Alluring Armenia
A mesmeric land of mountains and monasteries
With New Year approaching and the prospect of getting a couple of public holidays brightening, the peripatetic in me perked up, smelling an opportunity to pack my bags and go travelling somewhere. The difficulty in getting leave from work had imposed severe constraints on our wish to visit distant lands and we had been constantly on the lookout to grab half a chance to travel. Considering that the break available was very short, we had to find some place close by to visit with convenient flight timings as well. A search ensued and we zeroed in on Armenia.
Armenia is a small, mountainous, landlocked country in the Caucasus. The Caucasus is a geographical region straddling Western Asia and Eastern Europe, between the Black Sea on the west and the Caspian Sea on the east. The name derives from the now extinct Scythian language and means ‘White with snow’. The Caucasus is, culturally and linguistically, a very diverse region, like the Indian Subcontinent.
Towards the southern part of the Caucasus, the Trans Caucasus, lies Armenia. Georgia lies to Armenia’s north, Turkey to its west, Iran to the south and Azerbaijan to the east. An exclave of Azerbaijan is wedged between Armenia’s south-western border, Turkey and Iran.
One of the former Soviet Republics, throughout history Armenia had been the arena of fierce political, religious and ethnic conflicts. Interestingly, Armenia was the first country in the world to adopt Christianity as its state religion in 301 AD. It came under various empires like the Byzantine, the Sasanian and the Ottoman over the course of history. In the early 19th century, it was under the Persian Empire. Subsequently, it came under the Russian empire. Following the Soviet Revolution of 1917, Armenia became a Soviet Republic in 1922. After the dissolution of the USSR, Armenia became an independent nation in 1991. The Armenian language has its own distinct script dating back to the 5th century AD. Russian is also very widely spoken. The capital city of Armenia, Yerevan, is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world.
I had heard about Armenia from an Armenian family who are my regular patients here. But, I had hardly any idea about the places to see there. I did a fair deal of reading up about the country and its people. It is a beautiful country with forests, mountains, plateaus and fast-flowing rivers. I realised that, with the three days available to us, we could barely do justice to all what this amazing little country had on offer.
I drew up an itinerary myself after going through various travel sites to make the best of the limited time we had in Armenia. Subsequently, I got in touch with a small tour operator there and finalised our plans. We decided against staying in a conventional hotel and chose a small bed and breakfast place hoping to, thus, get a better feel of the land and its people. Winter in Armenia being quite cold, we also got ready the appropriate winter gear.
The flight from Dubai to Yerevan, the capital of Armenia, was a short one of barely three hours. We caught the flight at night, after finishing the day’s work, and landed in Yerevan shortly after midnight. The small, but neat and impressive, Zvartnots airport of Yerevan was rather quiet at that late hour. The immigration staff were courteous, efficient and friendly. We got our visa stamped without any delay and, collecting our baggage, we came out of the terminal to be met by the cab driver arranged by our B and B place. It was quite cold outside as we came out of the airport terminal and walked up to our car.
The drive from the airport to the city was short. The roads looked good and well-lit, traffic was sparse at that late hour and, in less than half an hour, we drew up at the gate of our accommodation. We were warmly welcomed by a pretty young lady who ushered us into our room.
Our accommodation was in an old villa with aesthetically appointed rooms and antique furnishings. Our room was quite basic but nice, warm and spacious.
We quickly settled into our room. Tired from the long day at work and the journey thereafter, and being much past our usual bedtime as well, we snuggled under the soft, warm blanket and soon fell asleep.
Off to Garni
Being winter, the sun had not yet risen when we were up before seven in the morning. We got ready quickly and went down for breakfast. We were scheduled to be met at 9 a.m. by our guide-cum-driver who was to take us on our tour of Armenia.
Breakfast was served in a large, tastefully furnished room with elegant, old furniture. A stately piano stood against a wall. Lovely paintings and old portraits hung on the walls. The ambience was very homely. We tucked into a hearty, wholesome breakfast which was laid out for us.
I tamed temptation and resisted (‘restricted’ would be more precise!) gorging on the heavenly cream, luscious honey and a variety of cheese. Serving us were two pleasant, pretty Armenian girls. While talking with them, one of them asked if we would like to shift to another villa owned by the same management. That, they felt, would be more convenient for us to move about as it was more centrally located in the heart of Yerevan. We nodded agreement and they said that they would make arrangements to shift us there by late evening after we return from our day’s tour.
In a short while, at the appointed time, our guide-cum-driver was at the door. He was Hayk, a youngster in his late 20s. Hayk spoke fairly good English (Language is somewhat of an issue in Armenia, most people being able to converse only in Russian or Armenian. Signboards are in these two languages as well as English). We got into our car, buckled up, and were soon on our way to a village called Garni, about 30 km away.
It was a cold morning in Yerevan. A light mist hung over the city. We drove through the broad roads of Yerevan lined by bare, wintry trees shorn of foliage. Traffic was light.
Passing the sleepy suburbs, we were soon hurtling down the small highway cutting across the sparsely populated Armenian countryside.
It was obvious that Armenia was not a ‘wealthy’ (in the conventional sense of equating wealth with money, that is!) country. However, despite winter having set in, the scenery slowly unfurling around us as we drove ahead was beautiful. There were rolling hills all around and the country road gently wound its way across the undulating hills and valleys cloaked in a thin haze of mist. The predominant hue all around was buff interspersed with grey, thanks to the winter cold having withered all vegetation. All the same, it had an allure and beauty of its own.
Hayk told us how this winter had turned out to be very mild in Armenia (about ten degrees Centigrade above usual; the temperature in Yerevan that morning was below 5 degrees centigrade) and that we were fortunate in a sense as, otherwise, we would have had to traverse a snow-covered highway and landscape.
About 45 minutes after we had set out, we reached a small village. Although almost 10 in the morning, it had still not stirred out of slumber.
We passed some nondescript shops lining a street and came to a small, deserted village square where we halted and got out. Brrr…!! It was biting cold outside!
We passed a small gate and came to a long, paved path lined by bare-boughed trees. At the far end of it, silhouetted against the glow of the morning sun, stood a Greco-Roman structure.
We were in the precincts of the ancient pagan temple of Garni.
The Pagan Temple of Garni
We walked up the stone-paved path slipping on our gloves, as our fingers began to ache from the biting cold. The path widened into a rectangular forecourt in front of the ancient shrine. The place was almost deserted, and there were just a handful of visitors other than us.
We went up close to the looming stone structure. Nearly two thousand years old, this is the world’s eastern-most Greco-Roman structure and the only one of its kind in the territory of the erstwhile Soviet Union.
Thought to date back to the First century AD, it is said to have been built as a temple to Mihr, the Sun God in Armenian mythology. Mihr is considered one of the trinity of Armenian Zoroastrianism, the other two being Aramazd (the father of the other gods and the god of abundance) and Anahit (the goddess of fertility, healing, wisdom and water; Anahit is a common name in Armenia for girls). It, surprisingly, survived the widespread destruction of pagan temples that took place after Armenia adopted Christianity in 301 AD.
The Garni Temple is made out of yellowish-grey basalt. Approximately as tall as a four-storeyed building, a flight of tall steps in front leads up to a colonnaded portico from which a large door leads into a central high-ceilinged, rectangular hall. A niche against the wall at the farther end is thought to have held an image of Mihr. The shrine has twenty-four Ionic columns or pillars around it. (Ionic columns are a feature of the Ionic order of classical Greek and Roman architecture, the other two orders being Doric and Corinthian. Ionic columns are marked by a scroll at the top). The exterior of the temple is richly decorated with ornamental carvings of leaves (said to be of acanthus, a common depiction in Hellenistic architecture), lion heads etc..
Walking around the shrine, we went to its rear. Bathed in the bright morning sunshine, this side of the temple displayed a distinct pale yellowish hue, as opposed to the dull grey appearance of the structure from the front, which was in the shade. As the winter sun played hide and seek behind the clouds, the shrine took on varying hues with the changing ambient light.
