Walking Meghri to Sisian with Border2Border

This is the story of my participation in the Border2Border 2012 project, in which two groups of Peace Corps volunteers each walk halfway across Armenia to wrap it all up on Friday July 6 in the middle, in the little town of Yeghegnadzor. The point: teaching nutrition, exercise, alcohol, smoking and recycling to children in town and villages along the way.


On 17 June 2012, we taught our first day, in a school in Meghri, a town all the way down south near Armenia's border to Iran. I did the alcohol sessions – why do people drink, what are the short-term effects, what are the long-term consequences – with Hermine, who works at a mobile network provider's store in town. She immediately picked up what the lesson was about and filled in whenever I stumbled with my Armenian: she made my first day teaching this stuff easy.

Meghri kids with their certificates. The southern B2B crew are all in the back row, in white t-shirts: Tamara, Jack, Tom, Kelsey, Kelliann, Hannah and off to the right yours truly.

Under a hot sun, we then hiked up about 5km along the highway to Lehvaz and Tom's house.

Tom's house: feel the heat

Later that evening, Erin and Shayna treated us to a great carboload.

The next day our destination was Lichk, 24km north and about 1,200 meters higher than Lehavaz – but not much cooler. Heat, almost no shade, mountains, forests and meadows covered in wildflowers. Yellow, white, purple and blue: I wish I knew all of their names, but I saw countless different types of flowers over the next 10 days. We stayed on the highway until the last few miles and then took some dirt roads Tom knew. In the village we stopped at the store for supplies: lavash and sausage, which were to be our staples. One of the village men who had gathered to watch us weirdos was telling us we should go up the valley toward the west because it's just like Switzerland up there.


We took a cowpath out of Lichk to a valley below some mountains that really did look rugged and grand in an Alpine way. We set up our tents in a damp clearing next to a roaring little river, in a cloud of gnats. We had a fire; smores were eaten. Most of us were also eaten alive that night by some vicious bugs of various types.

Looking away from Switzerland

Early the next morning, when the clouds around the mountains – which by the way separate Armenia from the Azerbaijani enclave of Nakhchivan – lifted for a few second, it did indeed look like some Alpine peaks in Switzerland.

Looking toward Switzerland, which is again hiding behind Armenian clouds, and Jack

All of us except Tom and Jack left our packs with the store owner, who drove them to Kadjaran for a nice sum of money. Then we jogged leisurely to the top of Meghri Pass. Yeah, right.

After running

The weather cooled down as we descended repeated switchbacks, and around 7pm we arrived in the little town of Kadjaran, scenically situated in a narrow valley below piles of tailings from the copper and molybdenum mine. But Switzerland was still visible in the west: that makes up for a whole lot of tailings. In some outdoor restaurant we had pork khorovats, lavash, and tomato and cucumber. Yum.

That night we slept on our sleeping pads in School #1's gym.

Day four. In the morning we taught 49 kids in the school. Each time we teach we split the kids into four or five groups and rotate those groups among our sessions. That means we end up teaching the same session four or five times in each location, so we get to know our lessons well. I teach alcohol: here's how it usually goes, in brief:


Why do people drink? "To forget, to party, for birthdays, from stress, because your wife was unfaithful."
Do you know people who drink too much? Silence.
Are there people in your community who drink too much? "Absolutely! Oh yes! Many!"
What happens in my body if I have a drink or two? "You feel dizzy. You stop thinking. You get a headache."
I try to tell them a little about how the first thing we lose is our good judgement, our ability to think right, and how some people will want to drink more as soon as they've had one drink. Then we – I always got help from a local Armenian – have the kids spin around and try to walk along a straight line to imitate the effect of alcohol. Almost all of them love this.

I told the kid not to drink so much

We also have them write their names first with their dominant hand and then with the other hand to illustrate how uncoordinated our brains can be even when we feel normal. Finally I show them pictures of various organs (heart, stomach, liver, brain) in healthy and alcoholic conditions. This usually makes an impression. Our 15 minutes are up; time for the next batch of kids.


