Seeing all Armenia has to offer

Last weekend my running buddy, Dave, and I took a day trip to Armenia.  Armenia is a small, landlocked country that borders Iran to its south, Georgia to its north, Turkey to the west, and Azerbaijan, with whom it has troubled relations, to the east.  We went to Armenia to get Dave’s visa renewed.  When we arrived in Georgia in November 2011, each of us got a 365-day work visa.  If you don’t get it renewed after a year you have to pay a $300 fine.  Fortunately, you can renew the visa simply by leaving the country and having your passport re-stamped when you come back in, even if you just leave the country long enough to have lunch.  So, when I came home for R&R in September, my visa was renewed for another 365 days.  Dave, however, has never left the country, so his visa was due to expire the first week in November.  So, we needed to get out of country for a day or so, and Armenia is the closest foreign country, about an hour’s drive from Tbilisi.

I have been lucky enough to have visited 25 countries on five continents.  I have been to countries where I would be happy to live and I’ve been to places that look like Hell opened a branch office (I’m looking at you, Rwanda).  While Armenia isn’t as bad as some places I’ve been, it doesn’t make my “recommended visit” list.  Like all of the countries in the Caucasus, Armenia used to be a Soviet republic.  It looks it.  Georgia has worked very hard to leave that part of their history behind while Armenia seems to have embraced it.  The Armenians still maintain Soviet type memorials (here’s one remembering Armenia’s contribution to the Red Army’s effort in World War II), the signs are still written in both Armenian and Russian (in Georgia the second language is English), and the only vehicles on the road are Russian-made Lada cars, ErAZ vans, and Kamaz trucks, all of which seem to have a maximum speed of 30mph and a propensity to break down every 200 miles.

Our adventure started at the border crossing itself.  We drove to the border post between Armenia and Georgia and waited about 20 minutes before being waved forward.  Which is weird because there were no other cars in line.  Right then we knew were going to see Soviet efficiency at its finest.  And make no mistake – Soviet bureaucracy is about as efficient and effective as Bob Dylan’s tuning fork.  Once we were waved forward, the highly trained clerk flipped through our passports and told us we needed an entrance visa which could be obtained at the small shed to our left. 

After filling out the paperwork and paying our 3000 Drams (about $7.50; 408 DRM = $1) to the visa office, we got back in the vehicle lane to enter.  Another ten minutes later (and we were the ONLY car in line), we were waved forward where the same clerk examined our visa and said we needed to pay the 3000 DRM fee.  I’ve seen this kind of guy before.  He’s barely qualified to run the tilt-a-whirl at the traveling carnival.  He’s the guy on “Wheel of Fortune” who asks, “Is there an F as in pharaoh?”  He thinks “genealogy” is when Barbara Eden visits her ob-gyn.  I told him, no, we had already paid the other guy.  Mr. Clerk shrugged and said, that was his 3000; I need my 3000.  I said, no, we ain’t paying twice.  Clerk shrugs and says, OK, 2000.  I say no again, and he says, OK, OK, 1000 and that’s my final offer.  When I said I wanted to see his commander, he glares and waves our car through (all of this is happening in English, of course, since the Armenian language did not originate on this planet).

So it’s on to the closest “city” – Alaverdi.  Alaverdi has three claims to fame:  1) the Sanahin monastery, built in the 10^th century, part of which is the Queen Tamara bridge constructed in 1100; 2) the largest copper mine and smelting plant in the former USSR and that is still the largest employer in Armenia; and 3) the only functioning sewage treatment plant in Armenia.  It’s hard to figure out which one gives the locals the most pride.

We started by visiting the Queen Tamara bridge.  This bridge, still functional almost 1000 years after it was completed, has a local legend.  There are four stone lions on the bridge; the legend says when Armenia’s hero crosses the bridge the lions will come to life and follow him.  I crossed that damn bridge four times and nothing happened; so much for local legends.  The bridge is also guarded by a stone figure that the locals call the “commissar.”  Why?  No one seems to know, but they insisted we take our picture with it.  Not sure if they’re just not screwing with the tourists; God knows they don’t get many opportunities.

We also visited the Sanahin monastery, accessible only by a cable car.  This cable car is an acrophobic’s nightmare.  It’s steep, slow, rocks back and forth all the way up, and creaks with sounds that make you sure you’re only about a half-second away from plummeting to your death.  It’s run by an operator who has been running this cable car since 1983.  He speaks to us in Russian, which is interpreted into German by another tourist on the car.  So the conversation goes like this:  the operator says something in Russian.  It’s interpreted by another tourist into German.  I translate the German into English for Dave.  Dave asks a question which I have to translate into German for the other tourist who translates it back into Russian.  What’s scary is, the cable car moves so slowly we can do this interaction 5-6 times before we arrive at the top of the mountain.

While we’re riding the car, the operator insists that I take a picture of the sewage treatment plant.  He’s very proud of it and tells us that before the plant was opened, everyone dumped their waste into the river which, naturally, doubles as the source of the town’s drinking water.   We declined his offer to visit the plant which disappointed him a great deal. 

The monastery’s just that – one more monastery of the dozens we’ve seen in Georgia.  Nothing to significant except for the graveyard that abuts the monastery grounds.  There is a tradition, not only in Armenia but in Georgia as well, of intricately carved headstones.  We found one that had a carving of four teenagers, all of whom died on the same day.  Upon closer examination of the headstone, you can see in the upper right corner a depiction of the accident that claimed their lives:  they drove their car over a cliff.  Is that morbid or what?  Showing the cause of death on the headstone itself.  Sheesh.

So, having seen all that Alaverdi can offer in the way of tourist entertainment, we decided to grab a bite to eat and then head home.  We can’t resist eating at the Marley and Che restaurant. 

I have no idea what the relationship is between those two, but you have to admit you’re curious, too, so we went in.  You enter the front of the restaurant, and walk straight through to the back where we’re seated at a table that overlooks an open meat market.  The meat has a strong, musky smell which I have learned by sad experience means the meat has been hanging a while.  After ordering the daily special, we see our waiter cross over to the meat market and ask the butcher to hack off a hunk of meat which, I’m sure, is destined for our table.  We toss a couple thousand Drams on the table and leave quickly, satisfying our hunger with a Snickers bar and Coke from the local market. 

On our way home, we pass the copper mine and plant.  There is not an EPA in the Caucasus, nor are there any pollution controls.  I’m sure this mine and plant has been slowly poisoning the population over the last 50 years.  We fill up our car at the local gas station and head for home, making one more stop at a museum dedicated to a local boy made good, Artem Mikoyan, one of the principal designers of the MiG aircraft, still used by Russia and many other former Soviet clients.  A MiG-21 dual-piloted fighter sits in front of the museum which is, naturally, only open for visitors from 1-2:30pm on Tuesdays. 

That about explains Armenia – it’s dirty, inefficient, and difficult.  It’s also interesting and depressing – interesting if you know you can leave at the end of the day; depressing if you can’t.  Armenia is the fat, ugly, and stupid friend you take with you to bars because you know next to him you look good.  My visit helped me understand the unofficial Georgian state motto – Thank God for Armenia.  As I said, can’t recommend it as a tourist location.  Stay in Tbilisi instead.

Thanks for reading.