Tuesday ın Safranbolu

I found Safranbolu quite by accident. I wanted to meet Kitty and Claudia in Istanbul on Friday and I needed to find a place to stay for the 3-4 intervening days. So I picked up the Turkey Guide at the hostel and looked at the map for towns between Cappadocia and Istanbul. Someone had previously circled Safranbolu, so I read:
"During the 17th century, the main Ottoman trade route between Gerede and the Black Sea coast passed through Safranbolu, bringing commerce, prominence and money to the town. During the 18th and 19th centuries Safranbolu's wealthy inhabitants built mansions of sun-dried mud-bricks, wood and stucco, while the larger population of prosperous artisans built less impressive but similarly sturdy homes. Safranbolu owes its fame to the large numbers of these dwellings that have survived.
"The most prosperous Safranbolulus maintained two households. In winter they occupied town houses in the Carsi (Market) district, which is situated at the meeting point of three valleys and so protected from the winter winds. During the warm months they moved to summer houses in the garden suburb of Baglar (Vineyards). When the iron and steelworks at Karabuk were established in 1938, modern factory houses started to encroach on Baglar, but Carsi has remained virtually untouched. During the 19th century about 20% of Safranbolu's inhabitants were Ottoman Greeks, but most of their descendants moved to Greece during the population exchange after WWI."

I looked at pictures on the internet and was convinced. I booked the $28 bus trip from Cappadocia to Safranbolu for Monday. The 8 ½ hour ride took me mostly through open plains and farmlands, past numerous small towns with red tile-roofed houses tucked against hillsides or among green pastures. For nearly an hour we rode along the shore a great salt lake, the white shore on the far side looking more like a long, thin white cloud floating above it than land. In the last two hours the land began to undulate, mountains slowly appearing out of plains, forests replacing fields. At last we dipped and turned into a valley. We left the bus and entered a private van. The pavement soon disappeared and was replaced by cobbled roads as we curved 'round and down. The 21st century faded behind us and we entered an old world.

No matter that I had read, "Just walking through Carsi is a feast for the eyes. . . Safranbolu is universally acknowledged to contain the country's single finest collection of pre-independence domestic architecture." I still was not prepared for the feast. Walking Safranbolu's narrow cobbled streets is a walk through the 17th century. Women in colorful head scarves sit chatting on stools and doing handwork outside their picturesque homes; men and women sell their goods from small shops in the old caravanserai, the walkway covered by tarps tied up and across and meeting each other in the middle. Even the one internet shop doesn't disturb the sense of timelessness here. No flashing lights advertising "Internet". Instead, a wooden sign blends into the building's exterior and states quietly "Pasa Internet."

Rather than re-creating the wheel to describe the house I'm staying in, I'll once again quote from the guidebook: "Ottoman wooden houses generally had two or three storeys, the upper storeys jutting out over the lower ones on carved corbels (brackets). Their timber frames were filled with adobe and then plastered with a mixture of mud and straw. Sometimes the houses were left unsealed, but in towns they were usually given a finish of plaster or whitewash, with decorative flourishes in plaster or wood. The wealthier the owner, the fancier the decoration.
"Inside, the larger houses had 10-12 rooms, divided into selamik (men's quarters) and haremlik (women's quarters). Rooms were often decorated with built-in niches and cupboards, and had fine plaster fireplaces with yasmaks (conical hoods). Sometimes the ceilings were very elaborate; that of the Pasa Odasi of Tokat's Latifoglu Konagi, for example, is thought to emulate a chandelier in wood.
"Details to look out for inside the Safranbolu houses include their hayats (courtyard areas where the animals lived and tools were stored); ingenious donme dolaplar (revolving cupboards that made it possible to prepare food in one room and pass it to another without being seen); bathrooms hidden inside cupboards; and central heating systems that relied on huge fireplaces. Sedirs (bench seating that ran round the walls) [where I'm sitting as I type] doubled as beds, with the bedding being stored in the bathrooms, which converted neatly into cupboards during the day."

On the bus to Safranbolu, I sit beside a 24-year-old Turkish woman, a nurse heading home to Kurbuk to visit her family for a week. She speaks halting English and wants to share some of her country's history and culture with me. As is often the case, politics comes up. "Do you like George Bush?" she asks – a common question. "No," I answer. "The Turkish people do not do wars," she tells me, and I reflect on what she is saying. Indeed, the US has troops stationed all over the world, continues to support covert military action and has two on-going active wars, while the Turks have none. "We cry for the Iraqi people and their suffering," she tells me. I assure her that I, too, cry for the Iraqi people, that I don't want war, that the US government does not represent my beliefs nor that of many US citizens, but that we are unable to stop the government. She understands: governments do not always express the will of the people. Though she may be a bit deluded about the extent of her own government's policies – perhaps she has been told a different story than I have been told about the Armenians, the Greeks, the Kurds – I do believe that she and other average Turks share my love for peace in the world. "Read the Koran," she tell me. "You will see that Islam is about loving others. Each day I thank God 5 times a day." Her words confirm my experiences here: over and again I am greeted by warmth, generosity, kindness and friendship.

