Easy To See

Vana Urartu Agopian
(Hawaii, USA, 2012)

We in the Diasporas are raised with the image of Genocide and Mt. Ararat, we visit Armenia, run around cafe’s for a few months, hang out at the local pub, spend our parents money, battle with taxi drivers… turn around and go home without learning much about the inner workings of the country, its history, the memories of its people, THEIR experience. I remember listening to Diaspora Armenians sitting around a dinner table saying “Armenia this, Armenia that” or “You know what the problem is with Armenia?” yet most had not spent any extended amount of time in Armenia if any.

So after college, I decided to move to Hayastan and reconnect with an estranged father who had migrated to Yerevan in 96 (from Beirut) and with whom I had not had any considerable contact with for more or less 20 years. I rented a small house above Monument Park, worked nights at a telecommunications company in Yerort Mas and began a new life in a new republic.

I had been struggling in Yerevan for a year before a friend told me about Birthright Armenia.  Literally, the next day after hearing of BR, I was at their office handing in an application. Since I had been living in Armenia for over a year before applying to BR, I was quite familiar with the essence of the city, the streets, and the terrain. But over the months without proper guidance, I was tired, I wanted to get out of the country and never look back.  Yes, there is deception, corruption, suicide, alcoholism, prostitution… The fall of the soviet, the earthquake, war with Azerbaijan and the geo-political situation of the new republic has left many children orphaned, many women alone and many families emotionally bankrupt; in a sense, breaking the spirit of its people. But here is the kicker:

Had I left Hayastan without experiencing Birthright Armenia, I would have no doubt left to never return. Why you ask? Well, it’s easy to see a backward country without even the vision of progress when you’re not involved with a civil society of dedicated progressive people. Through BR I participated in protests, educational forums, visited new developing schools. It was through the direction and guidance of BR that I was able to see hope and truly experience positive progress in the new Republic.

Sure, we can go to Armenia and visit historical sites, churches and orphanages, sit around a dinner table and talk non-sense, but it’s a whole another revelation to experience the progress of Armenia TODAY. BR was able to make that connection (the missing link) between the Diaspora and the Republic of Armenia today. In truth, No one is going to do for Armenia what we can do for ourselves. With Global Unity and love for one another we can build a wonderful home for future generations.

One advice I’d like to extend to the new bee:  Use your wisdom to be a solid role model for an emerging society, but more importantly stay strong, there will be many internal battles.

One More Night in Hayastan

Katherine Kalter, AVC ‘12
(United States)

Since my family left for America over a hundred years ago no one has made it back to Armenia. Being the first one to make the trek to the homeland I could in no way prepare myself for the journey ahead. Unlike most of my fellow volunteers I had never heard the Armenian language spoken nor had I sampled any Armenian cuisine before arriving in the country for the very first time. Upon landing at Zvarnots my whole world began to feel surreal. The mixture of exhaustion from the flights earlier that day and the overwhelming fear and excitement that came with finally being in a place I had been dying to visit since a young age was enough to do me in, and after making it to my temporary housing in Yerevan I quickly fell asleep. The next few days were a blur; nothing felt real. The noticeable lack of English and westernized culture made Yerevan difficult for me to get used to in the short time I was there, but it wasn’t until finally making it to my permanent homestay in Gyumri that I just about lost it. If Yerevan seemed strange and unfamiliar to me, Gyumri was like being in a completely different world. There was absolutely nothing even remotely familiar for me to latch on to. I had stepped so far out of my comfort zone I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to find it again. Every day I woke up and I asked myself the same questions: “Why am I here? Was this a mistake? What was I thinking?!” And every day I counted down, “Only X many days left,” I’d tell myself, as if it was some sort of a comfort to keep reminding myself how much longer I had bound myself to my own personal anxiety-ridden nightmare. Around the third week I had falsely expected the culture shock to subside so I would be able to truly begin enjoying my time in Armenia, but it didn’t happen. I still woke up and had a tough time preparing myself for the day ahead, but I wasn’t about to give up. I had always wanted to travel to Armenia and while I was having a less-than-ideal time there, I was going to stick it out until the end, because I knew if I didn’t I would regret it.

It wasn’t until about a month into my time in Armenia that I really began to fall in love with the experience. I have my fellow volunteers to thank for that. Never in my life have I met and connected with people so quickly. The Marshutka 9, Gyumri Prom, late night escapades around Yerevan, they will always be what I remember when I look back on my time in Armenia. And I can’t thank the staff enough for arranging the most amazing trips possible. Whether we were shoved in the back of a cattle truck going 45 down the side of a mountain, or we were chowing down on a traditional Armenian village feast, I couldn’t imagine a better way to experience the country. My last weeks in Armenia were the best weeks of my life. And while by the end of my journey I was exhausted and missing home, I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving behind what I had finally found. As my last days approached and I slowly started saying good-bye to the people who unknowingly changed my life forever, I was reminded exactly why I wanted to come to Armenia in the first place: I wanted to meet others who shared a very simple, yet important, trait with me; I wanted to know what being Armenian meant to others so I could discover what it meant to me.