Considering the attitudes I get among adults, especially men, the children's understanding of the problems often caused by alcohol was refreshing. They get it. Most sessions I taught were more about reinforcing what they already knew rather than trying to convince them of something new. Not one child tried to convince me that oghi, the ubiquitous home distillate made from fruit, is good for your health. All of them knew that drinking and driving is stupid and dangerous. Things will change in Armenia when this generation grows up.


By the time we'd had lunch and dropped off four of our seven packs for their taxi ride and hit the road, it was past 3pm. Fortunately it was downhill all 27km to Kapan along a rushing river through beautiful rugged mountains.

The road to Kapan

Unfortunately, around 7:30pm the sky suddenly darkened and opened up; the road turned into a river; my umbrella leaked; water slowly soaked through my pants into my socks and down into my boots; we all got more or less soaked. Oh well. By the time we reached the outskirts of Kapan it was getting dark; we stumbled along on what was supposed to be sidewalks through the stretched-out town, covering several kilometers along the river, and finally climbed a hill to PCV Lizzie's apartment on the sixth floor – no elevator. If we'd been Brits we would have said we were knackered. Lizzie's chili hit the spot. I took my pack and a taxi to a hotel and hit the sack.

Thank you Lizzie!

Day five, rest day. Sleep. Pancake breakfast at Lizzie's. Laundry. Lunch at outdoor café. Rest.


One word about the hotel in Kapan. In Jack's and my room the beds had no blanket, just sheets and bed spreads; it got a little too cool. And the beds were hard and uneven. The shower water had two settings: very hot or very cold. There was no seat or lid on the toilet, just porcelain. At one point the TP fell in. There were no bed lights, and the electrical outlet by my bed didn't work – I had to unplug the TV to charge my phone. There was a musty smell in room. The receptionists were surly. There was no shower curtain or shower stall, so the water flowed straight onto the bathroom floor, which remained wet for hours afterward. Thank you for reading my gripe.


I was actually quite comfortable.


Day six, supposedly a Friday. We taught at the American Corner in downtown Kapan. There was very little space but a veritable plethora of adult specimens – staff, friends of staff, parents, who knows. Of course, they were all there to watch us, but some of them couldn't help but to 'contribute' during the lessons. I don't know what's wrong with adults in this world. 

Partial Kapan plethora

But it all worked out. Overall those adults really behaved quite well. And three young women who had helped up in Kadjaran came here too: Bella, Satine and Emmah. Much appreciated. It's young people like them that make me feel Armenia has a great future.

Satine and Bella at the finest dining establishment I've seen outside Yerevan

Back in our hiking footgear, the remaining six of us – Kelsey had business to attend to elsewhere – headed out the downstream end of Kapan at 7:30am, turned left at Syunik village onto highway H-45, and followed it up a bucolic valley under a hot sun to a group of villages around the headwaters of a little river. Eventually we got to the last of the villages, Verin Khotanan. Here we sat outside the village store enjoying some cold Jermuks in the shade listened to the woman who owns it talk about last year's B2Bers, who had stayed in her house overnight because of rain.


As we set off up the mountain, we could hear and see a thunderstorm approaching from the West, and we got worried about hiking and setting up our tents in the rain and then continuing tomorrow wet and miserable. What we needed was a hotel. With or without shower curtains.

I wouldn't point my camera straight up at the storm now, would I?

Eventually Jack and Hannah saw a hay loft built of concrete and went and asked the people in the house below if we could sleep in it. So we had a home for the night: a large platform about 10 feet off the ground, with a few bales of hay up against the one wall that reached the roof and more than enough room to raise our tents. Camping in the great outdoors doesn't get any better than this.

Hotel Verin Khotanan

It rained for all of a minute, but the view was fantasic: the neighborhood houses and their gardens, green open pastures interspersed with big, lush trees, the winding valley with a glimpse of the road we had come up, and past that to the south, ridge after ridge fading into the distance. To the west, meanwhile, beyond a couple of hills covered in light green meadows and darker green woodlands, we had some taller, rugged mountains.