Turkey has far exceeded my expectations in every way imaginable: the breath-taking landscapes, the fascinating history that is also my history, and the warmth and friendliness of the people who live here.

Wednesday, May 4, 2010 - Today I took a shared taxi with Etty and Sammy (from Minnesota) to the

nearby village of Yoruk Kuyu (Nomad Village). According to the Lonely Planet blip: "[It's] a beautiful settlement of crumbling old houses once inhabited by the dervish Bektasi sect. The government forced the nomads to settle here so it could tax them, and the villagers grew rich from their baking prowess." It truly was a beautiful old settlement. We walked through the village – we were the only tourists there and only some 30 people live there now - and toured an old Ottoman house. The woman who gave us the tour spoke only Turkish. She was so animated in her presentation that life in the households during Ottoman times came alive for us. We could almost see the women hiding behind the wooden wall by the door, placed so that the men could not see them when they came to the door for some reason. She lifted my foot to the stone wash basin to demonstrate the foot-washing technique and took us into the circular cushioned room where the women would do namas and were shown how one wall had a small niche cut in it to indicate the direction of mecca.

Turkey

Turkey has so far exceeded my expectatıon. At every turn I am blown away: ıncredıble hıstory, warm and frıendly people, amazıng landscapes. I have just arrıved ın Safranbolu and I feel lıke Ive stepped ınto the 17th century - except of course for the ınternet cafes cars and satellıte dıshes on all the houses. Thıs was once a prosperous town from the tıme of the Ottoman empıre and the archıtecture ıs lovely.

I see that I'm goıng to have too dıffıcult a tıme wrıtıng on thıs Turkısh keyboard and thıs ınternet ıs paınfully slow so I wıll end thıs post and wrıte on my own computer then upload.

My Love Affair with Istanbul

I fell in love with Istanbul. It's one of those hot love affairs - eight days and I must seek respite. Even though I did manage to avoid most of the tourist sights. Well, actually all of them that required a fee, me being me, the original cheap-skate. No, really. I just hate paying $20 to stand in line with 100s of people gawking at bright shiny things. It's just not my style. And seriously folks, I'm trying to see if it's possible to walk around the world for under $50/day. So far so good. I'm doin' it, except when I add in my airfare, then it bumps it just over the $50/day mark. Not bad, eh? I'd like to get it lower but it's hard. In spite of my tight budget I did find some things to forever love about Istanbul.
The colors . . .

The Grand Bazaar

The ferry ride on the Bosphorus . . . .

The beautiful mosques . . . .

Hiking in the Belgrade Forest . . . .

Prince's Island and the Turk students having a picnic . . . .

Eyup . . . .

The other travelers I met . . . .

Ugur and the Harmony Hostel . . .

Cappadocia. For the past few days I've been in Cappadocia. Once again, I look at the tour posters and find out where all the tour groups are going then I head in the other direction. Consequently, I have had some magnificent hikes, seen some amazing landscapes uncluttered by tourists (except for the few solitary birds like myself) and visited some still quiet and remote ancient ruins. I hope those following my blog can sort out my photos. I'll have to give a slideshow when I get home. Just uploading my photos is time-consuming and it's difficult to find time to blog so I must just do it quickly on the run. I'm hauling my heavy laptop around with me. I had thought to send it home with friends I was meeting in Istanbul but I've decided it's worth its weight because it allows me to upload my photos off my camera and keep a decent journal.
I'll be here in Goreme for one more day. Next stop: Safranbolu, an old Ottoman Empire city. More photos soon, I promise! :o)

A week in Istanbul

I'm beginning to get the hang of it around here. I found a new hostel to stay at that costs only $15/night (it's $20/night where I'm staying now). But most importantly, the new Hostel, the Harmony, has a kitchen for guest use. That makes a huge difference. I've managed to find a few small markets where I can buy fresh fruits and vegetables and yesterday I learned the location of a large market where I'll be able to find other things. I'm beginning to learn the secrets of traveling cheap. Transportation costs must be kept down, which means staying in one place for at least a week if not longer.

I've been in Istanbul a week and though my expenses are low, they can go lower. I completely avoid the tourist traps, where thousands of people queue up elbow to elbow and inch their way through. I did buy a couple of scarves (and Claudia brought me 3 books from Margot) so now my pack feels extraordinarily heavy. Hence, when the totally handsome, suave Turkish salesman comes up to me I'm now really strong when I say, "I don't buy anything I have to carry." When he says, "We can ship!" I simply tell him the truth: I don' t have a house to ship it to and I don't want to buy stuff just to put into my storage shed. It's as easy as that.

I love Istanbul. We'll see how long this love affair lasts. I'll be here two more nights then I'll move down to Capadoccia for 5 days. The young people I met when I first arrived (they're on a 37-day adventure tour, camping, etc, cheap, sounds way cool) will be camping near Capadoccia so I plan to meet up with them again and maybe spend a few nights camping out. Then I'll come back to Istanbul and will most likely stay here until at least the middle of May. I've decided that I'll probably only make 2-3 stops on my way to Switzerland: Bulgaria, where I plan to stay at the Rila Monastery, high in the Rila Mountains; Sarejevo, Croatia; and Montenegro. I'll take sleeper trains or buses between each of these places.

