Changing Seasons: Letters from Armenia

CHANGING SEASONS:

LETTERS

from

ARMENIA

BARBARA COE

Version 4 Inserts: Yes 5.5x8.5

© Copyright 2005 Barbara Coe.

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Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

References

About The Author:

Dedication

To my late husband, David Kelly Coe,

without whose love and encouragement .

I would never have had this adventure or published this account.

Acknowledgements

So many people contributed to both this adventure and the creation of this account that I cannot begin to acknowledge everyone but can at least mention those who were most involved. In addition to my late husband, David, my Starfish Sisters, Sarah Kotchian, Elizabeth Gardener, and Sonia Juvik, helped me to stay focused on my aspirations. Our annual get-togethers, meditation together while in far distant locations, and supportive emails provided an indispensable virtual community. My friends Ken and Marty Tharp were a source of inspiration and support; I appreciate so much Marty’s encouraging me to publish these letters especially since she has such a powerful background in writing and journalism. My friend, Robin Morgan, often jolted me back to reality and helped me see alternatives. My colleagues in the Civic Education Project provided an on-site community; our support of each others’ efforts, our work together, and the fun and adventures we had are a major part of this narrative. In particular, Margaret Pierce, Daniel Moses, and Bella Hovsepyan were always caring and ready to lend a hand. Dear friends in Armenia whom I met either through my work or through other social contacts made my life there so pleasurable; remembering them all and the times with them always puts a smile on my face. I hope I will see them all again; I appreciate so much their friendship and assistance and in any event, they are in my heart for a lifetime. I cannot begin to name them all but they include Svetlana Aslanyan, David and Ruzana Tumanyan, Haik Mashurian, Kelly Bedeian, and Roberto Buonamico. They also include all of my students at the Armenian School of Public Administration, all doing good things in the world and with many of whom I am still in contact. I want to acknowledge, too, the administration and colleagues at the School of Public Administration, who were so welcoming, warm, and helpful, making my experience there a great pleasure and helping me take in stride the surprises stemming from my lack of knowledge of with how things work in Armenia. Last but not least, I acknowledge the constant love of my sister, Evelyn Madigan, and the love and tremendous help from my daughter, Becky Apthorp, who spent many hours dealing with paying bills, finding information, writing letters, and other logistical challenges of working in another country. Without her help I cannot imagine how I could have managed.

Introduction

The telephone call from the Caucasus Director was unexpected and not particularly welcome. I had applied for Romania and Moldova because their Romance languages would be relatively easy to learn and for the Czech Republic because—well, who doesn’t want to go there? Armenia wasn’t even on my mental map; I had to go to the internet to find where it was. After learning that is one of the oldest civilizations known and that it has mountains (including Mt. Ararat, the most striking landmark ofArmenia although it is now actually in Turkey—over 16,000 feet and famed as the resting place of Noah and his ark—I was hooked. So after getting my shots, making a will and handling other pressing financial matters, buying and packing all the items necessary to live in a country where many things are unavailable, and stopping in Washington DC to hear about the difficulties we would face living as volunteers, I was on my way to Armenia to serve as a visiting professor. My sponsor, the Civic Education Project, was dedicated to enhancing democracy through higher education, a noble and interesting cause, I thought.

A two-week training and planning job in Vietnam several years earlier had fired my interest in doing more international work, but I had trouble finding such work because I lacked the experience of living abroad that organizations usually require for international work and my husband wasn’t interested in living abroad. Eventually, though, agreement with my husband, David, and I to live separately, and an intolerable job situation provided the additional impetus to apply for this teaching position in the former communist world. Some of my friends and family thought I was crazy, a woman sixty years old, with a good job, including retirement benefits, going off alone to a foreign country where living conditions were likely to be difficult. Some said as much. Others expressed a little envy about such an adventure. Others, especially David, my best friend and soul mate, understood perfectly and were very supportive.