The Garni Temple stands on a cliff-like promontory, surrounding which is a deep gorge on three sides. Behind the temple, there were irregular stone steps which led to the edge of the cliff.
From there, beyond a barricade, it was a steep plunge downwards into a narrow, wooded ravine. And flowing along the bottom of the ravine, about three hundred feet below, was the river Azat. On the opposite side of the gorge was the Khosrov Forest Reserve, its rolling mountains extending into the distance. It might sound unbelievable, but the Khosrov Forest Reserve is one of the oldest forest reserves in the world and was designated as a protected forest about 1700 years ago — in the Fourth Century AD!
The canyon wall on the opposite side presented a most unusual sight. It appeared as if tall, hexagonal columns of rock were stacked up against the near-vertical walls of the canyon! Referred to as the ‘Symphony of Rocks’, this is an unusual natural phenomenon resulting from the cooling of volcanic lava.
Although we had to be satisfied with this view from a distance, it is said to be a spectacular sight from the bottom of the ravine, with the near-perfect hexagonal basaltic rock columns appearing as if they were suspended from above (a reverse of the famous ‘Giant’s Causeway’ in Northern Ireland).
We walked around the shrine and came back to its forecourt. My two fellow travellers were getting distinctly impatient with me as I hung around clicking pictures. Taking a cue from their mounting, barely-concealed displeasure, I hastily followed them meekly as they left me behind and walked ahead, back to our waiting car.
As I walked back, I could see snow-capped mountains at a distance. On the nearby sloping hillside perched humble, colourful homesteads.
As we exited the gate of the temple complex, the small village square in front of the temple complex was slowly stirring to life. On one side, a couple of ladies who had set up their wares for sale in a little wayside shop hailed us to come and have a look. They had attractively arranged various items of farm produce like honey, jam, fresh and preserved fruits and their extracts, dry flowers etc.. Although they did not know a word of English, we still managed to communicate with them. They were extremely pleasant, cheerful and warm and we bought a few items from them. Pomegranate and apricot seemed to be Armenian favourites. One of the items we bought was ‘Fruit lavash’ or “Ttu Lavash”. (Lavash is traditional Armenian flatbread). It is made from a variety of fruits like cherry, plum, apricots, peaches, and apples. Fruit puree, I understand, is poured on a tray and dried in the sun for a few days. The thin, dried material is then rolled and stored. It can be eaten just like that, taken as a dessert, used to wrap nuts and make nut rolls or be added to sauces.
Meanwhile, I noticed an interesting sight nearby. A vendor had come and displayed a collection of fox and wolf fur, hung from stands, to attract prospective customers. The entire pelt, including that of the face, head, paws and limbs, was kept and that sight disturbed us a bit. The fur was extremely soft and thick and we were told that locals hunt these animals in the nearby areas.
While we were there, I noticed a large dog quietly amble past. Hayk told us that it was an Armenian Hound. Also called ‘Gampr’, it is capable of hunting wolves and even bears. It is also used as an avalanche rescue dog. They are said to be fiercely loyal and friendly to Man.
At Hayk’s prodding, we climbed back into our car and started for our next destination. It was a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the ancient monastery of Geghard.
To Geghard Monastery
Geghard was just a 10 km drive from Garni. The road wound its way across the mountainous Armenian countryside, past an occasional house or small, wayside country shop, pretty vistas at every turn.
The mountains all around us took on a peculiar yellowish hue, the likes of which I had never seen earlier.
The road soon came to a dead end at a widening, surrounded by tall, rugged mountains. On our left side, against the backdrop of brightly-lit mountains and a blue sky, stood an ancient stone monastery.
Getting off, we climbed up a steep, rough, cobble-stoned path which led up to the gate of the monastery. As we walked up, a small band of Armenian men welcomed us by playing their folk music on traditional Armenian instruments. The wind instrument you see is called the ‘Duduk’ (meaning, ‘whistle’ in Turkish), a traditional Armenian musical instrument. It is often played in pairs. The traditional Armenian drum you see is called a ‘dhol’.
Behind the musicians, against a granite wall, stood a row of traditional Armenian stone crosses or ‘Khachkars’. Khachkars are an integral part of Armenian Christianity. The crosses in these, usually, are seen surmounting a ‘sun disc’.
Walking up the steeply inclined stone path which curved back, we came to an arched gateway which opened on to a large, stone-paved forecourt.
We were entering the precincts of the ancient Geghard Monastery, a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
Geghard Monastery — 1
The origin of the Geghard Monastery, greatly revered in Armenia, is lost in the hoary mists of antiquity. It is believed to have had its beginning as a small shrine established by Gregory the Illuminator (the first head of the Armenian Church; he is credited as being the person who introduced Christianity to Armenia) in the 4th century AD at the site of a spring inside a mountain cave that was held sacred by the pagans of pre-Christian Armenia. It came to be known as ‘Geghardavank’ (Monastery of the Spear) after the spear which is believed to have been used to lance Jesus Christ when He was crucified.
It is believed that that spear was brought here to this monastery. It remained here till it was seized by the Russians and taken to another monastery in Georgia. It was, later, returned to Armenia, where it is now kept in the Etchmiadzin Cathedral, near Yerevan.
It was quite cold as we entered the spacious, paved forecourt of the monastery. Although not snowing, frost could be seen at places on the floor. Towering over the walled monastery complex on its north, south and east stood tall mountain cliffs like an imposing rock citadel. The monastery was abutting against and partly carved into the belly of this huge mountain. There were a few monastic caves dotting the cliff face. A stone-clad building, serving as quarters for the inmates, ran along the southern and eastern perimeter of the monastery complex.
The main church in the monastic complex is the Katoghike Church, built abutting the mountain and dating back to the 13th century.
We entered the gavit of the church (the lobby and entrance at the western end of a medieval Armenian church are together called a ‘gavit’). It had four, squat, central columns with arches. There was a richly carved cupola on top of the area within the columns and it had a central opening through which sunlight streamed into the dim interiors of the ancient church. The warm glow of candles in a corner and the soft, sonorous tones of hymns gently drifting from somewhere inside lent an atmospheric effect to this medieval mountain church.
From the gavit, one entered Avazan, the ancient rock-cut church with the sacred spring as well as a couple of other chapels and tombs, all carved deep inside the mountain. Some symbols from pagan times could still be seen on the walls, like this rock carving of two lions with a hawk between them holding up a lamb in its claws. There were numerous other engravings, including a variety of crosses, on the rock walls of the chapels.
Coming out of the dimly-lit interiors of the ancient church and entering the forecourt, we came across a richly carved entrance on the southern facade of the Katoghike chapel on which were depicted grapes and pomegranates, leaves and intertwining vines etc.. Two doves were placed above the doorway. And, above the portal was a carving of a lion pouncing on an ox, said to signify the power of the king. Atop the structure was the distinctive circular turret of the church with a conical dome.
We, then, walked past the church towards the farther end of the walled premises of the ancient monastery.
Geghard Monastery — 2
Beyond the chapel, there was a steep flight of stone steps going up, abutting a row of cave shrines as well as some stone ‘khachkars’ (crosses engraved on stone slabs) on the mountainside.
We climbed the steps cautiously and peeped inside the small, bare, dimly-lit cave shrines. The khachkars adorning the cliff face had a distinctive pinkish-red hue. It was interesting to learn that these were coloured using carmine dye extracted from a particular type of mountain beetle, the Armenian Cochineal. Amazingly, the colour seems to be fast and has stayed unfaded on these ancient stone relics for centuries. These beetles were highly valued in olden times, its value being measured against gold (One kg. of the insect was worth 5 grams of gold!). It was also widely used as a textile dye (Carmine, incidentally, was also used in making lipstick).
We descended the steep steps cautiously and went out of the courtyard of the monastery through an arched gate in its eastern boundary wall. It led to a large, open, stone-paved space. Beyond this was a small stream with a rocky bed with large boulders. A quaint, old, arch-shaped stone bridge stood across the stream. This took you to the opposite bank, beyond which were tall mountains and woods. We lingered there quietly for a while, watching the pretty, wooded surroundings and the stream gurgling by.
