Armenian products, Champagne Bucket trips

Visiting the Peace Corps Armenia office after 26 years… part six of our Armenian adventure!

One thing I knew I had to do while we were in Yerevan was stop by the Peace Corps office. I’m a member of a Peace Corps Armenia “reunion” group on Facebook, and the social media manager for Peace Corps Armenia had asked me to stop in while we were in town. I was happy to oblige, since it was a chance to show Bill the office, as well as another part of Yerevan.

Our appointment to visit was at 11:00 AM, so we made sure we didn’t sleep in until 9. It was a little cloudy and drizzly on that Tuesday morning, but the temperature was still sort of warm, especially for November. Nevertheless, I was determined to wear something kind of slimming, because I knew there would be pictures taken. 😉

After breakfast, we set off for the Peace Corps office. For some reason, it seemed further away from Republic Square than I remembered it to be. I used to walk straight down Nalbandyan Street and, once I got to the end, hang a right and walk for about fifteen minutes or so. But as we were heading down the street, I decided to turn right much sooner, which took us through some less familiar neighborhoods. It’s pretty hard for me to get lost in Yerevan, though, because I know the city is basically a big grid, and there are a series of different streets that run into each other and form a circle… or maybe an oval.

I didn’t look at this map until we got home to Germany!

We ended up on Sayat Nova Avenue, which is not the street I usually took when I lived in Yerevan. I remember looking up at seeing what was obviously a toy store that ripped off Toys ‘R Us. They even had a giraffe mascot! As soon as my confusion cleared and we got reoriented, we were preparing to cross the street to Charents Street, which is where the Peace Corps office has been for the last 30 years or so. I looked up and noticed an obvious American man with a boy with him. I heard him speaking to the child and said to Bill, “There’s one of our fellow Americans.” I actually didn’t see very many Americans at all in Yerevan, although obviously there are more there now than there were when I lived there.

At last, we reached the Peace Corps office…. but how it had changed! First of all, there’s a guard station now. In my day, the office had a front yard and maybe a gate that you could open to walk in or out on your own. There was no guard station, and no need to sign in or out, or wear a badge. But now, you have to sign in and wear a badge. I think there was also a metal detector. It was just like visiting the US Embassy, when it was located on Marshall Bagramyan Avenue (it has since moved– more on that in a later post). Stepan came to meet us, and we walked inside…

When I was a Volunteer, walking into the Peace Corps office was kind of like walking into someone’s house. There was a lobby, and a secretary named Lola sat at a desk there. To the left, there were French doors, and that was where the country director’s office was. On the far wall, at least during my first year, there were mailboxes for the Volunteers, and a couch and phone. A stairway led to the offices upstairs. Our mailboxes were eventually moved up there. There was a bathroom at the bottom of the steps, and during my second year, there was a hallway that led to the very small office for the Peace Corps Medical Officer, who was American. An Armenian doctor named Dr. Anna was the assistant PCMO. She was also my landlady for a year.

In 2023, the whole building looks completely different. There’s fluorescent lighting, and the foyer has a desk next to a graphic display that looks influenced by the Internet. The upstairs consists of many offices. It looked like everyone had their own space, complete with a door that could be closed, and the odd beanbag chair.

I met the staff, who were very friendly and gracious, and I told them a bit about my time as a Volunteer during the literal “dark ages”, when the energy crisis was happening. I admitted freely that I had a difficult time, and I wondered if I’d made a difference. And then I told everyone that now I knew that I HAD made a difference.

I met the country director, a delightful Aussie named Joanne who is a graduate of American University’s School of International Service program. I am not an AU alum, but my husband Bill is, and he majored in International Relations nine years earlier than Joanne did. Everyone was so kind, attentive, and patient, as I went off about how things were, and how they appear to be today.

I also met the security director, who had one of the kindest faces I think I’ve ever seen, outside of Bill’s. He showed me where today’s Volunteers are serving. Sadly, because of the conflict with Azerbaijan and other concerns, such as environmental pollution and proximity to Metsamor (the nuclear power plant that reopened in 1996), Volunteers are more limited in where they can serve today. But then, right now, there are only 17 Volunteers. The group that is working now is the first to come back after the pandemic. The security director gave me a big, warm, sincere hug, and thanked me for my service. It made my heart swell. What a nice man!

I enjoyed meeting Hermine, the social media director. She was so sweet, as she saw me struggle with my purse, overloaded with assorted junk and too many electronics. She held it for me while I toured the rest of the office. It was at about this time that we learned that the American man we passed was none other than Mike Johnson, who had been a Volunteer in the group that came after mine. He ended up serving in Ukraine after a few months in Armenia, due to an unfortunate New Year’s Eve incident. Now he’s back in Armenia, working with the Peace Corps. We didn’t recognize each other. I did remember him, but I doubt he’d remember me.