These letters, written from Armenia to friends and family, describe my journey from the time I arrived in Yerevan, Armenia, glimpsing for the first time what became my city for two and a half years. They describe my experience coping with living conditions, especially apartments and food, and with reckless and rude automobile drivers who seem bent on flattening pedestrians. They describe the satisfaction of stimulating students who were asked for their opinions for the first time and the disbelief at finding my assigned classroom occupied by others. They describe the distress upon learning that people felt, justifiably, unable to change their leaders, their country or their communities—so unlike the sense of power and possibility that is deep-rooted in those of us from democracies of the West. They describe the enjoyment of time with friends in a context in which people relate easily and enthusiastically and the pain of loneliness and loss. Most of all, they describe encounters with myself upon meeting the unexpected time and again, attempting to so with humor and a light touch.

When I embarked upon the journey, I knew I was taking several important things with me, without which I

doubt I could have coped. The first was the backing of my husband David, who continued to be after our separation, my soul mate, dearest friend, and staunchest supporter. His continuing study and practice of Buddhist thought also inspired me to learn and practice, assisting me immeasurably, especially with letting go when necessary. Another was the support of friends in the U.S. When the journey became particularly rough, and I called for help, friends and family including David, my daughter, Becky, my sister, Evelyn, the Starfish Sisters (Sarah, Sonia, and Liz, a small group of women friends), Robin and others were quick to come to the rescue, offering inspiring words and helpful support via email. The third was the creative process, as explained by Robert Fritz, author of many books on the subject (1989, 1996), which enabled me to keep looking beyond the immediate and working toward my aspirations. The creative process requires clarity about both one’s aspirations and the current reality and then taking, evaluating, and adjusting actions so as to advance toward one’s goals. But often we human beings have difficulty identifying the true goals, often simply reacting to problems or responding to obligations, or confusing means with ends. We also often distort the current situation, imposing upon it our views of how the world, others, and/or we ourselves should be or should do; thinking we are what we create; thinking we can know and/or control the future; or imagining reality to be better or worse than it is. This book is full of such confusions and distortions. Sometimes they are rectified, enabling me to move forward more productively, sometimes not.

Joining the Civic Education Project and going to Armenia was the best decision I ever made, launching me on a profound journey, both inner and outer. It was a journey characterized by surprise, shock, and amazement; by loss, grief and self-doubt; by wonder, laughter, love, and pleasure and ultimately by a sense of emerging wholeness and growing confidence that I can muddle through most situations that I meet in life. It isn’t for everyone but for me it was a remarkable opportunity for learning about life—none too soon.

Because I worked in academia, the book is organized by seasons of the school year, fall and spring. Each is characterized by a different stage of the journey, sometimes because of external circumstances, more often because of internal circumstances. Each new season brought new surprises and new changes, both externally and internally. Armenia, especially Yerevan, my city of residence, my apartment, my work, my circle of friends seemed to change drastically during my stay there, sometimes in ways that I liked, sometimes in ways I didn’t like. The changes I experienced most keenly, though, were the internal ones brought by the struggle to cope with the external world, and especially my internal dialogue about that world, and to keep my sights on my true aspirations.

My hope is that this account of my personal journey brings the reader along to see how life change was fostered by throwing myself into a foreign environment, to glimpse the charm as well as the quirks of Armenia at this stage of its transition, and to understand some of the challenges and rewards of the struggle to transform countries from totalitarian communism to democracy and capitalism.

I must stress that in no way am I an authority on Armenia; what is described here is my perception and understanding, undoubtedly often naïve, and my experience.

Chapter One

FALL 2000: BEWILDERMENT. IS THIS FOR REAL?