The open, stone-paved area outside the walls of the monastery, between it and the stream, is the site for ‘Matagh’, the ceremonial animal sacrifice which is performed in Armenian churches. A tradition carried down from Armenia’s pagan past, it is performed after the sacrificial animal is ‘blessed’ in the church and a colourful ribbon tied around its neck. The sacrificial meat is shared amongst friends and relatives.
We went back into the courtyard of the monastery and, going past the main church, went inside some more cave chapels hewn into the mountains. After spending some time inside those cave shrines, we came out and left the premises of the ancient monastery.
As we made our way back to the car to drive back to Yerevan, we passed a row of villagers who had, by then, set up shops and kept on display a variety of enticing farm products for sale, as we had earlier seen in Garni. Since we were pressed for time, we could not linger there for long and had to make haste.
We were, soon, on our way back to Yerevan.
Back to Yerevan — Mother Armenia Monument and Lunch
It was past 12.45 in the afternoon when we started back from Geghard for Yerevan. It was bright and sunny as we drove back across the scenic, hilly countryside. The sky was a clear, bright blue, bar a few fluffy clouds floating dreamily across it. Sun and shadows fell intermingled on the hills and dales to create a truly picturesque sight.
In less than an hour, we had reached the outskirts of Yerevan. Although it was nearing two in the afternoon, we decided to squeeze in a visit to one of Yerevan’s landmarks before lunch.
We drove along a winding road up a hill and came to a stop at a somewhat decrepit parking area lined by bare trees, their dry, shed leaves scattered all over. We walked up a short path strewn with leaves and reached a huge, square, paved area.
At the centre of this paved square, atop a tall pedestal, stood a massive statue of a grim-faced lady holding an unsheathed sword. There was no trace of feminine grace about this figure at all. This was the Mother Armenia Monument.
In the large square, at the centre of which this huge statue stood, were displayed a number of military equipment like armoured vehicles, warplanes, missiles and artillery guns from the Soviet era.
The massive pedestal was made of dull, yellowish-brown basalt and, still, bears on its exterior, emblems of the erstwhile Soviet Union. Interestingly, the interior of the pedestal was originally designed to resemble an Armenian basilica but, now, houses a war museum.
Built as a Soviet War Memorial in honour of the soldiers who fell in action during World War II, it had a massive statue of Stalin atop it when initially built. During the Khrushchev era, the Stalin statue was unceremoniously pulled down and replaced by the present statue. A monster replaced by a monstrosity!
We could not go to the museum inside the base of the monument. We spent some time walking around the large square and snapping pictures. Although afternoon, it was pleasantly chilly under the mellow winter sun.
We then drove downhill into the city. Hayk took us to an authentic Armenian eatery to have lunch. This was a small restaurant on a lovely, tree-lined street and it served traditional Armenian fare as well as pizzas etc..
The place was quite neat — and natty! There was some difficulty communicating in English with the pretty waitresses who served us, but Hayk helped us with translation when required.
One of the dishes we had was a Khachapuri. This is a popular food item which originated in Georgia, a neighbouring Caucasian country and a former Soviet Republic. It is a type of cheese-filled bread. The central portion of the crust of the oblong-shaped flatbread with raised edges is removed and this central depression is filled with cheese, butter, eggs, meat fillet, vegetables etc..It is served hot. I found it quite tasty and filling.
Following lunch, we headed to our next destination, the Armenian Genocide Memorial. I was unhappy that I had to do so forgoing my afternoon siesta. :(
The Armenian Genocide
Our next stop was the Armenian Genocide Memorial. But, I need to digress and tell you briefly about the Armenian Genocide itself before I talk about our visit to the Genocide Memorial in Yerevan. I believe that it holds timeless lessons for people across the world.
The Armenian Genocide was the systematic, organised massacre of about 1.5 million Armenians by the Ottoman Empire and its successor state, the Republic of Turkey, from 1914 to 1922. Reminiscent of the unparalleled cruelty of the evil Hitler and his demented Nazi supporters during the Holocaust, the Armenian Genocide, which pre-dated the Holocaust, involved the near extermination of all able-bodied Armenian men and the massacre of Armenian women and, even, the elderly and children.
A large number of Armenians were subjects of the Ottoman Empire and, subsequently, its successor State, Turkey. For centuries, they were treated as worse than second class citizens by the Ottoman sultans. Mostly Christian, they were subjected to severe religious persecution as well as several other extreme indignities by the Ottoman rulers. The sad condition of the Armenians prompted Russia, France and Britain to pressurise the Ottoman Empire to improve the condition of the Armenians in the early 19th century. But, this did not yield any tangible results.
By the second half of the 19th century, Russia defeated the Ottoman Empire in the Russo-Turkish War of 1877 and occupied large parts of the Ottoman Empire, including its eastern parts which had the majority of Armenians. The victorious Russians succeeded in extracting from the Ottoman sultans a guarantee of protection for the Armenian masses, to be overseen and ensured by the Russian military. However, the wily British, worried about the Russians gaining influence in Turkey as well as over the Armenians, played dirty and successfully diluted and torpedoed this agreement. As a result of the machinations of the scheming British, the Armenians were left in the lurch again. Following this British sabotage, the condition of the Armenians moved from bad to worse.
After the British heartlessly threw the Armenians to the wolves, the emboldened Ottoman Sultan, Abdul Hamid II (also known as ‘The Bloody Sultan’) had a free run. He organised a quasi-government paramilitary force of rabidly communal elements. This shady organisation was used specifically to inflame communal tensions among the common people systematically and wilfully. Their modus operandi was simple — indulge in hate mongering, wilfully provoke the Armenians communally to react and then brutally repress them in retaliation. The excesses of this communal paramilitary force, operating with impunity with the tacit blessings of the Sultan and the government agencies and officials over the years, resulted in several hundreds of thousands of Armenians being killed over the years (Hamidian massacres). This was but a prelude to the larger massacre that was to follow later. The groundwork had been done. The hapless Armenians appealed to the West for help, but the Americans, the British and the European powers conveniently turned a blind eye to the Sultan’s cruel depredations, in order to selfishly safeguard their own economic and political interests in the region.
The Armenians saw a ray of hope when the Bloody Sultan, Abdul Hamid II, was overthrown in a coup in 1908 by the Young Turks, who wanted to end monarchy and bring in political reforms. However, the Young Turks themselves split and the so-called ‘Nationalists’ among them, who gained the upper hand over the ‘Liberals’, continued, like the sultan, to cruelly suppress and assault the Armenians.
The Nationalist faction of the Young Turks, which prevailed over the Liberal faction and took over the reins of the government, was controlled by the Three Pashas (Pasha is an equivalent of Major General), Talaat Pasha, Enver Pasha and Djemal Pasha. They aligned the by-then-tottering Ottoman Empire with Germany and took the country into World War I along with Germany as part of the ‘Central Powers’ against the Allied Powers. It was under these ‘nationalist’ Pashas that the Armenian Genocide began in right earnest and most of the killings took place. Although aligned with predominantly Christian nations (Germany, Austro-Hungarian Empire, Bulgaria) the Ottoman Pashas glibly talked of ‘jihad’ or a ‘Holy War’ against Christians (except, of course, their own Christian European allies!) and launched a large-scale, murderous assault on the poor, helpless Armenian Christians. Interestingly, the Young Turk Revolution, of which these Pashas were leaders, had as its (borrowed) slogan the famous French one, ‘Liberty, Equality, Fraternity’. How ironic!
This genocide saw the systematic massacre of hundreds of thousands of innocent Armenians in the Ottoman Empire. The government used its own armed forces and, also, raised special, non-governmental “killing squads” to effect the massacre. Convicts were released and utilised as well, by letting them loose on Armenian Christians. Ordinary citizens, drunk on the deadly cocktail of nationalism and religion and steadily fed on a constant diet of communally slanted misinformation, lies and hatred over the years, soon turned into heartless, savage beasts at the prompting of the government and, blinded by retrogressive impulses of communalism, nationalism and race, mindlessly joined in the brutal mass killings and rapes of their own innocent friends, neighbours and fellow citizens.