Now that I’m back in America I often find myself dreaming of being back in the homeland with everyone, just sitting outside at Le Café planning our upcoming weekend misadventures, and then I realize where I am and remember that I will never be able to experience it again. While I plan on travelling back to Armenia in the future, it will never be the way it was with Birthright Armenia. I will never have my first time in Armenia again. And while I’m glad to, hopefully, not have to re-experience quite the same amount of fear and shock as I did this past summer, I can’t help but miss my days spent there. I look back on my time in Armenia with nothing but fondness; always wishing for just one more day. One more drink at Red Café, one more night on the hill, one more overly-cramped marshutka ride, one more night in Hayastan.

The Day Before Leaving Hayastan

Anahit Movsesyan
(United States,  ’12)

Just took a bite of a juicy peach, already moved out of the house and at my uncles house. A little emotional, like I have been for the past few days, but that’s to be expected. Felt a little hot, so I opened the windows in the living room and looked outside at the view. I remember, before I moved into the house and before these past few months in Armenia, I would look out into this view and feel emptiness. I’ll tell you why. When I was here 20 days earlier to stay with family, I hadn’t gotten to explore anything. Family was too busy, old friends were long gone, and my grandma wasn’t capable to take me anywhere. Looking out into the city meant nothing to me because I hadn’t made any memories that left an impression on me.

And now… now that I look at it, it takes my breath away. I am in awe of all that is happened in the past month, the people I’ve met, the places I’ve been to and most importantly the things I have experienced. Those all mixed together made this trip not only perfect but more than I expected it to be (and I had some high expectations). To think about the fact that I may not be back for a few years and knowing that it won’t be with the same Birthright-ers and even AYF-ers makes me sad. And that is expected, you know, to be sad. But this is a new kind. I am already yearning to be with the people that have made this experience so great, knowing that we may never again be here together.

But past that, it was all about the journey here. Yes, it came to an end, but the journey is what makes it the greatest part. From the caves in Areni to cleaning the shores of Sevan, I will always remember our laughs, hard times, complaints (most of which were mine) and the conversations.

If there is one thing I have learned from this trip is let go of my perceptions before certain experiences. I’ve learned to pause the thoughts in my head even just for a second to enjoy what is in front of me. I have taken mental photos and ‘videos’ of my time here. I know that as time goes on, I will forget. But I will never forget how I feel now.

I am happy for the people I have met, the times we have had, but my heart breaks.

It feels like yesterday my mom was kissing me goodbye at the airport before I went through security check. I cannot wait for that same kiss when I am back home.

The only thing I can do now is hope. Hope that one day I can run into Satenig from Belarus or see all the Canadians at once. I hope that one day I can see wedding photos of Raffi and Tamar.

It is not guaranteed that I will see these people again, but the connections I have made are guaranteed. Connections all over the world, and I believe that has been the best aspect of my trip.

Heeng tzap, Hayastan.

Kevork Chavush protecting Mt. Ararat

Instagram by Tania Sahakian
February 25, 2012

Armenia the Country

Christophe Kolandjian
(USA)

Four months ago, I arrived at Zvartnots Airport in Yerevan, Armenia. I wandered down the walkway into a sparse white room and approached one of a series of square glass windows that lined the far wall. The customs official behind the window, a middle-aged Armenian man, spoke only Armenian. Speaking Armenian would be my most difficult and most rewarding challenge in Armenia. After a few unsuccessful attempts at communicating, I convinced a young, Armenian American women, whom was standing in line one window to my right, to translate the remainder of the encounter.  When the business end of the conversation was complete, she asked me with blunt honesty: “Are you Armenian? You don’t speak Armenian, why did you come here?”

At that point in time, I did not have any answers to her questions. The internal monologue in my head was skeptical. What was I doing seven thousand miles away from home in a country I knew almost nothing about?  Her questions inspired me to begin thinking deeply about my purpose in the country. I thanked the women and left the airport.

Living for four months in Armenia was an incredible experience.  The brilliant blue water of Sevan, the picturesque icy forests of early-winter Dilijan, and the breathtaking tree-filled mountains of Artsakh will stay with me long after my trip.  Equally valuable were the everyday experiences. Armenians in Armenia, both diasporan and locals, are some of the warmest people I have ever met. I will never forget the kindness of the Grigoryans. Ashot, Armine, Karo, and Galust welcomed me into their home and their family, something for which I am deeply grateful. All these experiences changed me in a way that I struggled to clearly define until after an early morning conversation on my return to Zvartnots.