The First Letter from Armenia

AUGUST 15, 2000

ARRIVAL

Arriving in Yerevan, colleagues Asbed and Talin were on the same flight, thankfully, because I don’t know how I would have coped otherwise. Since they both speak Armenian fluently, being part of the Armenian diaspora (and the officials speak almost no English) they were able to negotiate us through the various steps. After our arrival at about 5:00 am, the wait in line for passport check seemed interminable, as first Armenian and then Russian (no one knows why) agents studied each passport and visa very carefully. When I got to Customs, the agent took one look at my 5 big bags and asked you will work? I said, yes, teach at the university, which seemed to be my ticket. He waved me on. They kept Talin and Asbed longer; I learned later that it was because they had 2 computers. Thank God Karen (the Coordinator for CEP) was there to meet us with a big van. They had to load much of the luggage on top, but managed to take everything.

When I was dropped at my apartment finally about 7 am, my spirits fell. While working in Vietnam and then Moldova for a few weeks each, I had simple but decent accommodations so I expected something similar. The entry to this one-room plus kitchen apartment is dark and smelly. The walls and ceilings are cracking, dirty and mildewed, the rough, gray floor hasn’t seen any varnish since it was installed, and the carpets are dirty, the baseboards have big cracks around them., and the windows don’t close. Lacking screens on the windows, flies and mosquitoes swarm in (with the heat intense, it is impossible to keep the windows closed). The bed is an iron cot with a thin pad, which, with my bad back, would be a nightmare. The kitchen has a stove, one little narrow shelf with a dirty curtain over it, and a refrigerator. And, when people in apartments above (it is about a 10 story building) flush the toilet, the smell of sewage permeates my bathroom. The curtain on the living room window has huge (1’) pansies and the cover on the bed huge brown roses with blue leaves. Everything else is solid brown. Furthermore, the place is loaded with doodads—every surface has books, broken and unbroken china and glasses, stuffed animals, and a huge fish tank. Looking outside, I see surrounding the building other drab grey buildings, run down like this—crumbling walls, crumbling floors, dirty windows, wood unpainted, trash everywhere: bottles, cans, paper, and lots of plastic bags. Everywhere laundry hangs outside the windows or balconies. After Karen left, I cried and felt completely powerless.

After a bit, thanks to my training in the creative process, I started to focus on what I wanted and to look around to see all of reality and plan what I might do to make the place livable. It has a separate kitchen and a little entryway, a balcony, high ceilings and lots of light. There is a table usable for a desk, a large china cabinet for books and office supplies, a TV with a cabinet underneath for tapes and other pleasure items, and a separate eating area in the kitchen. The carport below has grapevines over it, providing a little welcome touch of green. While looking around at what was in front of my eyes, I looked too at what was behind them. In exploring my thinking I realized I was assuming that an apartment should be clean and well-

maintained when one moves in, that is, trying to impose my standards on the situation. But the question is why, just because I want it to be so, should it be so? I began to suspect that if anything is necessary in working in a foreign country, it is flexibility and adaptability and only to expect the unexpected!

Since I hadn’t been able to get food, I munched a crumbly breakfast bar and crackers thoughtfully saved from airline meals, along with some almonds and dried mango. Then I called Karen. He assured me everything I didn’t want would be taken out and repairs made. He said the apartment is three minutes from the Opera House (so is Margaret’s, I realized later, in another direction), exactly in the middle of the City, but on a fairly quiet street.

After napping a little I went out to explore the neighborhood. A block and a half away is a big street of shops with Givenchy and other up-scale brands and a huge square with swans on a pond, many trees and sidewalk cafes, including one called La Skalla (similar to the name of one in Albuquerque). Later that day, though, I went around to see some of the City and saw Margaret’s apartment, which was immaculate, huge (separate bedroom with a normal bed), polished parquet floor and vertical blinds. I couldn’t believe it! When I called Karen to say I wanted one like that, he explained that mine was poorer because it is a better location, which I had indicated was a high priority, and that they were extremely lucky to find the one they got for Margaret. He reiterated that we would work to fix the problems with my place. Later that evening, as promised, the landlords (husband and wife) with their two sons look everything unwanted out, freeing up all the shelves, including shelves in the closet for my sweaters and other clothing. The bed they brought was a child’s bed—good thing I am small-consisting of a box with an innerspring mattress-but at least better than the other! They were very sweet.