The methods resorted to were horrific. Other than being summarily shot, people were also crucified and left to die slowly, thrown off cliffs, hacked alive to pieces, burned alive (there were mass burnings), gassed, taken to and thrown alive into the deep sea and, also, starved to death. Large populations were taken on long, horrendous ‘death marches’, herded by the Turkish military, to the scorching Syrian desert, often naked and without any food or water, and simultaneously assaulted, raped and robbed and put to an agonising, painful death. Those who survived the ordeal were shot. Rapes were widespread and were used to terrorise and subjugate the Armenians. This unspeakable savagery was devoutly and enthusiastically carried out in cold blood, all in the name of God, religion and nationalism!
As a result of the Armenian Genocide, it is estimated that seventy-five percent of the Armenian population in Turkey (Ottoman Empire) got wiped out. Defeated in World War I, the barbaric Ottoman rulers, the perpetrators of this massive crime against humanity, fled to Germany. Germany welcomed these criminals and readily gave them asylum. Co-religionists be damned! The other Western powers under the U.S. too continued to brazenly align with Turkey, “a reliable Western ally”, which perpetrated this unspeakable barbarity. (Turkey is a NATO member, the second largest after the U.S.). The poor, hapless Armenians were left to suffer and fend for themselves.
The horrendous Armenian Genocide (and the complicity — even if passive — of the West in it) has, sadly, not received even a fraction of the prominence and publicity that the infamous Holocaust perpetrated by the Nazis in Germany has got. Successive U.S. governments did not even recognise the Armenian Genocide till almost a century later — in 2010! The British still have not done so. So much for their allegiance to “freedom, human rights and democracy”, about which they never tire sermonising the rest of the world!
The Armenian Genocide Memorial
After lunch, we drove uphill along a neat, gently winding, tree-lined road to the Genocide Memorial.
The Genocide Memorial is located on Tsitsernakaberd Hill (‘The Hill of Swallows’) which overlooks Yerevan. According to legend, on this hill stood a temple to the Armenian Goddess of Love, Astghik (the equivalent of the Roman Goddess of Love, Venus), in which lived swallows who acted as her messengers to her beloved, Vahagn, the God of Thunder.
The road ended at a large, deserted parking area surrounded by trees.
As we walked towards the Memorial, we passed a small grove of pine trees. These trees were planted by various dignitaries, including visiting Heads of State and Government, who have come visiting Armenia.
Going past the grove, we reached an expansive area, at the farthest end of which was a tall, spire-like tower. Beside it, at a distance, was a short, squat structure shaped like a truncated, fissured cone. A broad, stone-paved path led towards these structures across a huge lawn. On our left stretched a long stone wall, the Memorial Wall. As we neared the spire-like structure, which is forty metres tall, we noticed that it was split partially and unequally into two by a cleft. The smaller of the two portions of the spire is said to represent Western Armenia — Armenian territories earlier lost to Turkey.
There were only a few visitors at the Genocide Memorial. Walking past the spire, we approached the conical structure. This was the ‘Sanctuary of Eternity’, with twelve inclined slabs of Basalt leaning over and sheltering a central depressed area.The twelve slabs represent the twelve provinces lost to Turkey in Western Armenia. In the gaps between the inclined slabs were a short flight of steps which led down to a large, quiet, enclosed, circular area with an ‘eternal’ flame in the centre of another circular trough. Floral offerings of visitors were seen placed around this circular trough.
We spent some time in silence in this sombre spot, remembering the hundreds of thousands of innocents who tragically lost their lives to communal and nationalistic hatred. Coming out of the Sanctuary of Eternity, we walked to its further side. From here, one could get a bird’s eye view of Yerevan spread out in the valley below in the mellow glow of the setting, winter sun.
We retraced our steps and, walking past the spire, came to where we had entered the Memorial grounds. On one side here, built underground into the side of the hill, was a Genocide Museum. Unfortunately for us, the museum was closed that day. It holds exhibits that depict the unspeakable horrors of the Armenian Genocide.
The sun was gliding slowly down to the horizon, the shadows were lengthening, the chill was increasing and it was time for us to leave. But, we had one more place to visit that evening before returning to our lodging.
Yerevan Flea Market
Coming down from Tsitsernakaberd Hill, we drove through the city to Yerevan’s popular flea market, Vernissage. Flanking the neat, broad, tree-lined, well-maintained roads of Yerevan were impressive buildings, a mixture of the old and the new.
Most buildings had a cladding of pale pink stone. This pink stone is called ‘tuff’ and it is a unique type of volcanic rock found only in this part of the world. Similar to India’s Jaipur, Yerevan has also, therefore, earned the sobriquet, ‘Pink City’. I noticed a significant number of high-end cars on the roads, signs of an emerging, wealthy, urban class in Armenia.
We drew up at a large, leafy square surrounded by elegant buildings.
It was pleasantly chilly as we got off our car and headed towards the market in the centre of the square. As we approached the marketplace, we passed a statue, that of an Armenian national hero, Garegin Nzhdeh. He is a much-revered leader who fought for Armenia’s liberation in the early part of the last century.
The Vernissage is a large open-air market where one can bargain and buy authentic pieces of Armenian handicraft. One can find beautiful pieces made out of wood, ceramic, semi-precious stones as well as dolls, jewellery, paintings, cutlery, musical instruments, lace and needlework, pottery, carpets and what have you. Even if one does not buy anything, a visit to this place gives you a chance to get close to Armenia’s rich culture and interact with the warm and friendly Armenian people — and that is quite an enjoyable experience.
Most of the vendors, both men and women, were warm and welcoming. The numerous colourful items on display in the various shops were a treat for the eyes. In one of the shops we stopped at initially and which was manned by a middle-aged couple, we were shown the Dhuduk, the traditional Armenian flute, and given a demonstration of it being played. We could not resist buying a beautiful hand-painted piece!
We strolled along, admiring the wide variety of items on sale, resisting the temptation to buy them. One of the shops was run by an elderly gentleman who knew a smattering of English. His name was Mikhail. He was selling various antique items, including silverware, and old currency, coins, medals etc. of the erstwhile Soviet Union. His eyes lit up on learning that we were from India. He struck up a conversation with us and expressed his admiration for Gandhi, Nehru, Indira Gandhi and the cine star of yesteryears, the late Raj Kapoor! He, then, pleasantly surprised us by gifting some old Rouble notes to my daughter!
In one of the shops were a cute, shy little boy and his mother, selling pottery, Armenian dolls etc.. Among the items they had on sale was the traditional Armenian coffee pot, the Jazzve (seen at the bottom right corner of the first picture below). The Turkish coffee pot is also similar and is called Cezve.
As we walked ahead, we came across a warm and jovial lady selling various items carved out of wood, including carved wooden crosses and rosaries as well as wine bottle holders.
We strolled around there for some more time before leaving. We could have been there longer, but it was getting late, and Hayk, who was acting as our interpreter, was gently urging us to wind up our visit. We half-heartedly did so and, as dusk was falling, he drove us back to our lodging.
When we reached our room in Villa Ayghedzor, Arnahit, our hostess, was waiting for us. She had made arrangements for us to shift to a more centrally located accommodation in Yerevan. We collected our baggage and vacated our room. By then, she had arranged a cab for us to leave by and came along with us to our new accommodation near Yerevan’s city centre. By the time we reached our new lodging, Villa Delenda, located next to a quiet, green park, night had fallen.
Villa Delenda
Villa Delenda, our new lodging, was an old house made of stone, one of Yerevan’s elegant Belle Epoque mansions dating back to the late 19th century. Built and originally owned by the Mnatsakanian brothers who were prosperous jewellers in Yerevan, it now houses a little bed and breakfast place and a ceramic showroom.