Taller, rugged mountains

We had been invited by the owners, a couple, Samo Givorkyan and Ina Grigorian, with a four-year-old, out-of-control son: Ina insisted on serving us plenty of coffee, cookies, home-made yogurt (matsun), home-made cheese (Armenian panir) and lavash, even though they clearly were subsistence farmers. After a while, a neighbor, Alvard, came over and told us about the American woman who lived with her for two years until two years ago: Sara, an A-16 Peace Corps volunteer who taught health and sports in the tiny village school of 20 or so students. Small world, or at least small country. We went to bed as soon as it got dark – before 9pm. The local frogs, however, had no concern for our need to get on the road early.


In the morning we went for tea with Ina and Samo in their two-room little stone house; cheese, lavash and delicious strawberry preserves (muraba) – made from berries from someone's grandmother's garden.

B&B operators Sam & Ina

The dirt road went in switchbacks up toward a ridge; as the day wore on and it got hotter, my shirt got stained white from sweat. At times, Jack would carry Hannah's backpack on top of his own. Later I had her transfer some of her things to my pack. After crossing the ridge, the road entered a valley that looked almost untouched by humans: a wide, wet wildflower garden at the bottom surrounded on both sides by dark forests and bright meadows that appeared to have seen no livestock in many a season.

Tom sur la route parmi les fleur

The first little village we came to had a store, although it was upstairs in someone's house and the woman running it had to be summoned from a nap. There wasn't much for sale, but I managed to get my daily ice cream and more water. The second village, Aghvani, which was even smaller, had no store.

Then we followed switchbacks up the side of a mostly treeless ridge until we crossed a saddle at about 2,000 meters. In the distance we saw a village but determined collectively that it was neither Tatev nor Halidzor.

We finally saw Tatev across a green ravine.

On our way down, we finally saw Tatev across a green ravine. Across that green ravine, Tatev looked close, maybe less than a kilometer as the crow flies, but of course the road couldn't go straight across the green ravine in between. A couple of hours later we were met by Michael Kim and Lisa Southerland, who waited just before the last little uphill to Tatev Monastery. We all ate khorovats at a restaurant, left Mike and then took the world's longest ropeway to the village of Halidzor. This arial tram is a new, sleek, fast cable car, surprisingly small – the capacity is maybe 15 people.


Lisa's house turned out to provide only the most basic comforts, but there was enough space for us all and Internet access to boot. Moreover, I got to soak my feet in salt water, and some kind soul hand-washed my socks and shirt. Lisa's bathroom left a little room for improvement – anything that went down the hole seemed to come back up the drain in the floor – and running water was available for only an hour in the evening and another hour in the morning, as in Noyemberyan. Nevertheless, Lisa was the perfect host: she fixed us dinner, then breakfast, and let us use her laptop for hours.


The next day we taught in Halidzor, in Lisa's school across the street from her house. It was one of the most run-down schools I've seen in Armenia, or for that matter anywhere. I got help from the amazing Armine, one of Lisa's 12th grade students.

Exercise class with Jack

"This is your brain on alcohol"

In the evening we walked a kilometer or two to 'the' café out on a ledge above the canyon and had khorovats again, partly because they have real flush toilets. Clean, with toilet paper, sinks with running water and soap dispensers. All these expensive meals were starting to make themselves felt in my wallet. Afterward, Jack, Tom, Tamara and I walked further along the road to Tatev, to a little stone gazebo on a promontory with views both up and down the canyon. Whether it was worth another 5-6 kilometers – I was wearing flip-flops – I'm not so sure.

There's a Tatev there somewhere

The next day, once we had ascended from the canyon shelf where Halidzor lies, we had a relatively easy walk of 16 km across a plateau of rolling fields to the town of Goris. We stopped in a relatively wealthy-looking village, Shinuhayr, to stock up on water and Snickers bars, and were treated to a show-off gallop three or four times by a disproportionately big round kid on a horse. The effect was comical: two legs and two arms flailing around, mostly pointing diagonally upward from a shapeless blue ball, all of it bouncing around on top of the poor horse. I totally forgot to turn on my camera.