Today I'm heading out to the Belgrade Forest, a forested area 20 km north of Istanbul. I asked the guy at the desk here about it and he had never heard of it, he'd never been there, and thought it was a long way away. :o) Interesting. I only read about it in one travel guide but it sounds amazing. Locals go there for a day away from the city, but mostly on the weekend. Here's what my book says:
"The Belgrade Forest is the only sizeable piece of woodland in the imediate vicinity of Istanbul. The forest is made up of pines, oaks, beeches, chestnuts and poplars, beneath which a profusion of wild flowers grow in spring.. . . the park's [main] attractions are the relics of the dams, reservoirs and aqueducts use for over 1,000 years to transport spring water in to Istanbul.The oldest structure, Buyuk Bent (Great Reservoir), dates back to the early Byzantine era."

I expect to spend a day in relative peace and quiet, just as I found on Prince's Island, all free of course except for the cost of transportation - which is cheap, fast and easy. This is an exciting, beautiful city but I will totally enjoy a little forest walking. I haven't had much of that in the past year. So that's how it all goes. Love & Light to all.

Wow!

Good morning or afternoon or whatever it is wherever you are.

Two of my friends cancelled their trips. the other two are coming, but they're doing guided pre-packaged tours so i won't see much of them.

I'm going to plan my itinerary somewhat around theirs but they move around a lot and that gets expensive. I'm trying hard not to spend too much money. I'm keeping track of all my expenses now that I'm on the road. I'm spending more than I want to. Each day I think, okay, today will be a cheap day then something turns up. I've settled into Istanbul at a hostel which charges $17/day and will be here for 4 more days so hopefully I can keep things down. [Note: I later found the Harmony Hostel, less expensive, great atmosphere, two meals a day included. My orignal plan was to move about a lot but now I've decided to limit my moves to no less than every three days. There are sooo many places to spend money here and it's all soooo inviting. The food here is outrageously delicious and there are restaurants and food carts about every 10 feet. Ah, you can't imagine - breads and pastries and ice cream and salads and it's all laid out so beautifully, so artistically. Every restaurant has a window full of amazing foods, cooks working, etc. The hawkers are the best in the world. They're not aggressive but very very nice, very handsome and it's hard to ignore their niceness. :o) Really nice people. honestly nice. If you're not interested in what they're selling they ease up and instead will invite you to share a cup of Turkish tea and a chat (as one carpet seller did yesterday) or give you a sample or give you directions or even walk you to your doorstep. I was even approached by a male prostitute. Imagine that?!?!

I had an amazingly wonderful day yesterday just wandering around in a daze. I've decided if you spent your entire life shopping in Istanbul you'd never be able to visit all the shops here. Everything glitters and shines and invites you in every way possible. A bright, lively beautiful city. I tried the hooka yesterday. Yum, yum. The smoke is so delicious. It's not tobacco, it's some mixture of dried fruits and grass, just plain green grass from the ground. People smoke them all over the place and now I know their appeal. It's like eating but not. Today perhaps I'll take a ferry ride up the Bosphorus if the weather is nice. Yesterday was a bit cool and overcast but the sky cleared in the afternoon. If I don't do a ride then I'll just walk around in a delightful daze again. I'm fine with that.

Batumi

The sun has come out and Batumi is looking up. It feels more "normal" to me now. It wasn't quite what I expected but nothing ever is, is it? I always forget that this is the Caucasus, not the old USofA. It's nice out now with people out and about, the sun shining, etc. I just had khachapuri at Tserodena, a bright little restaurant near the main park by the sea. Oh my, not good food for the gall bladder, that's for sure. Heavy duty butter, bread, cheese, salt. I think it was good - I ate it all :o) - but I'm not sure it's going to sit well with me.

I got my bus ticket for Istanbul, will leave here tomorrow at 10:30am and arrive in Istanbul at 8am the next day (Wednesday). They'll provide me a free shuttle to my hostel, which is nice and will certainly save me a hassle.

Next stop today is the Adjara art museum, a collection of Georgian artists as well as works by European and Russian painters from the 19th & 20th century. Should be interesting.

A bit on the history of Batumi from the Lonely Planet guide:
"Batumi developed in the late 19th century as the western terminus of a railway from Baku that then carried 1/5 of the world's oil production. A pipeline and refinery built by Ludwig Nobel, brother of the Swedish dynamite inventor Alfred, woon followed. Batumi gained free-port status, over 20 foreign consulates set up here, and the town developed into a fashionable resort at the southern tip of the Russian empire and a crossroads between Europe and Asia.
"One of the first decisions of the post-Abashidze administration in 2004 was to make Batumi an attractive place to visit, something in which they are, happily, succeeding. Charming old buildings have been restored, renovated and floodlit, attractive new ones are joining them, and strolling around the leafy, low-rise central streets is a real pleasure."