Located on a quiet street opposite a verdant little park, it is at walking distance from Republic Square in the heart of Yerevan. We entered the villa through a large, cast iron door. Our cosy room looked extremely nice with stone walls, wooden ceiling, large bay windows and antique furniture.
Opposite our room, across the hallway, was a tastefully appointed lounge.
The hallway led up to a stone and wooden staircase which took one up to the upper storey and, also, down to a large, elegant dining area in the basement. In an adjacent room in the basement was a ceramic showroom in which were displayed beautiful pieces of traditional Armenian ceramic ware. We liked the place very much!
After settling in, we ventured out at night. It was chilly as we strolled along the well-lit streets of central Yerevan, trees and beautifully illuminated buildings lining them. It was New Year’s eve and the streets were gaily lit and there was merriment in the air. Many of the buildings seemed to have a permanent system to have their facades lit up at night.
We passed an old man who was selling bouquets on the pavement. In an alley, we also came across some street art murals.
After walking around for a while, we had dinner in an Iranian restaurant. Although I wanted to wander around and explore a bit more after that, I yielded to the demand of my two fellow travellers and, cutting across the nearby park, returned to our room. Although I had planned to stay awake until midnight and go to the nearby Republic Square to join in the new year celebrations there, I was too tired from the day’s exertions and sank into the warm and welcoming bed and, soon, crashed out. We had a long journey to make the next day.
Off to Khor Virap
We woke up to a chilly morning on New Year’s Day. After getting ready, we had a hearty breakfast in the homely dining area in the basement. Hayk was at the door at the appointed time. Our trip that day was to Armenia’s south-western border where we were to visit two ancient monasteries, one, Khor Virap, located right on the Turkish border and another, Noravank, further south, deep in the remote mountains bordering an exclave of Azerbaijan.
As we drove out of Yerevan, the city had not yet woken up from slumber after the previous night’s new year festivities. The city roads wore a deserted look.
We were soon hurtling down the highway to Khor Virap. The highway looked quite good and, mostly, extended monotonously straight, lined in stretches by wintry trees shorn of their foliage.
The landscape all around us was one of expansive tracts of land, some cultivated and much appearing fallow, sparsely dotted with trees. Occasionally, small settlements with decrepit houses and other buildings whizzed past us as we sped along the desolate highway. The countryside was very thinly populated.
After about an hour, we turned off the highway and took a small by-road. This took us through a small, deserted-looking township with hardly a soul in sight and all shops and establishments shut.
Passing this ghost-town-like place, we reached a small settlement nestling at the foot of a row of hills. The road came to a dead end there. Atop the hill was a fortification, with a monastery inside.
There were very few people there as we got out. An old, ramshackle, bright blue Lada car (a ubiquitous car in the erstwhile Soviet Union, it was a remake of the Fiat 124) parked there caught my attention.
We walked up a short, tree-lined pathway and came to the bottom of a long flight of steps which went up the hillside. We had reached Armenia’s famous Khor Virap Monastery.
Khor Virap
Khor Virap monastery stands at the site of the ruins of one of Armenia’s ancient capitals, Artashat. This was a city built around the 2nd century BC under the supervision of Hannibal, the great Carthaginian General and military strategist, who had sought refuge in Armenia at that time. (The Carthaginian Empire had its capital in Carthage, now Tunis, and was a large Mediterranean Empire which challenged the mighty Roman Empire in the First Millennium BC. The Punic Wars were fought between the Carthaginians and the Romans). It remained Armenia’s main city for around six hundred years, although it was repeatedly attacked and destroyed by various invaders, primarily the Romans. Only some excavated ruins of the ancient city remain.
The legend of the Khor Virap monastery goes back to the early Third century. In the third century AD, there was an Armenian king named Khosrov, the Great. He was defeated by the Sassanids of Persia and killed treacherously by one of his relatives, Anak, in league with the Sassanids. Anak and his family too were, later, executed by the Sassanids, but one of his sons, Grigor, escaped. One of Khosrov’s sons, T’rdat, was also taken away to Rome. Years later, T’rdat led a military campaign to Armenia and defeated the Sassanids to retake his father’s country. Meanwhile, he met and befriended Anak’s escaped son, Grigor, who had, by then, adopted Christianity. When asked by King T’rdat once, Grigor refused to pay respects to a pagan deity. T’rdat also came to know that he was the son of the person who had killed his father, Khosrov. Enraged, he threw Grigor into a dungeon where he remained imprisoned for thirteen years. Legend has it that the King, meanwhile, lost his sanity. He was advised to seek forgiveness from Grigor, which he did, and was reportedly cured. Grigor was released and the King adopted Christianity, so goes the story. It was then, in 301 AD, that Armenia adopted Christianity as its state religion, the first country in the world to do so.
It was in this place, Khor Virap (Armenian for ‘Deep Dungeon’), that Grigor (‘Gregory, the illuminator’) was held captive in a dungeon.
There was a chilly breeze as we climbed the long flight of steps going zig-zag up the rocky hill.
As we made our way up, the surrounding desolate plains began to come into view. Rocky outcrops, dried up shrubbery and some bare trees dotted the vast landscape.
A lonely shepherd and his flock of sheep could be seen through the dusty haze.
The steps led up to a steeply inclined path lined by ‘khachkars’. Going past a bend, we reached the entrance to the walled monastery.
We walked through an arched, stone gateway to enter the Khor Virap monastery, which dates back to the 7th century AD. We reached a walled, stone-paved courtyard, in the centre of which stood the old, brick-coloured St. Astvatsatsin church.
On one side of the courtyard was a rampart-like, raised platform, adjoining the fortification. Standing here, one could look through the embrasures onto the vast, desolate plain below. Hayk pointed out to us a low, stone wall running across the plain at a distance. That was the border between Turkey and Armenia.
Much further beyond that, shrouded in haze and clouds, could be faintly discerned the outline of the snow-capped Mount Ararat, a highly revered national icon of Armenia. It is much like what Mount Fujiyama (“Fuji San”) is to the Japanese. Although Armenia’s prime national symbol, it is located in Turkey’s East Anatolia province, in what Armenians consider ‘Western Armenia’ which they claim to be their land. A dormant volcano, it is more than 5000 metres (16,000 feet) tall and has a permanent ice cap. Legend has it that this was where the Biblical Noah’s Ark came to rest. Sadly, to our misfortune, we could not get a clear view of this majestic mountain due to haze and clouds. (In the picture below, if you look carefully below the mass of clouds in the centre, you can make out the snow-covered sides of the peak).
We, then, went inside the St. Astvatsatsin church and spent some time inside the ancient church.
Coming out, we moved to another small shrine within the precincts of the monastery. This was the one dedicated to Gregory, the illumnator. This was located at a corner of the monastery. A small, carved doorway led to a little shrine inside.
By the side of the altar inside this shrine was another small opening. From this opening, there was a steep ladder that led down to a small dungeon. I climbed down slowly into that dark and dingy dungeon. This was where Gregory the illuminator is believed to have been held captive for thirteen long years.
We came out of Gregory’s shrine and, walking around the main church, came to its further side. It was interesting to see that they had kept an information board written in Braille too, describing details of the monastery.
We came to an opening in the fortification on the further side and went out of the grounds of the monastery. Coming out, we saw an uneven path that led up to the top of the rocky hill. Halfway up the path was a tall, stone cross.
We climbed further up, beyond the cross, to the summit of the barren hill from where we could get a good bird’s eye view of the monastery as well as the vast plains below.
We spent a while there before coming down gingerly along the uneven, stony path. After having spent about an hour in the ancient monastery, we got back into our car to start the next leg of our long journey. We headed towards yet another ancient monastery further south, this time next to the Armenia-Azerbaijan border.
The Drive to Noravank
After we got into our car and buckled up, Hayk, who was patiently waiting for us, turned on the ignition and revved up the engine. In a short while, we set off on the long drive to distant Noravank.