I was extremely impressed by the medical facility, which has an actual “sick bay”, complete with a hospital bed, an in house lab, and a proper exam room. It’s a huge upgrade from what we had when I was a Volunteer. Naira, the Peace Corps doctor, was there; we met her at the airport when we arrived. She was telling me all about what they have now, and we were talking about how we both have master’s degrees in public health. She said Dr. Anna still occasionally works at the office, when they need a back up doctor. There is also an assistant doctor who wasn’t there when I visited. The whole medical staff is Armenian.

Then I got to see the Volunteer lounge. WOW! It’s in a separate building, and there’s a very nice library of books, a television complete with Netflix, and a shower! They also have lockers and computers for the Volunteers to use. In my day, we did have a library, located next to what was then the medical office. I remember one of my colleagues spent her final summer in Yerevan organizing it.

After the tour and introductions, I was invited to put my handprints on the side of the building where the lounge is. Stepan said it was his idea to put up a mural, and now any returned Volunteers who visit are encouraged to leave their mark on the building. At this point, there are only a few handprints. I’m honored that mine are among them. There was also a very nice social media post shared about my visit… And I’m quite pleased that I don’t look like Ziggy in the photos!

After we visited the Peace Corps office, Stepan suggested that we go across the street to have lunch at the very same restaurant where he met Ashot, the guy who gave us pastries the day before! So off we went, and Stepan joked about crossing the street the “safe” way, as opposed to the Armenian way. By this, he meant we’d use the underpass, rather than taking our lives in our hands and dashing across the street like maniacs. Once again, I’m pleased to report that underpass was in fairly decent condition.

The restaurant we visited was called Charentsi 28, and it had really good food. I had falafel, while Bill had shawarma and Stepan had chicken skewers. They were lucky enough to have Armenia’s yummy “tapakats kartophil” (fried potatoes). It’s probably a good thing I never learned the secret of making those… We finished with coffee and delicious orange cake, which we split among us.

Stepan had some things he had to do in the afternoon, so we bid each other adieu. He was going to call a cab for us, because it was sprinkling a bit, but we said it was okay to walk. I wanted to show Bill more of the city, and walking back to our hotel from the Peace Corps office offered a perfect opportunity to do that. So after a quick hug and a goodbye, Bill and I headed down Charents Street, which eventually turned into Koryun Street.

We passed Yerevan State University, which I used to walk by all the time back in the day. Little did we know that there would be a fatal explosion at Yerevan State University just a few days later. One person died, and three were injured when a fire broke out in room and caused the explosion, which the fire department later explained was caused by fluctuations in power voltages. The four people who were involved were all administrative employees at the university.

We passed the area where my host family lived. There was a lot of traffic, or I would have taken Bill across the street to have a closer look. Behind the archway, there were buildings, and my host family, who were fairly well off for the time, lived in an apartment with two stories. I lost touch with them, which is too bad. I liked my host dad. He was warm and funny, and could sing. He worked as an architect at the airport. His wife was an ear, nose, and throat doctor, although I remember that when I got diarrhea, she misunderstood my issues and thought I needed a tampon. 😀

I showed Bill Nalbandyan Street, and explained that if he was to walk down that street, he would eventually end up at Republic Square. Then I turned to the right and showed Bill the now disused funicular (cable car), which transported people from Koryun Street to the Nork district, in the hills of Yerevan, from 1967 until 2004. I remember taking that cable car once, when I attended a dental conference with the school nurse where I taught English. That was a project sponsored by one of my colleagues, who had gotten a grant from Colgate to promote oral health in Yerevan. But in 2004, there was a fatal accident when one of the cables snapped; five people died. So now, it’s basically abandoned and decaying.

We continued walking, and I pointed out where there used to be a store called Paradise. It was quite western for the mid 1990s, which doesn’t mean much. It offered what were probably considered luxury foods and beverages in those days. It’s gone now. We also went through an underpass that I used to walk through twice every day before and after our training at the Polytechnic. And we passed a bunch of kiosks… the kind that used to be all over Yerevan. I smelled something wonderful… frying piroshkis and ponchiks. I used to live on them. Ponchiks are basically like doughnuts, filled with glaze. And piroshkis were filled with mashed potatoes. SIGH… we were too from lunch full to partake. Maybe if and when we go back to Yerevan… I wish I’d gotten photos with “smellivision”.

Soon we were passing the Polytechnic, which has changed a bit since I went there for training. Back in 1995, the building was all tufa colored. Now, for some reason, they’ve painted it white. I thought it looked better before… although those cloverleafs will forever be distinctive. Right next to the Polytechnic is the Matenadaran museum, which I had been thinking maybe we’d visit. We never had the chance.

