed from his post when he had the khtuzpah to recognize the events of 1915-1918 as genocide. One slip of the tongue and your outta' there buddy.

Meeting with Daniel Raffa, a foreign service advisor working with assistance and economic growth, however, was a real treat. How to mediate any discrepancy between your own beliefs and the ideologies of the government you've sworn to promote? Avoid situations/countries/areas that pull at your heartstrings and you'll get in a lot less trouble, he says. Good call, DR. He started by showing us a video toasting all of the Armenian American efforts in Armenia. Everything from the Armenia Tree Project to Garo Armen's Children of Armenia Foundation were spotlighted during the 19 minute film.

But here's the most exciting thing: about 7 1/2 minutes in, up pops this beautiful, round-shaped stick- sleek, strong, powerful. And then, as if to secure the stately vision, some small hard balls. Oh yes, it's true. Some kind, benevolent do-gooder has brought field hockey to Armenia. Apparently, there are 11 programs throughout the country. I am now on a mission. I will find that field hockey program if it kills me. Already, I have the Embassy, Birthright Armenian AND our tourist advisors here on the lookout.

If there's field hockey in Armenia then I can be certain that the country is moving in the right direction. Kudos Armenia for introducing your people to the sport that changes this. This one goes out to my 2006 ncac championship team.

From the ATDA office,

Samantha

Politics, dance, and the cafe glace

Yesterday, we (the Armenian Assembly interns) met with a member of the National Parliament. A Republican, he sits on the side that controls the coalition. It seems that this coalition is surprisingly against the codes of democracy. Needless to say, I learned more from my fellow interns on the bus ride back to town than I did from said parliamentary member. Isn’t that just always the case?

Frustration about political ignorance, however, quickly took a back seat, replaced by two very impressive, very Armenian inventions: the Folk Dance and the Café glacé.

At the Opera house, we were granted entrance to the sold out show on the condition that we sat on the steps of the balcony seating. This I liked. In Armenia, it’s not about the fire hazard, the danger of the mezzanine collapsing like Yankee Stadium; it’s about making sure that the desire to take part in cultural activities is fulfilled no matter what. Anyway, when was the last time an Opera house set fire or collapsed? It’s not like anyone’s running around on opening night yabbering out loud about the “Scottish tragedy.” Well, at least I hope not. The dance was beautiful, joyous- and the audience fevered with excitement.

After the Opera, at a sidewalk café, we ordered café glacés. Big glasses of Armenian coffee topped off with a generous scoop of vanilla ice cream. This concoction is a dream to be savored like the last song of the night before the band packs up and heads home.

Ah, here comes the old woman who cleans the office, sweeps the street, serves us coffee and tells me about her redhaired daughter who once dyed her hair black.

From the ATDA office,

Samantha

p.s Dear Mom, I put sunblock on every morning.

This is the church, this is the steeple...

In war-torn Nagorno Karabakh, the first brick laid was the cornerstone of a church. The schools could wait and so could the food. In Armenia, this is how her heart beats.

Home, Sweet Garni

Weekends here are marathons; on the bus, off the bus, around the monastery, on the bus, off the bus, through the temple, on the bus, off the bus. (Repeat again tomorrow). It makes it hard to settle into any place and get an idea of what its all about. This, I am gathering, is par for the course.

Garni, however, broke the vicious cycle. Rushed as we may have been, this last-standing pagan temple just outside the city limits is a quiet tribute to a past when things were peaceful, simple and void of Christianity. Greek influences scattered in the Armenian countryside.

Steps toward the altar are tall; and like trudging through mid-February snow in Vermont, the ascent is satisfying. Garni is like a one-room schoolhouse. It is delightful in its simplicity as it tugs for you to imagine yourself learning communally inside its thick walls. It does not outshine that awe in the sprawling college campus, nor the reverence of Christianity. Garni reminds visitors that things were difference once and that was great too.