That's all for now. Time to go take some photos and get some culture followed by a little sun and fresh air. I will sit by the Black Sea for awhile this afternoon and soak up that delicious sound of waves against the shore.

Trains, Taxis, and Sulphur Baths

17 April 2010, Saturday

We've just returned to our hotel in Tbilisi, the Hotel Boni otherwise known as the Hotel Charm or Sharm. Don't ask. I have no answer. Anyway, it's really a lovely old house but aargh this whole trip has been a lesson to me in how to travel.

First, the train ride. We bought our tickets in Gyumri. There are 4 levels of tickets: bench seats, open sleepers (no doors), 4-berth sleepers and 2-bed sleepers. The prices range from $7-$25. We wanted the 4-berth sleepers but instead were sold the tickets for the open sleepers. The ticket seller told us not to worry, the conductor would upgrade us on the train. I didn't understand this – why not just go ahead and sell us the ticket now? - but all would eventually become clear. It's “the system.” At any rate, I can't even describe the scene in the open sleepers. The train was very crowded and as we passed through the sleepers it smelled strongly of sleeping people in need of baths. As it turns out, if you buy a lower priced ticket they'll upgrade you for less when you get on the train. In other words, you get a better seat for less, and the train employees get a little extra cash in their pockets as the extra that you pay is “off the books.” So we ended up paying more than I had wanted to pay ($12) but we got the $25 2-bed berth for $18. It really was a pleasant experience, very clean and private and quiet.

An old tram car which has been restored into a sitting place in town

The hotel we had chosen in Tbilisi wanted $75 for a double room. Are there any off-season rates, we asked? Yes, he could let us have it for $65. What about a room with shared bathroom? Well, yes, as a matter of fact there's one available: $50. Too much, I said to Judy. Let's go. Okay, well maybe they could let us have it for $40. I agreed and we settled in. It's a pretty hotel, lots of 19th century Georgian antiques decorate it. We're on the 3^rd floor, an attic room with twin beds.

Today was wonderful, warm and sunny, a delight after all the rain we've had the past week. We walked and walked and walked. Our first foray was to the Dry Bridge Market. Oh my, I wanted to buy everything but of course bought nothing, knowing how much I've just given away, how heavy my pack still is, and how quickly it can become completely unmanageable. But it was fun to look at all the art and knick-knacks and dishes and paraphernalia of a foreign culture. After that we wandered down to Old Town, stopping along the way to buy some street food: apples, a chicken wrap, cheese khachapuri. We taxied up to the Narikala fortress, viewed the city then walked down. I wantied to visit the sulphur baths but Judy begged off, pleading with me to allow her to wait in the lovely gardens surrounding the baths. This was fine, but for me - my feet were sore and a nice soak in hot mineral waters sounded like just the medicine.

I was expecting, you know, an American experience, Georgia style. Oh, I knew it would be different, but . . . . not that different. I paid my 2 lari ($1.20) and entered the public baths – women only. As I walked through the first anteroom I found it odd to see 3-4 people sitting at a table and eating in the humidity and sulphur smell, but . . . this is a new experience right? I can handle this. I had already been forewarned about this unusual feature of the baths, so it didn't shock me too much. I passed through two more small rooms – again, a few women and children sitting at a table in each room, drinking coffee and eating, the last room actually in the changing area.

Now is when it gets surreal. For the most part – well, actually, totally – there were a lot very fat heavy-breasted older women in there, and it was very crowded, butt to thigh on the benches. I took a deep breath, thought, “Okay, I can handle this,” and opened the door into the next room – the bathing room – to see what awaited me. There I saw a scene from Dante's 7^th circle of Hell. The women were completely nude, no shy hiding behind towels in here. They weren't soaking in a pool as I expected, but rather were gathered along a trough-like arrangement around the room, pouring water over themselves. The scene was a bit overwhelming. “Okay,” I thought, “I can handle this.” I stepped back into the dressing area and tried to find a seat on the bench with an available locker. All the lockers had locks on them so I asked the young assistant (who was dressed and sitting in the other room drinking coffee) for a lock and an available locker. This seemed to irritate her no end. Nevertheless she complied. I squeezed myself between two sets of heavy thighs and began to untie my shoes. Unfortunately, the locker that I had been given was apparently already in use. A large naked woman was standing menacingly in front of me and pointing to the locker behind me. I was beginning to get slightly nauseous. I'm not used to seeing so much exposed adipose tissue in such a small space. I don't even really like to look at myself in the mirror anymore. Honestly, this whole scene was becoming unbearable.

I walked back out to the young bath assistant and told her that the locker she gave me was already in use, whereupon she began to screech. I guess it's not okay to mention that the locker is already in use by someone else. I figured it was just too much trouble for her to handle in one day. It was also too much for me to handle so I just said, “F*** it” and walked out into the glorious sunshine where people were strolling around with their clothes on.