Noravank is an ancient monastery located deep in the belly of the mountains bordering Armenia and Azerbaijan’s autonomous exclave of Nakhchivan, which is wedged between Armenia, Iran and Turkey. It is located in the Vayots Dzor province of Armenia, the most sparsely populated one in the country.
As we drove along, the scenery that unfolded around us was wildly beautiful. We passed long stretches of the deserted highway that cut across vast swathes of the sparsely populated countryside which lay in slumber, blanketed by the misty haze of winter. Tall, golden reeds of grass stood lining some stretches of the highway, swaying gently in the breeze, adding a dash of colour to the otherwise dull landscape.
As we cruised along, occasionally we passed some small settlements and signs of human habitation — a mother walking past with her kids, some men standing by and chatting, an occasional barn with haystacks, a petrol station or, rarely, a colourful motel.
Trees stood by the roadside, unadorned and bereft of their foliage, stretching their stark, bare boughs melancholically towards the dull, grey sky. It was quite cold and the winter sun was struggling to shine through the thick cloud cover.
We raced along without halting for a moment anywhere, yours truly clicking away furiously. I provoked repeated howls of protest from the ladies in the rear seat as the biting, cold wind rushed in whenever I lowered my window in a futile attempt to capture a clearer picture of the scenes of the bleak winter landscape whizzing past us. As we kept driving ahead, Sandhya kept passing some snacks for me and Hayk to munch on. :)
As we drove on endlessly, mile after desolate mile, the terrain began to change dramatically and the dreary plains made way for hills and mountains. What unravelled before us, as we drove ahead, were some of the most wildly beautiful scenery I have seen in recent times. The gently winding road snaked its way across the barren mountains of the Caucasus that began to loom over us. The sky was an overcast grey but the mountains around us took on a myriad brilliant hues ranging from brown to orange to yellow to moss green to blue.
We barely saw another human being for miles on end as we drove along the wild and desolate terrain. The only signs of human habitation were occasional hamlets nestling in the valleys.
We passed close to Azerbaijan territory on our right side (the autonomous exclave of Nakhchivan) and, at places, we could see military bunkers at the border.
After a while, the awesome mountainous landscape became even more stunning. Spectacular snow-capped mountains came into view at a distance. At places, there was frost on the barren ground.
A long while later, we reached a small settlement called Areni, famous for its vineyards and wineries.
We drove past this place and, a short while past it, turned off the mountain highway to the right. We entered a forbidding canyon with towering, rugged mountains looming over us. The craggy cliff faces were dotted with caves at places.
After a while, it began to rain lightly and the desolate place began to look even more intimidating. As the drive continued, we passed more scenic sights.
Finally, we swerved to our left off the narrow mountain road and climbed steeply up a short ascent, negotiated a couple of hairpin bends, and stopped at the arched gate of an ancient monastery complex nestling on the side of a tall mountain. We had reached our destination, the remote Noravank Monastery.
Noravank Monastery
We walked up a steep ascent to enter the deserted grounds of the eight-hundred-year-old Noravank monastery. There was a steady, light drizzle. It was past 1.30 in the afternoon but, thanks to the sombre, overcast sky, it was cold, dark, wet and grey. Located in the middle of nowhere, deep in a remote, inaccessible, mountainous region, the place had a wild beauty about it. The utter solitude of the place was entrancing, the silence broken only by the howl of an occasional gust of wind and the pitter-patter of raindrops.
The buff-coloured structures of the monastery complex provided a stark contrast to the grey, overcast sky.
As we turned our gaze across the deep gorge in front of the monastery complex, a stunning spectacle greeted our eyes. Standing like a magnificent fortress on the opposite side of the gorge were sheer cliffs in spectacular shades of brick red and orange interspersed with broad streaks of jade green. Further away, beyond them, were rolling hills and, on the horizon, snow-capped mountains. It was a breath-taking sight!
The monastery complex, located on a ledge on the steep mountainside, was surrounded by a low wall made of stacked up stones. The main shrine, the Sub Astvatsatsin (Holy Mother of God) church, was two storeyed.
The lower level is, actually, a mausoleum for the Orbellian family, a family of feudal lords which once held sway over this remote province of ancient Armenia.Two flights of narrow, steep, cantilevered steps jutting out from the façade of the church take you to the upper level.
The entrances, one to each floor, had tympana (singular — tympanum; the semi-circular or triangular decorative wall surface over an entrance) over them with the lower one bearing an image of the Virgin Mary holding Infant Jesus flanked by angels and, the upper one, that of Jesus with the apostles, Peter and Paul (Petros and Poghos in Armenian). A turret, with a conical dome atop it supported by columns and arches all around, towered atop the structure.
Slightly away stood another shrine, the St. Stepanos Nakhavka Church. At the entrance to its gavit are two tympana, one above the other, the lower one depicting the Virgin Mary and Child, and the upper one, a bearded God.
The gavit was dimly lit, some light diffusing inside through openings in its old, stone walls. Candles, offerings made by visitors, stood burning in a corner, suffusing the place with a warm, serene glow from their flickering flames. Engraved tombstones could be seen on the floor. Exquisitely carved khachkars adorned the walls.
The rectangular gavit led to the main shrine inside through a small door. This shrine too had a turret with a conical dome, similar to the Sub Astvatsatsin Church, but was bereft of the arches and columns that were there in the latter.
Adjoining the St. Stepanos Nakhavka shrine was a crumbling, old, stone structure with some beautiful khachkars. This was the St. Karapet Church ruins, said to be the oldest structure in the monastery complex.
Between these shrines and the tall, rugged mountains looming in the background could be seen, at some distance, two small stone chapels on the sloping mountainside.
Below us, from the further end of the grounds of the monastery complex, we could see a deep valley.
We walked around, exploring the monastery grounds and taking pictures. The drizzle was persisting and it was much past our usual lunchtime. Beginning to get pangs of hunger and shivering from the cold, we headed downhill to the warmth of our car. Soon, we were driving back along the road at the bottom of the canyon towards the little village of Areni, which we had driven past earlier. We were to have lunch there with an Armenian family in their house.
With the Valods — Wine-making
Reaching Areni from Noravank, we turned off the highway into a private road and drove up along a short drive that went through a vineyard to reach the house of Mr. Valod, a vineyard owner and farmer.
It was drizzling steadily as we got off, to be warmly welcomed by Mr.Valod. He did not know one word of English and we communicated by gestures and through Hayk, our driver-cum- translator. Mr. Valod suggested that we see his wine-making unit in the basement of his house before we go up for lunch, and we agreed.
Armenia is considered to be the country where wine-making originated nearly six thousand years ago. And that happened to be exactly in this place, Areni! (National Geographic, I understand, had done a programme on this). Mr.Valod showed us his vinification equipment, including huge glass jars, earthen and wooden barrels and casks. He also showed us how wine is bottled, corked and labelled. We said ‘cheers’ and had some red wine which he offered us.
In this basement, he had a rack-like board in which were displayed the currencies of the various countries from which his visitors came. We proudly pinned an Indian currency note there, the first such one in his collection.
We, then, came out and went up a steep flight of steps that led to the Valods’ little house on the upper floor for lunch.
Lunch with the Valods — An Armenian lunch
Mr. Valod warmly ushered us into his humble abode where he was living with his wife, Luiza. Mrs. Luiza was not keeping well that day, but that did not deter her from helping her husband get lunch ready for us. Our communication with her, too, was through gestures as she knew no English.
As we sat ‘chatting’ with Mr. Valod, he was, simultaneously, busy giving the finishing touches to our lunch that he and his wife had prepared for us. In a short while, a sumptuous lunch was got ready and he joined us and Hayk at the table.
The spread was fit for a king! There were a variety of salads and fresh, green, succulent, leafy herbs, steaming-hot soup, different types of dry fruits and nuts, olives (for which I have developed a liking now), different varieties of cheese, cream, luscious, golden honey, fresh fruits, Lavash (Armenian flatbread) and rice. There were also ‘dolmas’ (stuffed grape leaf rolls) and a variety of delicious Armenian meat dishes.
