Armenian notes
In the spring of 2000, I went to Armenia as a Peace Corps Volunteer; I stayed there until the fall of 2003. I've decided to start this blog off with some of my letters from that time. Why? Well, aside from saving me the trouble of composing new posts, and thus appealing to my inherent laziness, it also gives background information and I get to revisit those Armenian days. Not to mention that my life now is hardly as interesting as it was then. I'm going to try to post the letters in rough chronological order, and include notes of explanation where needed.
So, this post will be from one of my first letters home - I had just started the three month training period and was living with my host family in Shahumiyan village, just outside of Vanadzor. The food poisoning incident referred to in the letter occured my last night in America, just before we were all bundled up and flown off to Armenia - it WAS ghastly.
Here's the letter, sent snail mail to a friend who then transcribed it and sent it out:
As you've probably figured out by now, my internet access is nil as of yet - and I've been far too busy to really research the possibilities. The language is a killer - I have to keep reminding myself I'm only in the 9th day of language, and if I can't read the ENTIRE alphabet yet it's probably OK (if incredibly frustrating - that and the one-sided conversations have been driving me crazy). The time is very tight these first weeks - 6 days on, one day off; homework and the obligatory visiting with the host family; trying out the "cross-cultural" experiences (shopping in the shukas; riding the marshutnies; eating, eating, eating). It is exhausting. The hardest thing for me so far - and certainly the most tiring - has been the amazing amount of effort it takes to communicate. I identify with David Sedaris more and more as the days pass by. Me talk pretty one day – but for now it's pretty grim.
"Knife?" "Cherries?" "Go school, yes?" I've mastered basic greetings and farewells; I can ask where the bathroom is and how you are; I can count to ten (well, usually), ask the price and say what I want, how I am and who I am (OK, I haven't mastered "Peace Corps" yet, but I've got my name down pat). Today I thought - for a sweet fleeting moment - I was breaking through to actually be able to read, but alas! I fear it was an illusion. I really really really want *The Cat In the Hat* in Armenian -- it would give me such a sense of accomplishment. And - Lo! - how the mighty have fallen.
The really good news is that -- aside from that food poisoning incident in Chicago - I've been astoundingly healthy. Others in the group have not been so lucky - and I'm sure I'll be joining the ranks of the sick (hee-vand) one of these days, but I'll be postponing that as long as possible. I'm really glad I got all my shots beforehand - even with the extra expense, it was a good idea. God knows I don't need any extra stressors on my system right now.
So, what is it like? Where are you going, where have you been? The trip here was endless - airline seats are definitely getting smaller - and the luggage hideous to manage. 102 lbs of check-through (which I only had to deal with in Chicago and Armenia), plus the three coats I was wearing to save on luggage weight (before and after it seems like a really smart idea, but in the middle of hauling through the Frankfurt airport I was having my doubts). Then Armenian airlines, which are a bit of a trippy experience but fun, and the arrival to sweltering heat, and the joy of hauling way too much baggage around (still wearing 3 coats, lest we forget) and waiting for the wheels of bureaucracy to grind us through - while the previous Armenia group (A-7s) screamed their welcomes through the glass. Eventually we all got through, with our small mountain of baggage, collapsed onto a bus and were delivered to the hotel (in Yerevan). The next day training began (in the morning, no less!) and the day after (5th) we were moved (yes, the baggage blues again) to the "sanitorium" in Vanadzor. Which was somewhat less than a treat, but nothing horrid by any means. Cold running water, electricity, earthquake damage. And the lumpiest beds this side of the sea. Lumpy beds seem to be a speciality here, and lack of an exterior/interior charm in the buildings is a definite style. Not in homes per se, but public buildings - concrete, concrete, concrete. Badly mixed and poorly maintained, peeling paint and disintegrating stairs at strange angles. Two days there and thence to our host families, with our halting and limited language skills. "Good morning!" "How are you?" "I am fine." It made for fascinating conversation around the dinner table.
Gradually we're learning. Basic commands and food come first - it's like training a dog, I guess. The care and maintenance of the PCV. "Sit" "Stay" "Slowly" "Come" "Go" "Speak" "Eat". Ruff.
