Armenian Hospitality

I ate lunch alone today for the first time since arriving. It was deliciously solitary and thanks to some fabulous reading from a friend (a few choice articles from Third Wave Agenda: Being Feminist, Doing Feminism), I sat head-in-a-book-in-the-corner happy. I was indulging in a wealth of favorite things: crepe salé with chicken and crème fraiche, academic criticism, filtered coffee and a very quiet lunch hour. My meal carouseled on in gastronomic and literary bliss. And then I got a piece of chicken stuck between my teeth. My attempts to gracefully remove it with the corner of my pinky nail and then my thumbnail produced no successful results. I could not be the picture of post-college ennui and intellect with a piece of chicken between my incisors. The lone lunchtime diner, I kept at it as I read on about how academic feminists can best serve contemporary causes. Then, the waiter, who had been standing by the bar throughout the meal, breezed by my table, dropped a container of toothpicks and slid off into the back room.

Now, every travel guide I’ve ever read about Armenia mentions the “unrivaled hospitality and kindness of the indigenous people.” I share the sentiment- these people are gems. But there is a subtlety to Armenian hospitality that is oftentimes overlooked. That is to say, in Armenia, not only do they service you with toothpicks to tidy your teeth but they let you do it in privacy as well. All without a single word to mar the whole affair.

Proud granddaughter to the dentist at the ATDA office,

Samantha