I downed a shot of vodka which Mr. Valod offered me. Then, having worked up a ravenous appetite, I launched myself into a full-scale, sustained, no-holds-barred gastronomical assault, peppered with ‘conversation’ (during which Mr. Valod was curious to hear about India and our globally venerated national icons, Gandhiji and Nehru). Our lunch ended with some delicious baklava being polished off (Baklava is a dessert popular in the Middle East, the Caucasus and the Balkans. It is made out of thin layers of dough interspersed with nuts like walnut and pistachio and drenched in a syrup of honey, rose water and orange flower water).
But, the best was yet to come. After a while, Mr. Valod served us some herbal tea. Not being a fan of green tea, I instantly refused it firmly and politely, but, ultimately, gave in to his friendly insistence. I was absolutely delighted by the superbly tasty, aromatic, steaming-hot herbal tea which he served us, made using herbs which Mr. Valod had hand-picked himself from the nearby mountains. It was just awesome!
After taking rest for a while, sitting and chatting in his cosy living room, it was time to bid goodbye. We profusely thanked Mr. Valod and his wife, Ms. Luiza, and went down to get into our car. Mr. Valod came down with us and saw us off, requesting us to visit him again soon. We decided that we should certainly do so, as we started off on our long journey back to Yerevan.
The drive back to Yerevan from Areni
It was very cold, grey and dark as we started off for Yerevan in the evening from Mr. Valod’s house in Areni. The temperature had plummeted to sub-zero. After a while, it began to drizzle.
As we were driving along the mountain road, Hayk said that it looked as if it would snow. And, before long, it started snowing and visibility dropped further.
As it began to snow, the landscape underwent a magical transformation. It was a completely different scenery from what we had seen on our drive in the opposite direction along the same route, earlier that day, on our way to Noravank. The mountainous countryside, with its bare-boughed trees and little homesteads, looked extremely enchanting as it began to get draped in a beautiful, white blanket of snow. It was a wonderful sight!
By the time we passed the mountains and began approaching the plains, the snowfall had stopped.
When we drove into Yerevan, it was dark and the twinkling city lights had just begun to come on.
After Hayk dropped us off at our room, we lay down and rested our weary frames. Later, we went out walking to a nearby restaurant and had a hearty meal. (I gorged on a delicious, grilled trout!). Afterwards, we took a lazy stroll around the leafy park nearby and then retired for the night.
Our trip the next day was to take us to some distant places in the central and northern parts of Armenia.
The Drive to Kecharis and Tsaghkadzor
The next day dawned, wet, cold and gloomy. I woke up, got out of the warm bed and drew aside the curtains of our bay window which opened on to the tree-lined street in front and the little, leafy park beyond. When I peered through the foggy windowpane, what I saw was a light drizzle with puddles on the road, rain-drenched trees with their wet, glistening leaves sashaying in the wind and a grey, overcast sky.
After getting ready, we went down for breakfast. At the breakfast table, we were joined by two other guests, one, a young Iranian college student and another, an Italian gentleman based in Switzerland who was the manager of a professional opera singer. After exchanging pleasantries, we had a short, but lively, discussion over breakfast about the global political situation . :)
As we were waiting for Hayk to arrive, we went to the ceramic shop in the basement and bought some pretty mementoes. Deciding what to buy from this little shop, which had a wide array to choose from, was not easy!
Hayk was punctual, as usual, and was at the door at the appointed time. Soon, we were on our way. The day’s trip was to Kecharis, a monastery to the north of Yerevan and to the ski resort of Tsaghkadzor nearby. Thereafter, we had to go east to a place called Sevan with a high altitude lake and, then, travel further north to another remote, mountainous place called Dilijan before returning to Yerevan by late evening.
We passed the rain washed suburbs of Yerevan and sped forward along the highway. After a while, the drizzle petered out and stopped.
Soon, it began to snow. And, as we travelled ahead, the landscape became fully snow-covered.
It was so beautiful! On either side were undulating hills and dales blanketed in snow. Beautiful trees stood lining stretches of the highway. In between, colourful little houses dotted the landscape shrouded in snow. Trucks could be seen moving along the highway sprinkling salt, to melt the snow and keep the tarmac clear.
We sped ahead and, after a while, turned off the highway.
Soon, we reached a little town. We passed through its narrow streets and, coming to an open ground, stopped. As we got off our car, it was still snowing. We had arrived at the Kecharis monastery.
Kecharis Monastery
The sight which greeted us as we got off at Kecharis Monastery was straight out of a fairy tale. Set in a lovely, wooded ground stood a beautiful, old, stone monastery bedecked in a pretty veil of snow. Moss-laden, craggy rocks and beautiful stone khachkars adorned its serene, wooded surroundings.
We stood gazing a while at this pretty sight, struck by the exquisite beauty of the place, before entering the premises of this ancient monastery. The Kecharis monastery is nearly one thousand years old. The complex has four churches, two chapels, a gavit and a cemetery as well as numerous old khachkars. Kecharis was a religious and political centre of ancient Armenia. It was especially famous for calligraphy. The place was ransacked and ruined over the centuries by various invaders and repeatedly rebuilt. During the Soviet Union years, a major renovation and restoration of the monastery complex was undertaken.
The freshly fallen snow on the ground squeaked and crunched softly under our boots as we walked around the complex, taking in the surreal beauty of the surroundings and the ancient monuments. Unlike the monasteries that we had visited previously, there were a good number of visitors here. In spite of that, the place was quite peaceful and absolutely quiet.
We spent time inside the quaint, old churches and admiring the beauty of the pretty, wooded surroundings.
We, then, started for our next destination, the nearby ski resort and spa town of Tsaghkadzor.
The Ski Resort of Tsaghkadzor
Tsaghkadzor was just a short drive away from Kecharis. In less than fifteen minutes, we reached Tsaghkadzor from Kecharis monastery.
Tsaghkadzor (meaning ‘Valley of Flowers’) is famous as a ski resort and spa town. Located at an altitude of close to 2000 metres above MSL, it is also famous as a sporting centre and has an Olympic training facility which used to be utilised by the Olympic squad of the erstwhile Soviet Union. In spring and summer, the mountains, forests and grasslands of this place provide ample opportunities for hiking and trekking.
We drove through the narrow streets of the little town and reached the base of the ski trails located on the slopes of Mount Teghenis.
The parking area was crowded. It was snowing steadily as we got off and walked to the ticket counter at the base of the ski trails. There was a moderate crowd waiting there as we reached the counters to get the tickets to go up the mountain by the ski lift. It was a novel experience for us to watch a crowd of skiers getting ready and waiting expectantly with their gear to go skiing.
After getting our tickets, we moved past the turnstiles to the boarding platform of the chairlift that took people up the mountain and, after a bit of trepidation, managed to board the chairlift uneventfully. As the ski lifts kept swinging round quickly into position, the staff helped us to get on fast and snapped down the safety bar into place.
Going up the snow-covered mountain in the ski lift was an unforgettable experience. The ski lift glided up slowly above the mountain, as we perched ourselves on the open chairlift dangling high up from the cables stretching across tall pylons. It was snowing briskly, snowflakes falling softly on us, like confetti. The view which unfolded below and all around us was scenic.
The mountain slope was covered with snow. Two long, clear, white stretches of the ski slope could be seen extending across the mountainside. Skiers were seen gliding down, their brightly coloured attire in stark contrast against the winter white. Colourful little houses could be seen dotting the wintry landscape. Around the ski slopes, lovely woods with trees beautifully bedecked in snow and ice covered the mountainside. As we went up, through the haze, we could see snow-covered hills and valleys extending afar.
We hopped off the ski lift when it reached the upper reaches of the mountain. The place looked beautiful, a vast expanse of snow-covered mountainside. Extending further up the mountain from where we got off was a ski trail. Alongside it extended another section of the ski lift, going further up the mountain.