Sunday, 18 April 2010

I take off on my own into the wild unknown, leaving Judy to spend a day with an Armenian friend. From this day forward I'm truly on my own. I walk from the hotel Boni to Tavasuplebis Moedani (a big traffic round-about) and get on the Metro to the train station. My first goal for the day is Uplistsikhe, a 3,500-year-old cave city just an hour's drive north of Tbilisi. After going up and down several flights of stairs and stopping at two wrong ticket booths I end up at a bus terminal of sorts, or at least a bus parking area, where I'm told that the bus to Uplistsikhe is further along still, at another bus terminal. This bus terminal is for Gori. Okay. Gori will do. It's in the same general direction. I climb aboard.

Upon reaching Gori I'm dropped off on the highway near a taxi stand and must take a taxi to Gori, where I”m hopeful I can find a microbus to Uplistsikhe. I tell the taxi driver what I need and he talks me into letting him take me there. Not cheap, and one of my cardinal rules for saving money is “Don't ever take a taxi!” However, as it turns out in the end, it is expensive but given that I'm carrying a heavy pack, I don't know where I'm going and I've got a lot on my agenda for the day it, it turns out to be the right choice. We hustle through Gori. The taxi driver points out the statue of Stalin – which looks exactly like the statue of some other great Georgian in Tbilisi – a lion of a man, towering over the square in front of the government buildings. I liked the interesting architecture and colors of the buildings. Unlike Armenia, where the Russian-style apartment buildings are all uniformly colored gray or tan, here they have painted many of them bright greens and blues and assorted other colors, and have put decent little porches on each apartment.

Uplistsikhe is very interesting. They say there were upwards of 20,000 people living here at one time. It lasted as a cave city from 1,500bc until 1,500ad when the Mongols attacked. It was at that time that the surrounding forests were destroyed, burned either for fun or warmth. This is the story the guide tells. I think it's also possible that the 20,000 people living there could have gradually used up all the wood themselves. At any rate, everywhere I've been in Georgia has been heavily forested but around here it is barren.

After my little tour of Uplistsikhe, the taxi driver hustles me back to town and manages to get me onto a minibus to Kutaisi/Batumi that is just pulling away from the stop. Probably the last of the day, and most certainly the last minibus I would be willing to take all the way to Batumi – a 6-hour drive. My goal is a night in Kutaisi but as we drive the weather becomes increasingly wet and cold. By the time we reach Kutaisi it's bordering on miserable and I decide I don't want to do the hassle of finding a place to stay in the rain, only to spend ½ day there as I will move on to Batumi the next day anyway. Kutaisi is Georgia's 2^nd largest city and I know there are some interesting sights there. But I opt to stay two nights in Batumi instead and tell the driver not to stop.

Later. I'm now in Batumi. People on the bus were so wonderfully sweet and helpful. We stopped to eat along the way and of course I could not order anything when they asked me what I wanted. Finally I remembered one food – hingali – which happens to be their mother food and they love you for loving it. The woman behind the counter says, sorry, we're out but the cook says, no, I can make it. So she made me up a big batch special.

We reached Batumi in the rain and everyone wanted to help me find my place for the night – helping me to find which bus I should take, etc. Ultimately the microbus driver just drove me to my lodging and dropped me off. I would never have found it on my own, in the rain, at night, not to mention that when I approached the high iron fence with the big “24” on it, a massive german shepherd attacked the fence. I rang the buzzer and jumped back. A man appeared from around a corner and motioned me in through a separate driveway. Perhaps this might not be the best area of town to wander around after dark, but who can say.

My homestay in Batumi

The house is nice, the owners friendly, their 20-something daughter enjoys meeting travelers and having an opportunity to speak English. The graciousness of the Armenians is similarly repeated here and I am motioned to sit, drink coffee, and eat some cookies and chocolates. Georgians look similar to Armenians – dark complected, but the nose is not as strongly defined and the eyes are generally rounder.

Interesting architecture

Today I will explore Batumi. Hopefully the weather will clear. The sky is gray. There is a volcano going off in Iceland right now which has closed most of the European airports and grounded all flights in and out. Apparently it started on Thursday but I only learned of it Saturday night and all my information is second-hand. I'm anxious to find an internet cafe and find out what's happening.

Where do I buy my ticket to Tbilisi?

I'm preparing to leave Armenia. Feeling a bit scared and excited. It's a strange feeling to head off to new places with different customs, different languages, different everything. Except of course the human beings living there, who are generally the same the world 'round - usually kind. To illustrate . . . Yesterday I went to find the train station here to see exactly how much the tickets to Tbilisi cost and when the train leaves. I came to a big building with a cutout of a train over the door which was in about the right location so I, of course, assumed that must be the train station.

I walked in and entered a wide, open hallway with people moving about. Looked like a train station to me. An elderly man approached and asked me a question. I nodded "no." That must have been the right response because he seemed satisfied and allowed me to enter. I tried my lousy Armenian on him. He looked a bit baffled but directed me to the left, where 20 or so women were crowded into a room, pushing and shoving each other around. I assumed they must be trying to buy tickets so I went on in.