My dream picture: maybe now they'll leave me alone when I'm photographing landscapes in Armenia.

Team

After a few kilometers I started to realize I wasn't doing so well today: everything seemed to hurt. Both knees and both hips felt painful on and off; blisters seemed to completely cover both feet, under my heels, under the balls of my feet, between my toes and around my toenails; various pressure points in my boots reminded me of their presence with astonishing persistence; the shoulder straps from my day pack were cutting into my shoulders; the small of my back hurt; my hands felt swollen, with the fingertips somewhere between numb and tingly; the inside of my lower left calf felt strangely sore; I had a mild headache in the back above my neck; and I was running low on energy. As we descended into Goris on a series of switchbacks, walking felt increasingly like torture.


When we got to Austin's house I was shaking with fatigue, took off my hated boots and laid down on a couch. I couldn't follow the shower water instructions I'd been given and just washed myself in freezing water. After that I shivered and ached on the couch until I got out my sleeping bag, took three Ibuprofen and fell asleep for a while. When I woke up, Tamara checked my temperature and said I was a little on the warm side.


The next day I felt better, but I let Hannah do the session on alcohol for me and stayed at Austin's surfing Facebook with my feet in a tub of warm salt water. It felt safer to rest in the hope I would manage better tomorrow. I did go downtown, however, to have lunch with Austin, Hedley and the B2B crew in a café overlooking a ravine and the cave-pocked rock formations on the other side.

Us B2Bers weren't roughing it on this trip, exactly, but Austin's phone had a rough day and jumped off the cliff here, never to send out a ringtone again

Day 12: up at 5:15am, said goodbye to B2B cofounder and host Austin and started up the road at 6:45. We walked 38 kilometers, from an elevation of 1,360 meters in Goris to almost 2,200 meters and then down again to 1,600 in Sisian. Almost the whole time we were on the main north-south highway, with all the big rigs to and from Iran spewing diesel fumes as they thundered past. In other words, we saw the most spectacular fields of wildflowers so far.

I know what the red flowers are called

I had bandaged and taped my two swollen toes, but they made themselves felt anyway, and I limped all day trying not to put pressure on it. Sometime around 24-28 km into the walk, a raincloud was catching up with us from the south. We didn't want to get soaked again, so when Tom suggested seeking shelter in an abandoned structure some distance uphill from the highway, we took off across the wildflowers and the nettles to a concrete shell – walls and roof – that had a magnificent view over the tree-less landscape.

Rain fell on the wall, but thirty or forty minutes later we resumed our walk dry.

Resumers

Endless, breathless: priceless

We made it to Sisian. We checked into Hotel Basen, also known as Hasmik's place. We had a great dinner at Restaurant Basen. We showered in water of an appropriate, custom-selected temperature. We slept.

The next day we had a great breakfast at Restaurant Basen. We taught in a school near the hotel. It was all good. We met for lunch with most of the A18 volunteers who remained in and around Sisian. It rained off and on. It was cold in Sisian.

That afternoon I looked again at my feet. They'd gotten worse since they had walked into town: my big toe was now not only inflamed, swollen and red, it also had a secondary infection next to the nail that was oozing pus. Not good for a day of rest. I called our Peace Corps Doctor Nune and told her what was going on. She told me to stop walking for five to six days, get oral antibiotics, up my dosage of Ibuprofen, continue with the antibiotic cream and soak my feet in warm water. Border2Border was over for me.

I'm happy to have walked from Meghri to Sisian, 178km, and I will always have unwalked roads ahead of me, but I'm totally unhappy about having had to leave the team and the project. I'm glad I didn't wimp out because of the multitude of blisters on my feet, nor from the mere pain caused by relentless pressure points in my boots or my ill-fitting pack which numbed my waist or the uphills or the sun and the heat or the leaks in my new umbrella with a broken spoke or the diarrhea or the constipation or the strange soreness and weakness in part of my left calf that I had for a few days or the lower back pain or the shoulder straps on my day pack that cut into my shoulders or the bug bites around my waist from camping outside Litchk or the bug bites from mosquitos along the way or, well, that was it for petty complaints. Infections on toes, however, are not to be messed with because of the risk of osteomylitis or sepsis. I have no wish to be another Bob Marley.