We walked around the place watching others skiing. Some were skilled skiers, others were just learning the ropes. We watched these sights with interest and also indulged in some snowball fights ourselves.
After a while, we left the place half-heartedly, taking the ski lift down. As we went down the mountainside, the colourful little ski village at the bottom loomed clearer into view.
A while later, we got off and, getting out, met Hayk who was waiting to take us to our car.
We were soon on our way to our next destination, the huge freshwater lake of Sevan.
Lake Sevan
We drove through the narrow streets of Tsaghkadzor, slushy from snow, to reach the highway to Sevan.
Sevan, located about 30 km away, was just a short drive from Tsaghkadzor. It is a small township on the banks of the huge Lake Sevan, the largest water body in Armenia. Being a huge lake in landlocked Armenia, the banks of Lake Sevan attract a number of tourists who come to enjoy the ‘beaches’ on its shores. Sevan is also famous for its ancient Sevanavank monastery.
After a short drive lasting about half an hour from Tsaghkadzor along the highway, we reached Sevan. Driving along a tree-lined street in the little town, we caught the first glimpse of Sevanavank Monastery at a distance, atop a small hill.
We reached a parking area at the foot of the hill and got out. On the street leading up to the hill were some small eateries and shops selling a variety of mementoes. The hawkers called out to us trying to sell their wares, but we walked ahead unmindful of them.
We reached a steep flight of stone steps which led up the snow-covered hill towards the monastery. The ground being snow covered and slippery, we had to watch our steps. Holding on to the railings by the side of the steps, we made our way upwards carefully. On our way up, we bought a few candles to be offered in the monastery from an old lady who was selling them.
The steps stopped slightly short of the summit of the hill where the monastery was. From here, we could get a bird’s eye view of Sevan Lake and the surrounding township. This high-altitude freshwater lake has a surface area of about 1250 square kilometres and is Armenia’s largest lake and one of the biggest freshwater lakes in Eurasia. A portion of the huge lake could be seen, its still, deep-blue waters providing a striking contrast against the backdrop of snow-covered mountains on its distant shore. It was a lovely sight.
We went up a sloping, stone-paved path which led further up the hill to the precincts of the Sevanavank Monastery on its summit. As we reached the top, what we saw was a truly beautiful sight. On the snow-covered hilltop, silhouetted against the background of a blotchy blue sky across which floated tufts of grey clouds through which the sun struggled to shine, stood a lovely stone monastery. We walked further up the path which curved to the left, skirting the perimeter of the monastery complex, to reach its entrance on the other side.
Sevanavank Monastery dates back to the ninth century AD. It is located on a peninsula, surrounded on three sides by Lake Sevan. Initially, it used to be an island. However, during the Soviet years, under Stalin, water from Sevan Lake was diverted for irrigation and hydroelectric projects. As a result of this, the water level receded significantly, converting the island into a peninsula.
There are two churches in the monastery complex, the St Astvatsatsin and St. Arakelots churches. They are made of black tuff stone. Hence, the name ‘Sevanavank’, which means ‘Black Monastery’. We crossed the deserted, snow-covered courtyard to enter the churches. At the entrance, were numerous beautiful khachkars of various hues, including a beautiful pale bluish green one, kept leaning against the wall.
We went into the ancient churches and lit some candles.
Coming out after spending a while there, we wandered around the lovely grounds of the hilltop monastery. From this side, there was an unhindered view of the dark blue waters of Lake Sevan, shimmering under the afternoon sun. Woods on rolling hills extended beyond the monastery complex. However, for want of time, we could not explore further. It was time for us to go back downhill and head for lunch.
Hayk, who was waiting for us patiently, had to wait for a little while more as Sandhya was lured by the sight and smell of traditional Armenian bread being baked and sold in one of the small, wayside shops. We bought some straight off the oven and then got into our car to head to a restaurant some distance away.
The restaurant where Hayk took us for lunch was a nice one located on the banks of Lake Sevan. It served authentic Armenian fare.
After ordering some traditional Armenian dishes for lunch, we went out to the balcony of the restaurant that overlooked Lake Sevan. The vast expanse of the lake with its deep blue waters against the backdrop of snow-covered mountains under a cloudy, grey sky, with water birds bobbing lazily on the serene lake, was a spectacular sight.
Lunch was sumptuous and was had with great relish. It consisted of a variety of breads, fresh green salads and mildly spicy, grilled eggplant and other vegetables, freshly caught trout from the lake and meat.
After resting awhile, we started off on the next leg of our trip. This was to take us further north in Armenia to two distant places called Haghartsin and Dilijan.
Haghartsin and Dilijan
The winter sun, which had been playing hide and seek behind the clouds, was beaming brightly when we set out after lunch from the lakeside restaurant in Sevan. The largely-deserted dual carriage highway in front of this restaurant ran along the banks of the lake. Driving north, we passed the lake and reached a stretch of the highway with snow-covered mountains on either side. Going further ahead, we entered a long mountain tunnel, more than two kilometres long.
Exiting the tunnel, the road began to twist and turn in hairpin curves as it coursed downhill. In this part of the route, the mountains were forested, unlike the mountains that we had passed on the other side. The terrain was covered with snow and the highway was quite good.
We drove down the mountains and, by evening, reached a pretty little town, Dilijan. Perched on the wooded hillsides were little, brightly-coloured houses. The town was ringed by tall, snow-capped mountains. This idyllic town, with forested, mountainous surroundings, is famous as a mountain resort. It is located on the banks of a small river, the Aghstev. The beautiful mountains, forests and meadows around Dilijan are ideal for hiking. During the Soviet Union years, Dilijan was a favourite retreat of artists and intellectuals. In addition to fine arts, it also became a centre for crafts like carpet weaving, wood engraving, metal craft etc.. However, the town saw a downturn in its fortunes after the Soviet era.
We took a diversion from here and, headed for Haghartsin. The route was picturesque with tall mountains with snow-covered summits and beautiful forests. The road wound its way through scenic woods, shed autumn leaves carpeting the forest floor. A little mountain stream gurgled past us in some stretches.
After a while, we reached a small clearing in the forested mountains. There, on a small ledge on the mountainside, overlooking a wooded valley, stood a monastery. This was the Haghartsin Monastery dating back to the 13th century AD.
We got off and walked down a steeply sloping path and, then, across a stone-paved forecourt lined by tall trees on one side, to the monastery . It was quite chilly and there was a light drizzle as well.
There are three churches in the monastery complex dedicated to the Virgin Mary, Gregory, the Illuminator and St. Stephen. The gavit, open to the sky, with a number of pillars, led to the chapels. Behind the monastery stood a large, decaying trunk of an ancient oak tree. Across the adjoining valley was a wooded mountain, the forest floor, carpeted with with shed autumn leaves, a bright reddish-brown.
After spending time walking around the quiet monastery, as we were leaving, we were pleased to see, in its forecourt, a plaque acknowledging the help rendered by the Sheikh of Sharjah, United Arab Emirates, for the renovation of this ancient monastery.
We retraced our path, driving back towards Diljan along the wooded forest route that we had taken to reach the monastery. On reaching Dilijan, we headed straight to its old Sharambeyan Street. This is an area where some traditional old buildings, by the side of a cobbled street overlooking a valley, have been preserved and restored. This street had to be reached from the main street at a higher level by climbing down a flight of steps. The tiled buildings in this street with stone walls and wooden gables and balconies looked quaint. They housed chic shops dealing with traditional pottery, handmade souvenirs etc. From the street above, one could get a good view of Dilijan town.
We spent a short while exploring the place. It was getting late and it was time to leave. We started on our long drive back to Yerevan. The sun had set and darkness had fallen by the time we reached Yerevan.
After reaching our room, we finished packing and then went out for dinner and a stroll. Coming back, we rested a while.
Soon, it was time to leave for the airport. We reached the airport well on time. After finishing check-in formalities, we waited for our flight. Taking off past 2 a.m., we reached Dubai early in the morning, ending a most memorable trip to alluring Armenia.