But no, it was some sort of second-hand clothes give-away and the women were just digging through boxes and tables covered with clothes. I considered joining in but decided I had enough clothes already. So I shoved my way back out into the hall and once again tried to ask the kind old gentleman where I could buy a train ticket to Tbilisi. He again looked at me as if I were speaking a strange foreign language ("This is Armenian I'm speaking, man. Why can't you understand me?") He motioned to the cleaning woman, who came over and also tried to interpret my needs. She then asked me to follow her down the hall where I could see a few doors standing ajar. "Aha," I thought. "Now we're getting somewhere." We reached an open doorway and she pointed in with a questioning look. I poked my head around and saw a toilet.

"Che," I said and shook my head. "Tomes, eentz petkay tomes Gyumri-eetz Tbilisi." I need a ticket from Gyumri to Tbilisi. Now, isn't that perfectly clear? Indeed! We hustled back to the entrance and she pointed further down the street to a large building at the end of a cul-de-sac. "Schnorhakalootyun, shot schnorhakalootyun." Oh, thank you, thank you very much.

A few more friendly meetings along the way to the station, strangers stopping me and asking me Goddess knows what and me answering them and neither of us understanding anything but no matter. We'd finally simply shrug our shoulders at each other, smile, wave and continue on our way. I reached the station, found the ticket booth and a kindly lady sitting inside the booth babbled away at me and pointed to a timetable which indicated price and times, all in familiar numbers which I recognized. Thank Heavens. So, see, it's not so difficult. :o)

Life in Armenia

I think some great musician of our time said it well . . . . "What a long, strange trip it's been." Watched a film last night about the Armenian genocide, "Ararat." I look out the window at the remains of a once elegant city, once rich with arts and artisan, now 22 years since an earthquake devastated it and left 50,000 dead in the region. I visited the remains of a 1,000-year-old church a few days ago. Those ruins are "scenic"; the more recent ruins outside the window are not. Such suffering, such a terrible scar on the Armenian soul to carry forward. And here they are still, stuck in the remnants of the homeland they love dearly and can't get away from.

The father from the host family I stayed with last summer in Arzakan (and just visited a week ago) stopped by (well, stopped by is stretching it - he lives 3 hours away) a few nights ago at 11pm to remind me to please let PC know that they are a great host family and that they'd really like to be a host family again this coming summer. They make $300/month for that, $750 for the summer. They are so desperate. I like them very much and it so hurt to see the desperation in his eyes. His wife, Gayane, is a teacher, makes $200/month, has begun having migraines daily. He works for the forestry whatever, but his work is spotty. His 62-year-old mother gets a pension of $60/month and has a huge growth on her abdomen which they can't afford to have removed. They have a nice, big house and a great garden that feeds them, as well as a cow, a horse and chickens. They have one daughter who graduated from high school last year with honors but they can't afford to send her to college (where hopefully she'd find a husband). They have another daughter who will graduate next year and a 12-year-old son. And that's the life they live. So difficult . . . .

A Rainy Saturday in Gyumri

I'm still in Gyumri, Armenia, visiting other volunteers, waiting for the weather to clear and enjoying the culture of this area. Gyumri is the 2nd largest city in Armenia. It was once a center for the arts and the architecture here is lovely. What is left of it that is. It was hit badly by the earthquake in 1988 and still is in a state of chaos. But what is left leads one to know that this was quite an elegant city once upon a time. 50,000 people in the region were killed in the earthquake, many left the area afterwards, and many more left when the Soviet Union collapsed. Yesterday we visited Marmashen, a beautful 1,000-year-old monastery on the outskirts of town.

Marmashen. Being here was a very moving experience.

Marmashen

Judy lighting candles inside the Marmashen Monastery

These old churches and monasteries are not active in the sense that we're familiar with in the US. The structure of their religion was broken during Soviet times. But the Spirit remains very much alive in individual hearts. People go to this places alone or in large family groups to ask for help, to pray, to offer thanks. They light candles and leave small icons. These are places of pilgrimage, not tourist attractions. The stones feel infused with 1,000 years of prayer. There is often a picnic area nearby where they can prepare horovats (like shish-kebob). This is a common practice at cemetaries also. It seems a good gathering place, actually, once I overcome the initial and instinctive reaction of my own cultural traditions.

We also visited an "art hotel" and an art museum in town.

The Gardens behind the Two Sisters Art Museum

Then we went for a walk around town.

A building destroyed by the 1988 earthquake

And there is also the human spirit, creating beauty out of the ashes . . . .

A building in the process of restoration

It's quite cold and rainy right now, off and on. Rain bordering on slush sometimes. The surrounding mountains are covered with snow - again. The very mountains I must pass through as I travel through Georgia - the lesser Caucasus they are called. The route from here to my next stop is around 100 miles and takes the marshrutka "5-10 hours". That's quite a span of time, which says that the road can be worse than awful. I'm sure the rain won't help. My intention is to leave Monday but the weather forecast isn't favorable until Wednesday so we'll see. Not much fun to visit old monasteries and fortresses, slogging through mud and freezing rain.

The internet connection is slow and sometimes not available.