The remaining five – Kelliann, Hannah, Jack, Tamara and Tom – ready for any and all challenges as they continued on their way to Yeghegnadzor

Me – with moral and logistical support from Ashley O and Joel – not so ready for the challenges of vomiting kids as I traveled to Yerevan and continued on to Noyemberyan

It's five days later and my toes are doing well. I've spent my time on the Internet holed up in my armchair at home, trying to figure out what I need to do to get ready for our departure from Armenia, now less than a month away. Seeing the south, walking through villages and meadows, talking to the kids in school after school – nothing could have been a better finale to my time in Armenia – but now there are some goodbyes to say here in Noyemberyan. The tough part is coming up.

Sometimes You Just Have to Laugh

I wish I had a photo for the following brief story. But hopefully the words will convey the essentials.


Wednesday's marshutni ride home was the ride from hell. I'm taking a taxi from now on. Screw the $$ (it's an extra $2.50).

Here's the scene: At 2 o'clock, I take a Dramamine because I've been on this ride before and I know that's coming. Or I thought so at least. On today's marshutni, there are 11 people sitting in the first 2 rows (there are seats for 6). There are two kids on laps on either side of me. A guy is standing in the wheel well where the door opens. Another is sitting in the aisle on a stool (one of 3 or perhaps 4 doing this). We are due to leave at 2:30. Everyone is seated  (or standing) and ready to go.

The driver has disappeared. 3:15 he finally shows up. Then we have to wait for them to load an entire taxi full of electronic equipment for a store in Noyemberyan. Literally, a stack 6 feet tall. There is more shuffling and rearranging. The driver and some passengers get into an argument. Tick, tick, tick.

Finally we leave the bus station an hour late. We stop to pick up more people. There are now 26 people (including the driver) in a van that holds 16. So not too bad. It's hot (in the 90s). In an unusual twist, the windows are OPEN. Normally they are closed as you might die from a draft.

About an hour into the trip (usually 3 hours) we stop at Lake Sevan so the driver can buy some fish (we won't eat the fish here due to the pollutants in the lake). Everyone else in the marshutni piles out to buy fish, or to smoke a cigarette. Everyone gets back in. We now have 26 people and 10 bags full of fish. It's hot, and the entire van smells like a fish market. I am trying not to gag.

We drive another 30 minutes and stop at our usual rest stop. Why? I don't know. It's just that we always stop here. Never mind that we JUST stopped half an hour ago. After coffee and more cigarettes, we all pile back in and continue. We stop to pick up more people at a town another 45 minutes down the road. I am baffled by how anyone else can still fit. Then we start switchback hell. About 30 km of nothing but switchbacks. I am grateful for Dramamine. In one town, a few (2) people get out. We all breathe a bit easier.

A bit further down the road, the road is closed by the police and army due to recent skirmishes between Azeri and Armenian soldiers. We take a detour. We get to the next town, and a few more people get out. Mind you, I have been sitting next to a mother and 18-month old boy. The boy has a toy car wheel and has been going "vroom, vroom" for 160 km. His driving could use some work as he keeps running into me. He and his mother are now gone. (Just to be clear, I LIKE children (surprise, surprise). Usually they are vomiting on or near me, so this was really an improvement).

We get to the end of the detour. Instead of taking a left to go to Noyemberyan, the driver goes right--TOWARDS the border we're trying to avoid. We stop at the army post to deliver some packages (it's the 2nd army post we've topped at BTW).

Finally, we get turned in the right direction. The rest of the trip is spent avoiding the cows, sheep and goats who are headed home for the night. These animals seem to have no fear of big vehicles. It's a slalom course. No casualties this time, so that's a plus. We arrive in Noyemberyan at 7:30 or so. I have now been on a marshutni since 1:30 (got to the bus station early). Our normal 3-hour trip has taken 5. I am hating public transportation. The maximum number of people in a taxi? Four. Plus a driver.