I'm actually really lucky in my host family - one woman (my "sister-in-law") speaks fluent English, my "brother" does karate, and "Dad" is a mechanical engineer, while "Mom" is a retired mathematics teacher. One 3-yr-old "niece" and a cousin or two (9-11 yrs?) staying the summer. Running water with optional hot (switch on electric heater), an indoor toilet that swallows everything (usually the TP goes in a basket, NOT down the drain), obviously electricity, and meals 3 to 6 times a day. I hardly remember what being hungry feels like - and I'm beginning to really want that memory refreshed. Food is a big thing here - that and incredibly badly dubbed television. "Cafe con Aroma de Mujer" every day. You hear snippets of the Spanish, and the Armenian overlay; the same for the American movies - the original soundtrack is never erased, loud Armenian is simply added. ( ummm, actually the over dubbing is mostly in Russian, but I didn't know that yet, and was unable to tell the difference at that point) Swears are translated as "You pig!" or "You cow!" - or so says my sister-in-law, Karin. My translation skills aren't up to that yet - I'm pretty much sticking with the "Hello/how are you/my name is/what is your name" and all that stuff on the table. You want a tomato, I can get you a tomato. Beyond that level of communication it gets real sketchy real fast.
The country itself - at least here in Shahumiyan - is very beautiful. At least as long as you ignore the garbage in the rivers. The rusted abandoned machinery, the broken glass and broken buildings. Mountains, trees, neat little gardens of beans and potatoes; apple trees and roses and wildflowers everywhere. And tremendous poverty, of course - cute little kids with mouths of rotten teeth. Visiting the clinics is depressing - to start with, no one's been paid since September, and they're working in godawful conditions. Lovely crumbling cheery concrete buildings, no supplies to speak of, antiquated equipment, no labs or ambulances in house - and the doctors and PAs and nurses continue to try. Against all odds, without pay for 9 months. It amazes me.
Beyond that, what to say? This is all a bit disjointed because it's been stopped & started so many times, written in what time I've been able to snatch. Now I'm sitting out in the family garden with my Mama and a neighbor - they're peeling unripe walnuts for preserving. I'm writing. It's warm & sunny, and the world's behind the wall, behind the gate. Papa's been working on my adapter/converter for hours now - all my cleverness in bringing ahead of time, and nothing works. My discs won't spin, my computer won't charge. It's a sadness - but pretty survivable at this point. I'm a lot more concerned about the amount of food I'm eating and the lack of exercise - it's not that I'm worried about getting chunky (though if it's ever going to happen, this is the place) - it's just uncomfortable being stuffed all the time. Maybe they're planning to slaughter me come fall.
So, this post will be from one of my first letters home - I had just started the three month training period and was living with my host family in Shahumiyan village, just outside of Vanadzor. The food poisoning incident referred to in the letter occured my last night in America, just before we were all bundled up and flown off to Armenia - it WAS ghastly.
Here's the letter, sent snail mail to a friend who then transcribed it and sent it out:
As you've probably figured out by now, my internet access is nil as of yet - and I've been far too busy to really research the possibilities. The language is a killer - I have to keep reminding myself I'm only in the 9th day of language, and if I can't read the ENTIRE alphabet yet it's probably OK (if incredibly frustrating - that and the one-sided conversations have been driving me crazy). The time is very tight these first weeks - 6 days on, one day off; homework and the obligatory visiting with the host family; trying out the "cross-cultural" experiences (shopping in the shukas; riding the marshutnies; eating, eating, eating). It is exhausting. The hardest thing for me so far - and certainly the most tiring - has been the amazing amount of effort it takes to communicate. I identify with David Sedaris more and more as the days pass by. Me talk pretty one day – but for now it's pretty grim.
"Knife?" "Cherries?" "Go school, yes?" I've mastered basic greetings and farewells; I can ask where the bathroom is and how you are; I can count to ten (well, usually), ask the price and say what I want, how I am and who I am (OK, I haven't mastered "Peace Corps" yet, but I've got my name down pat). Today I thought - for a sweet fleeting moment - I was breaking through to actually be able to read, but alas! I fear it was an illusion. I really really really want *The Cat In the Hat* in Armenian -- it would give me such a sense of accomplishment. And - Lo! - how the mighty have fallen.
The really good news is that -- aside from that food poisoning incident in Chicago - I've been astoundingly healthy. Others in the group have not been so lucky - and I'm sure I'll be joining the ranks of the sick (hee-vand) one of these days, but I'll be postponing that as long as possible. I'm really glad I got all my shots beforehand - even with the extra expense, it was a good idea. God knows I don't need any extra stressors on my system right now.
