My friends and I have begrudgingly returned from our Artsakh
adventure a week ahead of schedule.
It would have been hard to return to the hustle and bustle of the city
after days of walking through forest and meadow, but the resentment was doubled
due to our early return. Although
on the day to day Artsakh is a safe place for both residents and visitors, we
were reminded of the harsh reality of a place that’s never truly found peace 20
years after war. After a
successful week and a half of hiking from the south, we were denied access to
the northern region of Artsakh, which was closed to foreigners indefinitely. We could only get so much information
out of the officials at the checkpoint, but it’s fair to assume some sort of
unrest on the border with Azerbaijan.
We returned to Yerevan knowing we had done all we could, understanding
that there’s always that something you can’t control.
Our trip might not have ended the way we had in mind, but it
might have been the most unique and fulfilling travel experience I’ve ever
had. There’s something about
walking halfway across a country (even if it’s only the length of
Massachusetts) that gives you a completely different perspective on a place. From the hills we saw villages nestled
below. We marveled at the fact
that the mountain we saw ahead of us for days was now at our back. Sometimes we found ourselves in an old
abandoned pre-Soviet village only accessible by foot, with stone buildings
overgrown with vegetation. To top
it all off we spent each evening with a new family in a different village which
really gave us the opportunity to get to know Artsakh. (And maybe if we played our cards right we ended a sweaty day
of hiking with a shower. You can’t
beat that!)
There were so many unique moments and experiences it’s hard
to know how best to share them with you. This post doesn’t begin to tell the
whole story, but I hope it at least gives you a good glimpse. To start, we practically became Smurfs
during our time on the trail. The
bright blue paint had a way of getting to the places you’d least expect (just
like the green turf of Fauver Stadium I’m still finding in my socks a year and
a half later). Today I took off my
glasses to find the undersides dotted with blue. Although our painting strategy was in theory mess free
(water bottle with sports cap, dispense onto brush, paint, repeat) it obviously
didn’t turn out that simple. We
also quickly realized the importance of hiding our messy paint supplies before
trying to invite ourselves into a stranger’s home to spend the night.
I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such incredible
hospitality and generosity as I did along the trail. Because let’s be honest, if you took one look at our blue,
dirty, sweaty bodies you’d want us as far from your home as possible. But we got the exact opposite, and the
time we spent with our host families were some of my favorite times along the
trail. We ate food straight from their gardens, we drank their
homemade mulberry vodka, and we laughed and joked together. One family even insisted on
killing a sheep for us. This was
my birthday dinner reimagined – but why settle for just the chop when you can
also enjoy the heart (seriously delicious!) and a bit of butt fat?! Even though we only spent an evening
with each family, the next morning it was often hard to say goodbye. We exchanged hugs, email addresses, and
forced them to accept our small payment which never matched their
generosity. Then we hit the trail
for another day of pooping in the woods, sing-a-longs, sore feet, and decisions
on whether to ford the river or caulk the wagon and float across.
Now that I’m back in Yerevan, I’ll be back at work for about
the next three weeks, until the Hamlin parentals arrive for a week of
adventures. That’s when the real
fun starts…
And we're walking.
East African pride in Artsakh. (I never go anywhere without a Kanga!)
Me and Rocky at the Zontiks (or umbrellas). This photo does not do this incredible place justice. You also should note that I am wearing my L.L. Bean backpack circa 2002 (aka The Beast) which continues to go wherever I go. Meliora.
We didn't know it at the time, but this turned out to be one of our last moments on the Janapar Trail. Not a bad way to say goodbye.