So, sometimes you just half to laugh. I am continually amazed by the patience of the Armenians who wait through these sorts of situations on a daily basis and never seem to complain. This wouldn't happen in the U.S.

48 days and counting . . . seriously, counting. But truly will miss Armenia and her wonderful people. What an experience!!

See you all soon.

The Final Stretch

We somehow missed May entirely, or at least we failed to post anything. So much has been happening around here! May 25 was our last official day of classes, and we're now starting to think about the next 59 days as we wind down our lives here in Armenia.

So first, about school. They celebrate what's called "Last Bell" here in Armenia. The graduating 12th form doesn't really have a graduation ceremony with diplomas, but they do have hours of speeches, a class play/concert, and night time parties that last til dawn. Being at two schools, we both were able to be part of the last bell activities in our schools. Our days started with cake, brandy (for most), candy and toasts. Then a few hours of classes before the festivities began. All the classes lined up, dressed in mostly traditional black-and-white garb, and filed out into the school yard. The current 11th form kids walked out, followed by the 12th form students. Awards were presented to top students in all grades, and we had about an hour of music and speeches (all in Armenian, so I caught only a few words unfortunately).

At 1 o'clock the teachers and upper level students (10 and 11) filed into the newly-remodeled auditorium for the 12th grade production. Each of the classes presented skits, songs, dances. Some were incredibly clever, and the kids did a great job--even mimicking the teachers and the school director. I was touched that they presented me with flowers at the same time as their Armenian teachers.

At 6 o'clock, we went to Fred's 9th grade party at the local cafe. There was supposed to be pizza and cake, but the power was out in the cafe. They had a cake, and I can only assume that they finally ate it. We left after an hour and a half to go to two other parties. The first was for Fred's 12th form class. Their party was held at the local wedding hall and they served traditional khorovats (barbequed pork) with all the trimmings (tomato, cucumber, pickles, dried meat, candy, cake, drinks, and bread). They also had a live band and dancing. Tons of fun. At around 8 o'clock, we went to my school where the first floor had been transformed into a banquet and dance hall. Again, more barbeque and dancing. The girls in both venues were dressed in prom-type gowns (some long, some short), and suits/ties for most of the boys. We lasted til around 11 pm, but the party continued until dawn.

It's been hard getting used to not being at school everyday, not being in a classroom, not having a regular schedule, and especially not seeing the kids. I actually will be working with kids this summer to teach them using activity-based learning rather than merely textbooks. And I will be developing activities for next year's classes. There is much to do and little time to do it.

Our official Peace Corps duties are coming to a close as well. I have served on the Volunteer Advisory Council (VAC) for the past two years, and had my last meeting on June 1. The VAC is sort of like student council, and we try to work with staff on policies that affect the volunteers. The latest battle was over tampons and a recent decision not to provide them to female PCVs. The only difficulty with that decision is that you can't buy them anywhere except Yerevan, and it is shameful for an unmarried woman to use them. It's very interesting. So, the policy was changed back (PCVs are happy).

In 10 days Fred will leave for southern Armenia where he will be part of the Border-to-Border walk across Armenia. Between the two of us we will have walked the entire length of the country. This year's walk will be over 3 weeks rather than 2, which means shorter distances each day (we hope). The unfortunate thing is that it is scheduled for a time when it will be really, really hot. Over 95 degrees is forecast for much of Fred's walk. The biggest challenge will be getting fluids and replacing electrolytes. He will be gone for more than a month as he goes right into an English language summer camp on July 9. I hope to meet up with him sometime while he is walking, and it will be challenging to be apart for so long.

One of my closest Armenian friends has moved to Yerevan for the summer, and many of my site-mates are traveling to camps and the like. A number of PCVs in our A-18 group have already left Armenia, and more than half will be gone by July 3. Those who are staying live pretty far away, so I expect it will be a bit lonely up here. By the time Fred returns, we will have only 2 weeks left at our site.

