Ani, Tea Toils and My Row in the Shower

Our weekend excursion led to some recalibrating of my idea of the road trip. The roads to the ruins of Ani are poshi (dust). Not dusty or dry, we’re talking straight-up, out of the dust bowl dust. After hours in the hot sun, a jaunt through the buffer zone between Turkey and Armenia, even madzoon (Armenian yogurt) couldn’t cure what ailed. My honest truth is this: as we lined up at the Turkish border, struck by the distance between us and this historical Armenian beacon, scanning with binoculars the land that once was ours, in crept this fear of whether or not we would get home before water hours ended at 9 p.m. It was clear to me that the shedding of my bus dust was the first step forward toward creating a freer, more democratic Armenia. Global recognition of the Genocide? Just pass the loofa, a little soap and it'll be done. I was taking my diasporan position of agency seriously- I had taken Ani to heart. We were jostled home in minibus, tour bus, and it was 8:45 - 15 minutes left until we had to rely on our tank for water. My roommate showered, it was 3 minutes until 9 p.m.

I peeled off my bus apparel, pulled my fingers through straw-hair in one last ditch effort to detangle. I shrugged off this failure, figuring the conditioner would work its magic shortly- how wrong I was! As I stepped into the shower, I was hit by a cold (not so bad, considering the heat), trickle (egads, trickle?!) that dripped slowly, but surely, to the speed of a running nose. I was desperate, stark naked in the shower with the sniffling showerhead suffering from post-nasal drip above me. I stood, begging for water like a street dog following a khatchapuri- toting pedestrian. Just a crumb, a drop, I’ll roll over if you’ll just oblige (you damn, unholy excuse of a shower). Alas, the music died. I managed a paultry wash & rinse with the shampoo, a first layer of dirt descended. I gave into the poshi reality.

Tea, Yanina suggested. Yes, tea! We had our own store-bought Costco-size water jugs. We would drink our tea, get our bearings, create an effective solution for the hair-raising traffic situation in Yerevan, and change the face of Armenia as we knew it! After tea. Dressed, sinking swift and fast from a day of sun, marinating in dreams of great benevolence, we put the kettle on (more accurately, it was a pot with water) and zoned out in from of Armenia Music Television. Here’s the trouble- if there’s no kettle to call the pot black, there’s also no whistle to call out the tea hour. And the water boiled on to dry. So, for the second time that night, we ran out of water. Tomorrow, Ani, we’ll be clean and tomorrow we’ll look back toward you as we march on forward.

Still Poshi from 12 Amiryan Apt.54,

Samantha