After we turned onto Mashtots Avenue, we took a short rest on a bench, then turned right onto Isahakian Street, where I used to teach business English to Armenian employees at Save the Children. I don’t think Save the Children is still working in Yerevan, but I do remember the building. There also used to be a cafe there that looked kind of like a ship. They have since revamped it and, again, drained the artificial lake that was kept full for boys wanting to swim back in the 90s.

We cut past the Yeritasardakan Metro Station, walked a ways down Teryan Street, where I showed Bill where a guy named Gerard used to have a gourmet store and a restaurant called the Chicken Coop. Then we made our way to Abovian Street, and, from there, walked back to our hotel. We were pretty tired after several miles of walking, and it was kind of dark and gloomy outside. Time for some wine.

We stopped at the AlcoHall store near Paris Hotel Yerevan and bought a couple of nice bottles of Armenian wine, including one that came from Artsakh. Bill wondered what would become of the winery that had produced this bottle we were going to enjoy… The Armenians who ran it were run out of Artsakh. Maybe we should have held onto it longer.

We decided to enjoy wine and light snacks, while we watched Armenian TV. I believe we ran across a movie from the 70s that involved an Armenian man trying to win over a woman from Russia… or maybe one of the other former Soviet republics. We also watched a more recent show made in Armenia, while I updated the Peace Corps reunion group about our day.

I wrote that I told the Peace Corps staff about how there had been 32 Trainees in my group, but one of them chose not to swear in. Instead, she married her host brother. As far as I can tell, they’re still married and living in Michigan, where she’s from. I remember that particular trainee had given me a hard time in training, but then later came around after she heard me sing. The reason I remember this is because when we were doing our education practicum, she was teaching her students the song “New York, New York”, and she asked me to help her out with it, since she couldn’t sing. I’m not sure how much help I was, since I was singing with Frank Sinatra, and it wasn’t the best key for me. But I gave it my best shot.

One of my former colleagues had completely forgotten about Shannon, the Trainee who hadn’t sworn in. She thought she was the only woman who had married an Armenian. This led to her sharing the group photo of our A-3 group, in which our entire group was pictured.

A-3, circa June 1995. We’re at Garni Temple, and I am sitting in the front row, wearing the red shirt. The guy sitting to my left is Matt Jensen, who died in May 2021. I was sure to tell the current staff about what a legend he was.

Well, that about does it for today’s post. I may be back with another later… or maybe I won’t. I’ve got “eli gortz” to attend to… 😉

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Armenian products

High anxiety…

Another week has passed, here in the land of perpetual COVID-19 lockdowns. Angela Merkel has managed to get a law passed that gives the federal government in Germany the ability to set emergency COVID-19 conditions for the entire country. Since vaccines are still very slowly rolling out here, there are many areas of “high infection” rates. That means, that in addition to the crap that’s been happening since November 2020, we now have curfews from 10pm to 5am, with exceptions allowed for medical emergencies, exercise, reporting to work, or walking alone. Gathering outside of one’s own family is still technically forbidden. And shops and services are mostly closed or offering services by appointment, and only with negative COVID test results.

Meanwhile, Bill has gotten us appointments for either Moderna or Pfizer vaccines on the Wiesbaden installation, although I am not going to get “excited” about it until it becomes more official. What really sucks is that Bill is supposed to leave for another business trip after the shot, so hopefully I won’t get too sickened by it. I will be alone again for about three weeks, like I was in March. And yes, I am pissed about that, since nothing else is open and it’s been ages since we last did anything fun or interesting.

We did have a funny experience yesterday, though. After I dumped the trash into the bins, I checked our mailbox, where I found a coupon from an online wine shop and a notice from DHL that we had a “brief” that needed signing for. I immediately felt a wave of dread, since it’s been my experience that letters that require signatures are not good news. I started thinking about who would be sending us registered mail and why they would be doing it.

It’s true that in the past couple of years, we have been involved in a couple of legal proceedings. Both ended in our favor, more or less. One proceeding wasn’t about us suing or being sued, but Bill was asked to be a witness and testify, which he ended up not having to do, after all. The other was regarding a legal matter we had with our former landlords. 😉

I told Bill about the slip and he got worried, too. We were thinking about any of the scenarios that might prompt registered mail. I wondered if maybe we had gotten a package from a friend of mine in France, or our monthly Ararat box was coming. But the slip said “Brief”, which in German refers to a letter, not a box. So we worried until 11:00am, which was when Bill was supposed to be able to go to the nearest DHL pack station (which are replacing a lot of German post offices) and find out what was up.

Bill came back from the store and gassing up the Volvo about an hour later. My stomach was doing flip flops the whole time as I pictured disaster that would lead to many headaches and heated rantings from yours truly. When he walked into the house, he said that the “letter” wasn’t at the pack station, but he’d go back a couple of hours later to check again.

