Back in the USSR - Armenia Part III

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The rest our journey was more precarious and I gazed at the broken guard rails strategically placed beside the worst curves. Some good they did. The snow fell furiously, Axel Rose screamed “Welcome to the Jungle!” which was remarkably appropriate for the chaotic traffic we kept engaging, and I watched the world drift on. The mountains are intoxicating in this region, not that we needed any more intoxication, and you really feel close to the earth. It is comforting.

We made the final turns off the mountain and descended into the basin that cradles Yerevan. It was Genocide Day in Armenia, and no one was at work and seemingly everyone at the Genocide Memorial Police were directing traffic with profound futility, and, my knees screaming from 7 hours in the back seat, I just wanted to get home. I again recalled the time in the ‘Stans when I would spend days on end outside the capital for work, and the toll it would take on my body. More importantly, I remembered how luxurious everything seemed when I returned—how heavenly the hot water felt on my body in the shower, how scrumptious almost any food I ate tasted, and how warm the radiator felt in my home. Naturally when I got back to my friend’s apartment the electricity was off, it was cold, the restaurants were closed, and there was no hot water. You might think I’d curse or try to solve this problem. No, instead I disrobed, got under 6 blankets, pulled out a book I’m reading about a guy who travels through the world’s poorest countries and conflict zones, squinting to follow the beam of light from my flashlight, and read about his adventures. “God that’s bad” I thought when I read about his travels, the irony completely lost on me till the next day. And then I fell asleep.

I haven’t entirely forgotten these things—I still have remarkably low standards by many of my friends’ standards. But at least this trip was good context for remembering where I came from, what I have, who I have become, and what I aspire to be. I am so lucky in so many ways. I am not sure I’ll ever be capable of living in this part of the world again. I’m not sure I ever want to. But, I’d say that returning here was like cracking open a good book you’ve read 5-6 times—you open it up, smile at your favorite parts, but close it again when you are bored by its redundancy. I wonder when I’ll open this book again. I wonder if I ever will.

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Photos

Yerevan Marriott
A taste of the West