At least I’m not finding water to be a huge problem. It comes on at 6 am and lasts until 9 am, then again at 6:00 pm until about 9 p.m. If necessary, I can turn on the storage tank above, but it has not been necessary. I just fill up the buckets for later and plan to use the water when it is on. For someone who has lived for a time without any running water and who loves camping, it is only a slight inconvenience—unless I decide to sleep late on the weekend, of course! When the water is hot, it is very, very hot! Boiling, probably. Showers have been long and luxurious. Of course I don’t drink the tap water or use it for cooking but boil and filter it first.

Waking at 2:25 am and not being able to sleep, I decided to unpack and organize everything. Now I can find most of it. I have a sense of satisfaction knowing that everything I ingest, including my herbs and vitamins, is in the kitchen, everything I need for work is in the china cabinet, everything for hobbies and play in the TV cabinet, and miscellaneous in another little cabinet by the sofa. I cleaned here and there but quickly became overwhelmed by the magnitude of the task; I will have to do a little at a time.

Now I have internet; we all signed up for our internet connections, which cost $50 a month without any email access (that would be another $30 a month) and a $50 set-up fee, way more than in the U.S. and more than our allowance for internet. To save the connection fee, we decided to try connecting on our own but unfortunately, that didn’t work. I couldn’t access my account.

That evening having dinner at La Skalla-chicken kabob, which turned out to be ground chicken and onions wrapped in a tortilla, and a glass of wine—for about $3-$4 I guess, I watched the masses of people on the street—families, groups of young girls and young men, often arm-in-arm, couples. Surely with so many adults in sight, the youngsters are not likely to get into trouble! The young women wear tight, very short skirts and little tops or long fitted dresses, whereas the women my age are shapeless and wear shapeless dresses. Many women in their 30’s and 40’s look quite stylish, wearing shirts or tailored slacks and blouses (pretty colors, too, not just black or grey) and usually high-heeled shoes. I’m feeling fairly frumpy wearing my jeans and t-shirts but will dress up when I start to work.

FOOT PROBLEMS

May you live in interesting times goes the Chinese curse. This is interesting but doesn’t (yet, anyway) feel like a curse, but an opportunity to learn more about myself and the world. Starting down to Margaret’s for breakfast then to go to the bank and flea market my foot began to hurt like everything (presumably from dropping books on it several weeks ago). By the time I got to Margaret’s, I was barely able to walk. After having flat, both dry and watery omelets, white bread and coffee at a not-so-memorable café, we made it to the bank. There the bank officer (who spoke excellent English) inquired why I wanted a checking account; indicating I would need a letter of reference from someone with an account there for at least 6 months. Remembering that no one takes checks here anyway I opened a savings account, from which I can withdraw cash with an ATM card (which costs $20 to obtain). It makes more sense just to access one’s U.S. account but I had brought $400 in cash that I didn’t want to leave in the apartment. I wanted also to deposit $500 in traveler’s checks, but when I learned there was another $10 charge for that, I decided to see if I could cash them elsewhere. Things work differently in different places; making assumptions about such things doesn’t work.

After hobbling back to my apartment in severe pain, I called Karen to see if the landlords might have some ice for my foot, he went into emergency mode. Two minutes later, both Arthur and Natalie arrived at my door, very concerned. After looking at my foot, they surmised that perhaps a spirit compress might help. Back they came with booze and something resembling Epsom salts. Arthur left; Natalie remembered the doctor upstairs and went to fetch him. When Arthur came back, he was puzzled because Natalie was gone. (Remember, they speak little English and I speak NO Armenian so all this communication was done with sign language or baby English.) Natalie returned with an 80-something doctor in tow. After the doctor yanked, pulled and bent my toe (followed by my yelps at appropriate places), the three of them talked at length about the situation (with my being unable to understand any word, except for hospital.) Then he left and I asked broken? Natalie said not broken and illustrated bent. I thought to myself, yes, now it is, for sure. She said, no ice, cold water compresses. She brought water and a cloth and for an hour doctored my foot! Their kindness was touching. In the course of things I learned Natalie had a bad toothache; several front teeth had been extracted. Even so, she came

several times and checked on me while I slept. At the end of the day, my foot feels slightly better but is quite swollen. After sleeping much during the day, I slept from 9:30 p.m. until 8:00 a.m. Hopefully by Friday’s reception I will be fully functional once again. Karen urged me to rest on Friday and not to overdo it. He is right. I’m thinking that maybe my body is telling me I need to rest more than I have been.