So we are in the final stretch. We still have to sort out what we will take, what to throw out or give away, what to ship, etc. There is so much to do. But we have a flight at 5 am on August 3, and mountains of Peace Corps paperwork to finish on August 1 and 2. By the time we leave, we will have been here for 800 days. When we started, it seemed so far away. Now it seems way too soon.

Where will we land? We have no idea right now. Much will depend on where and whether we are able to find jobs. So we shall see.

Thank you all for your love and support these past two years. We couldn't have done this without you.

Here are a few photos from the last day of school at my school . . . There are no words to express how much I love each of these kids and how much I will miss them.

11th Form 

 12th Form

 3rd Form Girls and one of my counterparts

 3rd Form

 4th Form

 7th Form Girls plus Erik (he hates to miss anything)

 7th Form

 8th Form (love these kids)

 9th Form (love these kids too)

 Dancing at 12th Form party

 Starting the last day with toasts

 12th Form Party

Teacher's Room Party

100 Days

Yesterday marked another milestone in our service. We have 100 days until we are Returned Peace Corps Volunteers (RPCVs). On August 3, 2012 we will be winging our way back to the U.S. for the next phase of our adventure. Details to follow as we know them.

In the meantime, our sincerest thanks to everyone for their love and support these past two years. You have made our lives more comfortable with your care packages, and your cards, letters and e-mail have kept our spirits up when we most needed it. So thank you, one and all.

On April 24, we traveled to Yerevan with some of our students to pay our respects at the Genocide Memorial. The museum and memorial serve as a reminder to all Armenians of the 1915 Genocide in Turkey. It was wonderful to see it through the eyes of our students, and to be part of the remembrance activities. After a 3 hour marshutni ride, we took a subway, walked a few kilometers, and then joined a 2 1/2 hour solemn march with a few hundred thousand people to the monument itself. Once there, we placed flowers on a flower wall surrounding the perpetual flame. By the end of the day, the bank of flowers was more than 4 feet high. This will give you an idea of what it looked like.

The night before we had participated in a candlelight march with our schools through the town to our local church. We did it last year, and it was a silent march. This year was a bit different--there were chants of "recognize" and the students carried signs and flags. We're so glad we could be a part of both of these events. We are constantly asked why America won't recognize the Genocide, and must always find a way to tactfully respond. In truth, it's a political issue on which we can have no opinion.

That's all for this post. It's way past spring here. The lilacs have come and gone, and it's already hot. Can't wait to see what real summer is going to be like!

We will be seeing you soon . . . 

Close of Service Conference

There are numerous milestones in the career as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Completing your Pre-Service Training, Swearing In, All-Volunteer Conferences, Mid-Service Conference, and finally . . . Close of Service (COS) Conference. We just completed the last official conference in our 27 months of service, our COS Conference. This is where we learn about all the paperwork we need to complete before we can leave Armenia. And there is a lot of it. We have a 5-page checklist of things that we have to do, all of which require sign-off by someone at Peace Corps. These include medical, administrative, safety and security, language, program manager and country director signatures. A daunting task to say the least.

As for the conference itself, it was a wonderful opportunity to see people we don't usually get to see, and some we probably won't get to see again. The geography in Armenia makes visiting some PCVs difficult at best--some are a 2-day trip away, assuming everything goes as planned. So we spent 2 days at Arthur's Aghveran Resort near Arzakan, Armenia. It was one of the nicest places we've been to, at least for a Peace Corps-sponsored conference. In addition to day-long meetings on various administrative procedures, we had a visit from the U.S. Ambassador to Armenia John Heffern (and his wife Libby), learned how to apply for jobs, how to prepare resumes, and had time for an engagement party, karioke, swimming, and just hanging out. We will miss being with these people in ways that we can't yet begin to comprehend.

I have a countdown timer on my computer. Today it says 102. That is 102 days until we are able to head back to the U.S. We still have 5 weeks of school to finish, English language camps, and many, many goodbyes. Plus we'd like to see a little bit of the country before we head home. Fred has discovered a unique way to see the south--he's going to be part of the Border-to-Border walk this summer. His group will leave with the far south near Iran and walk around 300 km to Yeghegnadzor in the middle. Over the course of three weeks, he will go up and down numerous mountains, stop to camp, teach children about healthy lifestyles, and see some amazing sites. I did this last summer from the north, and it will be interesting to see what it's like from the south.