So, what is it like? Where are you going, where have you been? The trip here was endless - airline seats are definitely getting smaller - and the luggage hideous to manage. 102 lbs of check-through (which I only had to deal with in Chicago and Armenia), plus the three coats I was wearing to save on luggage weight (before and after it seems like a really smart idea, but in the middle of hauling through the Frankfurt airport I was having my doubts). Then Armenian airlines, which are a bit of a trippy experience but fun, and the arrival to sweltering heat, and the joy of hauling way too much baggage around (still wearing 3 coats, lest we forget) and waiting for the wheels of bureaucracy to grind us through - while the previous Armenia group (A-7s) screamed their welcomes through the glass. Eventually we all got through, with our small mountain of baggage, collapsed onto a bus and were delivered to the hotel (in Yerevan). The next day training began (in the morning, no less!) and the day after (5th) we were moved (yes, the baggage blues again) to the "sanitorium" in Vanadzor. Which was somewhat less than a treat, but nothing horrid by any means. Cold running water, electricity, earthquake damage. And the lumpiest beds this side of the sea. Lumpy beds seem to be a speciality here, and lack of an exterior/interior charm in the buildings is a definite style. Not in homes per se, but public buildings - concrete, concrete, concrete. Badly mixed and poorly maintained, peeling paint and disintegrating stairs at strange angles. Two days there and thence to our host families, with our halting and limited language skills. "Good morning!" "How are you?" "I am fine." It made for fascinating conversation around the dinner table.
Gradually we're learning. Basic commands and food come first - it's like training a dog, I guess. The care and maintenance of the PCV. "Sit" "Stay" "Slowly" "Come" "Go" "Speak" "Eat". Ruff.
I'm actually really lucky in my host family - one woman (my "sister-in-law") speaks fluent English, my "brother" does karate, and "Dad" is a mechanical engineer, while "Mom" is a retired mathematics teacher. One 3-yr-old "niece" and a cousin or two (9-11 yrs?) staying the summer. Running water with optional hot (switch on electric heater), an indoor toilet that swallows everything (usually the TP goes in a basket, NOT down the drain), obviously electricity, and meals 3 to 6 times a day. I hardly remember what being hungry feels like - and I'm beginning to really want that memory refreshed. Food is a big thing here - that and incredibly badly dubbed television. "Cafe con Aroma de Mujer" every day. You hear snippets of the Spanish, and the Armenian overlay; the same for the American movies - the original soundtrack is never erased, loud Armenian is simply added. ( ummm, actually the over dubbing is mostly in Russian, but I didn't know that yet, and was unable to tell the difference at that point) Swears are translated as "You pig!" or "You cow!" - or so says my sister-in-law, Karin. My translation skills aren't up to that yet - I'm pretty much sticking with the "Hello/how are you/my name is/what is your name" and all that stuff on the table. You want a tomato, I can get you a tomato. Beyond that level of communication it gets real sketchy real fast.
The country itself - at least here in Shahumiyan - is very beautiful. At least as long as you ignore the garbage in the rivers. The rusted abandoned machinery, the broken glass and broken buildings. Mountains, trees, neat little gardens of beans and potatoes; apple trees and roses and wildflowers everywhere. And tremendous poverty, of course - cute little kids with mouths of rotten teeth. Visiting the clinics is depressing - to start with, no one's been paid since September, and they're working in godawful conditions. Lovely crumbling cheery concrete buildings, no supplies to speak of, antiquated equipment, no labs or ambulances in house - and the doctors and PAs and nurses continue to try. Against all odds, without pay for 9 months. It amazes me.
Beyond that, what to say? This is all a bit disjointed because it's been stopped & started so many times, written in what time I've been able to snatch. Now I'm sitting out in the family garden with my Mama and a neighbor - they're peeling unripe walnuts for preserving. I'm writing. It's warm & sunny, and the world's behind the wall, behind the gate. Papa's been working on my adapter/converter for hours now - all my cleverness in bringing ahead of time, and nothing works. My discs won't spin, my computer won't charge. It's a sadness - but pretty survivable at this point. I'm a lot more concerned about the amount of food I'm eating and the lack of exercise - it's not that I'm worried about getting chunky (though if it's ever going to happen, this is the place) - it's just uncomfortable being stuffed all the time. Maybe they're planning to slaughter me come fall.
posted by meg at 5:35 AM
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