11 April 2010, Sunday

Vahan Topchyan

Looks like I'll be in Gyumri for a while longer. It's still rainy and cold and the roads are bad. I won't be able to make the trip through Georgia that I had hoped to make. But Gyumri's not a nice place and I'm enjoying my stay here. I have Peace Corps friends here, a lovely apartment to stay in (Judy's home) and it's a nice little city. I arrived here Friday. We hung about the house, avoiding the rain, and Judy cooked a wonderful meal for us. We did go to the big hotel here. It started out as a polyclinic, but morphed into a hotel and polyclinic. The hotel now helps to support the clinic.In addition, the hotel displays the work of local artists throughout the lobby and in the rooms. Each room features a different artist. Very unique. I fell in love with the art of Vahan Topchyan. Gyumri was once a center for the arts and it still retains some of that spirit, in spite of the earthquake devastation 22 years ago. The buildings have character. A lot of stone and only a little wood. The stone work around the country is varied and interesting, and here in Gyumri even more so as there's a variety in the buildings that you don't see elsewhere. After touring the hotel we walked over to the food market and picked up a few items. It was cold and rainy so we hustled along back home. Salads salads salads! I've had lots of green food these past few days. Wonderful. Saturday morning the sky was blue and the sun was shining. It was still cool outside but in the sun it felt good. We got a taxi and headed toward Marmashen, on the outskirts of Gyumri.

“The monastery at Marmashen is about 10km northwest of Gyumri, just past the village of the same name in the wide gorge of the Akhuryan River. There are three churches hewn from lovely apricot-colored tuff clustered together next to an orchard, plus the ruins and foundations of other structures nearby. The biggest church, Surp Stepanos, was built between 988 and 1029, with a 13^th-century gavit(forehall). An Italian team led restoration work in the 1960s, so intricately carved old church stones have been incorporated into newer building blocks. Beautiful carved tombs and khatchkars dot the land around the churches, and it's a peaceful, rural environment typical of Shirak, with grassy horizons. The caretaker is here 8am to 8pm daily, and he can recite some of the inscriptions on the sides of the churches by heart.” (Lonely Planet)

It was a lovely and moving experience. The restoration work was beautifully done and the old stones retain the love and prayers of 1,000 years of people who have passed through there.

After the monastery trip we visited another art gallery here, the Two Sisters Gallery or perhaps more accurately the Aslamazyan Gallery. The art of Miryam and Eranim Aslamazyan are primarily displayed here though at different times there are art shows with different artists displayed.Very nice. A lovely day. Then home to again eat a great meal, cooked by Judy. Pasta noodles with parmesan cheese and spinach along with a nice tossed salad.

Today, Sunday, we awoke to gray sky and dreary drizzle. So we're hanging about the apartment, catching up on writing and emailing. Though now, at noon, a little blue sky and sunshine is beginning to appear. Perhaps we'll head to the market soon for fresh veggies for a stir-fry tonight. Maybe Barbara and Stacie will join us for dinner. So, I'm stuck in Gyumri. But I can think of a lot worse places to be stuck – for instance, in a marshrutka on a muddy pot-holed road in southwestern Georgia. :o)

Night-time companions

My roommate tonight is a little lady from Japan. She looks to be about 45 but told me she's 60! She's traveling alone and so far has visited 73 countries. I'm totally amazed. She's such a funny little woman. She mutters to herself, her English is just barely understandable. One must have a very forgiving and sympathetic ear to understand her. She travels with a 20 lb rolling cart and a 7 lb day pack. She got ready for bed, slipped on a hairnet and a face mask then set to snoring happily away. If she can do it, I can do it!

Last night I shared a room with a young French woman who I never met. I spent the night in Irine's Guesthouse in Tbilisi. It was a funky place, a bit cluttered but clean, with flags from all over the world hanging from a rod on one wall. I unfortunately had to retire to my room very early as Irine smokes like a haystack as does her friend who was staying there. Irine is quite heavy, mostly just sits in her chair and smokes while her sister cleans.

Street scene in Tbilisi

The night before I slept on an old Russian train from Yerevan to Georgia. My compartment mate was a Georgian, Surob, who was returning home from a 6 week workshop in India. He was very sweet and gave me a wonderful introduction to Georgia. When we arrived in Tbilisi he had his wife drop me off at Irine's. I would never have found the place otherwise.

Train station in Yerevan

Border Crossings and Visas Aaaaargh . . .

I'm back in Yerevan after a quick jaunt to Georgia. I left on the train Sunday night at 8:30p. It's an old Russian train, well put together and I'm sure it was quite elegant in its time. It's an electric train so it was quiet, though slow - we were probably traveling about 25 mph. It took 14 hours, with a 2-hour border stop. I enjoyed my stay in Tbilisi, but unfortunately I didn't get my personal passport stamped as I had hoped. Border police are difficult to deal with, especially when you don't speak their language and they don't speak yours. I was sent to several different windows, several consultations were held about my two passports and finally my passports were passed to another window and I was told to go there, that everything would be taken care of. So the border guard stamped my passport - and I could swear he stamped my personal passport - said no problem, I said thank you very much and walked away. The microbus had been waiting for me so I jumped in and we took off. That's when I checked my passport, only to find out that they had stamped my Peace Corps passport, not my personal passport. It's all complicated, these border crossings. Suffice it to say that I'm still in a fix. I can't travel in or out of Armenia until I have a visa to stay after I terminate with PC. So back to PC to see what went wrong. I also have an American friend here in Yerevan who speaks both Armenian and English and she has offered to take me to immigration in a day or two to see if we can figure it out. I may end up going to Tbilisi again tomorrow night to try once again.

