Zana Davey, BK 2015

We woke up early, blearily packed our bags, and stumbled into our red minibus for our weekend trip to Yerevan. Over the course of our seven-hour drive, I drifted in and out of sleep, waking each time my head slammed against the window to a slightly different combination of mountains, small towns, and brown fields. Driving in Georgia and Armenia is an experience in itself; roads are so filled with potholes, hairpin turns, and stray farm animals that staying on the proper side of the road is far less important than finding the smoothest stretch of asphalt.

At the border between Georgia and Armenia we presented our flimsy, strangely unofficial Armenian visas to the surprisingly nice border patrols and headed into a country none of us had every visited. In Armenia, the roads got even worse as we headed into the mountains. Soon after the border, we stopped at a tiny roadside restaurant for kebab and bathrooms. We sat on benches under a scrap metal canopy and watched Paul and Luka battle our drivers in backgammon as we munched on delicious kebabs. Three men sat on stools by an open-air fireplace and slowly turned the skewers of meat. Nearby, a massive bloodhound sat chained to a shed near the primitive squat toilets. I felt like I had been transported back to another, simpler era.

The feeling of reversion only persisted as we drove through towns like Vanadzor and Spitak where locals live in dilapidated huts and survive on subsistence farming. Armenia is a country of only 3.2 million people, 97% of whom are ethnic Armenians. One-third of the population lives in Yerevan and the rest inhabit small farming communities like Vanadzor and Spitak.  The country battles a high emigration rate as young Armenians leave to pursue careers in countries with far better opportunities and universities. The patchy farmland, isolated communities, and minimal infrastructure help explain why the emigration rate is so high.

Around 4pm, we entered the Yerevan city limits and the scenery changed dramatically from small farms to large, Soviet-Era apartment complexes. In fact, most of Yerevan feels stuck in the Soviet Era: military men patrol the streets in Russian uniforms, buildings are large, utilitarian, and foreboding, and most of the population speaks Russian, not English, as their second language. At last, we arrived at the Penthouse Hostel, our home for the next two days. We trudged up six flights of stairs and were greeted by a friendly staff and a view of the city. One of the most striking aspects of Armenia is the friendliness of the people; everyone is happy to help and always curious about where you are from and why you are in Yerevan.

We dropped our bags and headed out into the streets. Paul, Luka, Giorgi, and I made a brief stop at the National Gallery before deciding to explore the city instead of the museum. We walked from Republic Square up to the Opera House and encountered a very different Armenia from the one we had just seen on our drive. Here, the streets bustled with young, fashionably dressed Armenians and the buildings were large, polished, and filled with sophisticated shops. Armenia is a markedly unequal country with a privileged tier of rich business families who monopolize both the country’s trade and its politics and a massive lower class largely dependent on money sent from relatives working abroad.

One of my favorite moments was a conversation Paul and I had with two young Mormons on mission from Salt Lake City, Utah. They were overjoyed to find fellow Americans and were far more interested in giving us tips on where to find the cheapest burger than spreading the message of the church. They told us they too had been surprised by the friendliness of the Armenian people. Although Armenia is the oldest Christian nation, the missionaries had been welcomed into many homes and were rarely ostracized for trying to spread an alternate religion.

The group reconvened to eat a delicious Lebanese-Armenian meal of hummus, kebab, and cheap Armenian beer in a tiny establishment where the waitress took our picture to add to the restaurant’s Facebook page. Later in the night, Paul, Ned, and I spent two hours walking around the city. At night, the neon signs, heavy traffic, and busy pedestrians make Yerevan look like any other Eastern European city. However, we quickly left modernity behind when we took a set of stairs squeezed between two buildings and headed into the Old Town. Here, we found streets too small for cars, houses that ranged from pleasant cottages to scrap metal sheds, and guarded locals who watched us intently. After our surreal walk through Old Town, we headed back into the real world to crash in our beds at the Penthouse.