So as we near the end of our service, it has been interesting to reflect on our time here in Armenia. We are the 18th group of volunteers here. We started with 58 volunteers and now are down to 47. Some left during training, some have left for medical reasons, others more recently for new jobs. And now those of us who are left are saying goodbye to each other, to communities where we have lived for the past two years, to children we have taught, and to families we have become a part of. It is bitter-sweet for sure.  It's exciting for us to listen to the plans of the younger (and older) volunteers too. Many will travel or go on to graduate school. One will be getting married in July. And all seem to have big plans for the future. We are excited for them!

What does the future hold for us? Right now, we have no idea. We have few possessions back in the U.S. and no real home. And currently, no jobs or job prospects (although we hope that will change soon). It's both exciting and a little unnerving at the same time. We do get a small amount of money from Peace Corps to "readjust" to our life back in the states, so hopefully we can make that last a little while as we figure out the next direction our lives will take.

Whatever happens, we have had an experience here that has changed our lives in ways we can't possible know right now. We look forward to sharing some of that with you when we get home. We'll try to keep it to 5 minutes or less when you ask us about what it was like to be in the Peace Corps.

In the meantime, here is a photo of our A-18 group at our COS conference.
See you all in 102 days . . .

Time Flies

Just looked at our last post and realized it was nearly 3 months ago! How did THAT happen? We've been posting on Facebook I think instead of writing here. It is now officially "spring" here in our part of Armenia. The snow is slowly melting, and quickly being replaced with mud. Lots of it. Parts of our routes to our schools are paved, and others are a treacherous mix of puddles and really gooey mud. Which of course gets on our shoes, socks, pants, etc. You get the idea. But it does mean that the weather is getting warmer, for which we are very grateful.
We were in Spain over Christmas with Fred's mom and sister, which was a really lovely break from the winter cold. Spain was sunny and warm and beautiful. Barcelona is one of the places we might like to live, so part of our reason for going was to check it out and see a bit of the country. We toured Barcelona for 4 days and then drove down past Alicante. It was great. While there, I learned that I had to go to Bangkok on Peace Corps business. That 10-day trip started only a few days after getting back from Spain, so I missed the first two weeks of school. Bangkok was quite a change from Armenia, not only culture-wise, but also temperature-wise. But I got to meet some other Peace Corps volunteers, hang out, and eat Thai food every day. Not a bad way to spend 10 days.
So it is now March and we are about to have our "spring" school break. I have a countdown on my computer which tells me two things . . . first, it's only 20 more days until I am back in Massachusetts (only for 8 days). I'm heading home to bring things we won't be needing during our last few months here (books, winter clothes, etc.). Second, and more importantly, we have only 153 days until our Peace Corps service is over. In some ways it feels like we've just arrived, and in other ways that we've been here forever. In fact, we have been here for nearly 2 years. Hard to believe.
When we think about leaving, we both have very mixed emotions. While we are anxious to see where the next chapter of our lives will take us, we are finally getting comfortable with where we live, the language, customs, and all that is entailed in living in a developing country. Most of all, we hate to think of leaving the community we have built up here--especially the children. We have been in our classes for nearly two years, have learned most of the student's names, been invited to many homes, celebrated birthdays, special events, and so loved the joy that the laughter of a child brings. There is not a place in town where we don't hear echos of "Hello Mrs. Susan" or "Hello Mr. Linden"!! It is beyond sad to think about leaving these precious children.
We toy with the idea of staying for a 3rd year, but we are both ready to come home. Or we will be when August 3 rolls around. Until then, we will try to enjoy every opportunity that comes our way.
Right now, at least for me, that opportunity is to try and appreciate the four roosters who live beneath our bedroom window. This morning is was just before 3 a.m. when they started, and the noise was enough to make sleep (at least for me) impossible. I'm wondering how they feel about soup.