A Final Walk Around Vardenis

A young boy approached me in a back street two days ago asking for money. I had my day pack on and was carrying my purse loosely in my right hand. I had been to the bank and in it was everything. Everything: all my money, my credit card, my debit card, both my passports. I have no idea what he was saying to me, but it very possibly could have been, “Be careful how you carry your valuables, no matter how safe you feel.” And with that he reached out and grabbed my purse. Fortunately it was lightly wrapped around my wrist and there was resistance to his tug. Also, he was young, perhaps 12-14, inexperienced and probably a little nervous about his attempted theft. A few other words were exchanged between us and he ran off. What a lesson for me! I shouldn't be so careless. I was robbed once in Guatemala and it's not a fun experience. Puts a dent in the day that's for sure.

So I came home afterward and worked on a more secure way to carry my money and cards. I stitched a pocket in my bra and pinned a sock which had lost its mate inside my jeans. I also have a travel pouch which is meant to wear around my neck but I usually put it around my waist and tuck both the strap and the pouch under my pants and shirt. The only money I keep in my purse is small amounts for immediate spending – food, taxi, souvenirs, etc.

When my landlady overcharged me for my utilities the 2nd month in a row it was really the final straw for me.  I have such a hard time with that. The headaches were bad at that time but became worse afterwards. I decided first to just leave the apartment where I'm living but the stress of trying to find a new place was too much. I knew I didn't have the energy for it, the headaches and ringing ear problem was getting worse, and I just decided to cut to the chase.

Had that not happened I probably would have stayed on. I really don't want my entire experience to be colored by that event though it definitely determined my decision. But just like the purse-snatching incident it was probably meant to be. I was having a difficult time finding happiness here. It had become such hard work and such stress.

But, then there are the children. If only I could overlook all the other stresses and just focus on the kids. Though I felt ineffective and inadequate in Vardenis, my experience in Sodk was very different. Unfortunately, I was paying my own taxi fare there and back ($5) and art materials, perhaps easily another $3 each week. That doesn't sound like much but it starts putting a dent in my Peace Corps allowance and I was only going one day a week. And I didn't really have the energy to go twice a week. 25 kiddoes all vying for my attention and speaking jibberish was great fun and also very tiring.

Well, I hope I left a good mark and not too much disappointment. I know the children of Sodk were wild about me and our time together. I brought them color from the outside world. When I would approach the barren-looking school the doors would burst open and out would flood the children in my club, all trying to hold my hand as we walked to the school. Each week I would cover a different topic: Mother's Day, Spring, color words. After 15 minutes of something like a language lesson I would pull out the art supplies - crayons, markers, glue, pictures to color and blank paper - and off we would go. Like one of those TV commercials suddenly the room would begin to fill with colorful flowers, houses painted red, purple and pink, multi-colored birds, green trees, bright yellow suns. "Look, Ms Lora, Look!" "Oh, that's beautiful, beautiful," I would tell them. I miss them . . . .

Nevertheless, I'm on the road again, for better or for worse. I read Walt Whitman's “The Open Road” this morning and felt revitalized and “okay.” What I love to do is travel, wander, sample, taste, meet, float by, observe, contemplate, not go too deeply. A dilettante as Steven would say.

Monday

Another one of those damned buzzing headaches last night, all night. Better this morning. Only 6 days left here. I can do this. If I haven't gotten brain damage yet I doubt that the next 6 days will add to the possibility.

Today will be the last day of my English club in Sodk. I'll take a world map and we'll talk a bit about where the US is and maybe even the difference between North America, Central America and South America. It's one of my pet peeves that the US has become synonymous with America.

Saturday will be the last Project Design workshop. I'm so pleased with the way it has gone. Everyone is so enthusiastic, with many ideas flowing. I feel badly for going off and leaving them. I do so hope the other volunteer can find a way to support this project before he leaves, either by investing some of the money he has from the US benefactor or by writing one of the PC grants available.

I'm basically packed. Now down to the details. Will everything that I have set aside to carry with me fit into my backpack? Will I be able to ship what I've set aside for a reasonable amount?

I'm so excited, looking forward to my trip through Georgia - a place I hadn't really even considered. Now I've learned that western Georgia is the site of the famous tale about Jason and the Argonauts and the Golden Fleece. I'll pass through Stalin's birthplace, though I can't say I'm thrilled to even be in the vicinity of his childhood.

But today is today. I've become a short-termer and find myself looking forward, find it difficult to focus on finishing my tasks here. But focus I must and finish I must. And so I will.