The Country Bumpkin Loves Yerevan

After living in Beijing and Nairobi, both large, overcrowded cities, I resigned myself to the fact that I am not a city person.  I’m a country bumpkin who is happiest just sitting, staring at the ocean or marsh watching the birds fly by.   So, before leaving for Armenia, I was a little nervous about Yerevan.  Would living in the city be a cause of stress as it had been before?  Would I reach the point where I’d do almost anything just to get away?  The answer is no.  So far I’ve loved living in Yerevan, and here are some reasons why.

•  You can walk just about anywhere in the central district in 30 minutes.  This makes for a nice commute, however if I walk to work I usually arrive as a sweaty mess so I often opt for the metro.

•  Speaking of the metro, the one line system is easy to navigate and never too crowded.

•  On clear days, Mt. Ararat’s snow-capped peaks tower over the city from the horizon.  No photo I’ve taken thus far has come close to capturing the beauty of this mountain.

•  Yerevan has its fair share of traffic and crazy drivers, but in my opinion it’s no worse than Boston.  (Perhaps this isn’t saying much considering that many feel drivers from Boston are certified crazy.)

•  Because the city is so small, it’s easy to run into a friend by chance while you’re out and about.  In a sense, Yerevan is just one big neighborhood.  I imagine this could get pretty old when you’ve lived here all your life and there’s nowhere to hide.  But for me, living in an unfamiliar place, it provides a sense of community that I haven’t experienced in a city before.

•  You can drive just an hour from the city and find yourself in a different world of small villages and big mountains.  One of my favorite weekend activities has been hiking, because although I’m loving the city, I still like to escape every once in a while.

Here are some photos from some recent hiking adventures.

 At Smbataberd, an old fortress in the mountains

 Selfie in a cave at the summit of Mt. Hatis (2530 m).  It was mighty chilly.

 Birthrighters fording a river.

 Mt. Ararat + me + a horse = magical afternoon

 Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, Lizzie made a surprise trip to Yerevan!

Food is Love

I’ve been telling my host family for a while now that I’d cook dinner for them sometime, and it finally happened this week.  The kitchen in my home belongs completely to my host mother, so this was somewhat of a feat that she allowed me so far into her domain.  She wouldn’t completely give up the reigns and I could tell she had little faith in my cooking skills.  But I think I convinced her I knew what I was doing.

On the menu for the evening was chicken with mushrooms and onions in a white wine sauce served over my great-grandmother’s pilaf.  I thought it would be a symbolic gesture to prepare my Armenian grandmother’s rice pilaf for my host family here in Yerevan.  Her recipe would come full circle, returning to its origins.  This all seemed great in my head, until I was at the grocery store and couldn’t find any chicken broth.  This could be because A) I had no idea where to look; B) I didn’t really know how to ask; C) I still only know half of the Armenian letters so I couldn’t read the labels; or D) they don’t sell it because people just make their own.  I’m leaning towards D, but A-C are also valid answers.  Luckily, my friend was able to find the bouillon, so I settled for that instead.  This was all well and good, except it left the pilaf smelling and tasting like Top Ramen.  How could my grandmother’s pilaf which she probably first learned to make as a girl living in Turkey now taste like cheap college food here in Armenia?!  This didn’t seem right to me and I was overall disappointed in the meal.  But from the eyes (or stomachs) of my host family, the meal was a success.  I received the ultimate Armenian compliment from my host dad. “It’s delicious.  Now you can get married.”  Watch out Yerevan!

"From the American People"

This is a story about international aid and a trip to the bathroom.  First, I have to tell you a little bit about AUA’s two buildings.  The main building of the university is an old Soviet government building and AUA leases the building from the current Armenian government.  When you enter the main building there is a large foyer where students will sit and socialize.  On the back wall the Armenian and American flags hang side by side as a gentle reminder of the countries’ partnership.  And just so the students don’t forget who helped make their education at AUA possible, there are multiple signs around the foyer with the words “USAID: From the American People.”  But I digress.  The second building at AUA is attached to this one and is clean, new, and bright.  This is where I go to the bathroom.

The toilets in the AUA bathroom struck me on the first flush.  These toilets weren’t like other toilets I had used in Armenia.  Upon pushing down the lever there was a monstrous roar as the water forcefully ensured everything was gone in a flash.  This was so unlike many of the other “flush and pray” toilets I had experienced here.  It only took a quick glance behind the bowl to realize why this was the case.  American Standard.  1.6 gal/flush.  I’ve taken comfort in going to the bathroom at AUA, knowing I can have confident in the plumbing.  But today I had a new epiphany: my bathroom comfort is just another example of flawed international aid.

During my time abroad I’ve seen the fingerprints of USAID all over.  They love leaving their little stickers on everything proclaiming “From the American People.”  I remember seeing them on desks at a community center in Nairobi, on an old can of vegetable oil in my home stay family’s house in a rural village near Mombasa, and I’ve seen them here as well.  This seems all well and good (and oh so generous of “the American people”) until we take a look behind the curtain.  Here’s just one example.  According to The Guardian, in 2011 two-thirds of the food purchased by the 1 billion dollar US food aid program was bought from three of America’s largest agribusinesses.  Our taxpayer dollars are supporting large American businesses while the people in need suffer.  American food aid doesn’t help stimulate local economies in developing regions, and local farmers often can’t compete with the imported staples.  Sure, we’re all about giving, but by giving on our own terms we’re really only taking an opportunity to help ourselves, and consequently we’re hurting others.

Back to the bathrooms.  This morning at AUA I made a trip to the loo after finishing my coffee.  (Yes, I’m drinking black coffee fairly regularly.  Who would have thought?!)  Well you know what happens after coffee, so I was thankful for those powerful flushing machines.  But today while sitting on that porcelain throne, I thought more about how these toilets actually got to Armenia.  This new building at AUA is also no doubt made possible by “the American people.”  But how could we let the builders do the easy thing and buy the toilets in Yerevan?  Did American Standard make a generous toilet donation?  My guess is no.  These toilets were likely purchased with US aid money, sending that money back to the US.  Now I’m no expert on the workings of public toilets but I also wouldn’t doubt that any needed replacement part is nowhere to be found locally, as I’ve never seen another lever flush model here, which is standard in any US public restroom.  So next time I’m thankful for the forceful flusher at AUA, I’ll also be thanking “the American people.”