So there we were, worrying more about the mysterious letter that needed a signature. I even looked up the topic on Toytown Germany, which confirmed that letters you have to sign for are often bad news. But then I remembered a couple of times when I have gotten letters to sign for that were positive or neutral things, and hope crept back into my consciousness. Still, I can’t help but anticipate disasters. It works out well that way. If I’m wrong, I’m happy about it. If I’m right, I’m somewhat mentally prepared.

I was sitting on top of our rarely made bed with freshly laundered sheets when Bill came back the second time. He was holding the May installation of our bubble wrapped Ararat box, which apparently was supposed to be delivered on Friday. I must have been in the backyard, because I was definitely home all day, as usual. We had nice weather, for once, so I probably was sitting on the patio with the dogs and didn’t hear the doorbell. I guess since it came from Armenia and went through customs, we have to sign for the box, although I don’t remember doing it for previous boxes.

Bill said he’d gone to the pack station and, once again, the clerk said she couldn’t find our “letter”. She said it looked like it had been delivered already, and we should check with our neighbor. Ironically, on Friday, I did accept a box for the neighbor. Bill was about to leave when the clerk spotted the box of treats from Armenia and said, “Entschuldigung!” She held up the box and Bill let out a big sigh.

Boy, were we relieved… And how nice it was to get it on Genocide Remembrance Day, which is the day Armenians all over the world remember the millions of people who died during the mass extermination efforts perpetrated by the Ottoman Turks. Every month, we get our Ararat box and I am impressed by the products coming out of Armenia that didn’t exist when I was a Peace Corps Volunteer there. Armenia has come a long way! But then I started thinking about why we were so traumatized by the prospect of signing for a letter in Germany.

Overall, living in Wiesbaden has been a good experience. I do miss how beautiful the Stuttgart area is, and we had a lot of fun down there, dining in many wonderful restaurants, taking trips to the Black Forest and other local areas, and making friends. Wiesbaden is less dramatic, on the whole, and not as pretty, but we’re comfortable here and we’re getting a new experience of living in Germany. It’s definitely different in Hesse, so it’s good that we get to try that. However, we’ve been very stressed out the whole time we’ve been here, for a variety of reasons.

Bill’s job is a good one for him, but it requires a lot of time away. That wasn’t so bad pre-COVID-19. I was even used to it, having been an Army wife and having seen him work at AFRICOM, which also required a lot of travel. He would go to Africa and come back with some novel viral sickness that he’d pass on to me. Then we’d go on a nice trip somewhere, spend a lot of money, eat interesting food, and I could blog about things other than our neighborhood, my dogs, and COVID-19. But now, he just goes to Bavaria for long stints, works his ass off, and comes home exhausted. It sucks for both of us, because these aren’t fun trips and they last way too long. And Bill hasn’t had a break in ages.

I don’t know a lot of people up here. In some ways, that’s good, since there’s also much less stupid drama. However, it would be nice to have a local friend I could hang out with. I get lonely sometimes, and I have little reason to get dressed every day. That’s not what I was planning for myself when I decided to go back to school years ago.

We spent a good portion of our first year here dealing with the trauma caused by our living situation in the Stuttgart area. It took weeks for us to feel comfortable and at home where we live now, and then we had to contend with dealing with our former landlady, who was trying to make us out to be terrible people (which we’re not– especially Bill). She was trying to shame us into letting her steal our security deposit, which she had no legal or proven right to do. So we had to take legal action in Germany, which is something we’ve never had to do anywhere.

That experience clouds what were mostly good years in BW… Overall, I loved living down there. But now we have a bitter taste in our mouths over having to sue… and the memories of the mean and vindictive, shaming behaviors levied at us by someone whom we feel was dishonest and abusive. I am glad we sued. She totally deserved it, and I hope she’s learned from the experience. But it sucked for us. We didn’t take any pleasure in it, and would have preferred not to have felt the need to do it.

Here it is 2021, over two years since we left that place, and we’re still thinking about it and scarred by it… to the point at which getting a notice to sign for a letter makes us nervous. We had no reason to be nervous. Even if it had been legal paperwork, we do have legal insurance and an established relationship with a competent lawyer. But still, that was an emotionally and psychologically trying experience. We are not keen to be involved in anything else involving lawyers… at least not in a country where English isn’t the dominant language. Having to read legalese using Google Translate isn’t fun.

It really doesn’t help that we haven’t been able to get to know and love Wiesbaden over the last thirteen months. Ordinarily, I would have been looking for fun things to do, like I did in the Stuttgart area. But we have no such luck here… so I’ve been buying too much stuff, trying to learn guitar, and daydreaming about trips instead… and reading way too many comments by neurotic Americans.

Ah well. At least we may soon be vaccinated, which could mean trips will be possible again. And when we can go somewhere, I’ll probably drop a lot of money on a really nice experience. So I’ll try to keep hanging on for that reason, and remember that not everything that needs a signature is going to signal doom.

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