“Samantha,” Vram, our tour director said, “You are right at home here because like Garni, you are both Greek and Armenian.” Yes, Vram, at Garni it did feel like home.

From 12 Amiryan St. Apt.54,

Samantha

p.s. This morning, on my return run, I braved the rowdy pack of dogs in my alley. I walked by them instead of looping around the building. I proceeded quietly and they didn’t make a sound. What a triumph! Slowly, surely, assimilation

Ga o ch'ga- A second-hand tale from Armenia

Be warned- this will be surprising.

My flatmate, Yanina, is interning with a gynecological surgeon here in Yerevan. Yesterday was her first day. Luckily she speaks russian and doesn't have much trouble communicating. Needless to say, this didn't deter her "shock & awe" reaction to her first birth.

Arriving in the morning she was told that yesterday included 5 natural births, 2 cesarian sections and 1 siamese. Siamese! How exciting, she thought, and asked to go see the new babies. They said they would show her soon. Then, they walked around the hospital, showing her with pride their small and bustling hospital. She saw an enema, things were going swimmingly.

The doctor took her into an office and opened a mini-fridge next to her as she continued rattling off in Russian facts about the hospital. The doctor pulled out a grocery bag with apples and fruit on the outside. She opened up the bag, reached in and pulled out a leg. The leg was followed by not one, but two others and a body. The partially-developed conjoined twins were stillborn. Language barriers persist, it seems, when two are communicating in something other than their mother tongue.

In Armenia many customs are different from those in the States. Sometimes tax is included on the lunch tab and sometimes it is not; sometimes dogs quiet down come midnight and sometimes they do not. At times, there are so many people on the streets that you can't see 25 yards in front of you when walking down a sidewalk through a bazaar. At other times, the streets are so quiet that the city seems stuck in transit. And sometimes, there are frozen partially-developed conjoined twins lurking in the mini-fridges in doctor's offices.

From the ATDA office and a 9 hour time difference,

Samantha

Let sleeping (Armenian) dogs lie

Jet lag does have some perks- like waking up at 7 am without setting an alarm clock. This morning, taking advantage of the fact that I don't have to be at work until 10, I suited up to go for a run. The city is quiet in the morning. Just a few old ladies sweeping the sidewalks with brooms as tall as toddlers. Making my way down the 10 flights of stairs, I thought of how simple and beautiful everything is during the early hours. I took off to the left, heading towards Mashtots Street down the alley near my apartment. A few early risers, sun streaking on the back of buildings, and then dogs- 6, 10, I'll probably remember it as 20- dogs, barking and running toward me. My enjoyment of the early mornning solitude, it seems, had ruined it for the canines. I didn't know what to do. I put my hands up. I backed away slowly. Somehow, my reaction to someone pointing a gun and a pack of mangy street dogs is the same.

I survived the onslaught unscathed. I found my way to Cascade- the most beautiful set of stairs I've ever seen- thick with grass and marble, it gives a stunning view of this city in flux.

from ATDA office,

Samantha

k'san yerhgoo (22)

Another birthday past. My first celebrated in Asia...or, rather, on the Eurasian land bridge. Not much pomp and circumstance but a visit to the Armenian Genocide Memorial. Each visitor brings a white carnation drenched in clove oil to an "eternal flame" at the memorial's center. There was so much silence. Language class is as language class done- not much to report except that I can now ask three questions in Armenian; what is your name?, how old are you? and where do you come from?

I have currently researching outbound Japanese tourism operators at work. It's a curious exercise- I have come to realize how terribly insufficient google's beta translator really is.

We'll see about tomorrow

from depi hayr office,

samantha

my loins (and my bum) burn for Armenia

A last day at the Tobay beach to tire myself out for the 15 hours of travel. A beautiful and windfull day. Despite the repeated lathering on of Coppertone's finest- I burned my bum, the only part of my body I'll be consistently using on the plane. [I would insert some kitchy Armenian phrase that translates to 'C'est la vie,' however, I don't know one yet.]

from 100 main,

samantha