FINDING FOOD

About 5 Wednesday, Natalie came to inquire if I wanted to eat. Calling Karen, she asked him to tell me about ordering. He gave me the name of a pizza place that delivers and where they spoke English and the name of another place where, he said, you could get anything you wanted. Not knowing what anything meant, I called the pizza place. The first, second, third, and fourth persons on the phone had no understanding of what I was saying. I kept asking if they spoke English. The fourth person asked me if I spoke German. After I said no, only English, someone else came on the phone and went on in German for about 5 minutes. It didn’t occur to me until later to say Nein sprechen ze Deutch; rather I only said that I don’t speak German. That person gave up in disgust and finally, finally, someone came on the phone and said, yes? I said I want to order pizza. What kind of pizza?she snapped. When I said vegetarian, she snapped, what? What kind of meat? No meat, I responded, mushrooms and green pepper. oh, mushroom, she exclaimed, and cheese? After saying green pepper a few times, I decided to live with mushroom and cheese. We went through the same drill when I tried to give directions. I thought the street address was pretty clear but I suppose my accent threw them off. They started to understand more readily when I said I would call another place. The delivery person showed up at the door about 30 later with a thick crust pizza swimming in cheese, with loads of mushrooms and a few green peppers and tomatoes. Quite delicious, especially for someone who normally doesn’t care much for pizza! It was so filling that it will last for 3 days. I now have acquired a menu so I can answer more precisely what kind of pizza?"

SHOPPING

Former CEP fellows stressed the difficulty of buying things. However, today within 1/4 ofa block and around the corner is a little store where I bought light bulbs, toilet paper, eggs (sold by the egg and carried home in a plastic bag), some sunflower oil, and Comet (yes, by brand). Next door to that was a bakery at which I bought a fancy pastry for my breakfast tomorrow and a loaf of bread. Finally, from the fruit and vegetable vendor just down from the apartment (they come everyday) I bought peaches, pears, carrots, onions, cabbage, plums, and apples. This should keep me going for awhile, especially when I get some protein of some sort to add to a nice stew. All told, it cost about $4.00 and I doubt it could be much more convenient, unless one prefers to go to a Wal-Mart where you can buy everything in one place (which I don’t). Later, Margaret and I took a taxi to the flea market—tables and tables of clothing and linens and acres of shoes, especially beautiful Italian shoes. Bigger than any flea market I’ve ever seen, it seemed to have all new stuff but not cheap, especially for here. Many blouses were

priced at $45 to $50. Since I arrived, I have been needing more things for hot weather. I settled on an aqua and a blue top that looked as though a local would wear them (and thus I thought wouldn’t be so conspicuous)—for $10 and $13. However, I don’t think they will be all that cool, since they seem to be polyester. Now that I have paid for the internet connection, the bank ATM card, a little food and the two blouses, I have spent my first month’s salary of $100 and have no idea when I will get that! Hopefully this investment will be recouped at some point.

TO TEACH OR NOT TO TEACH

I asked Karen about my courses, which he had discussed with the two universities. It seems that only about half of the 38 students speak English. Because all students in the Overview of Public Administration must have the same material I must teach them all, probably in two sections, one with and one without an interpreter. So much for all the ideas about participatory teaching, both my preference and that of CEP. This is not what I had been told (and am noticing more and more a disconnect between prior information portrayed and reality). Perhaps I will try to negotiate for another course that is not a required one. Karen also reported that the people with whom he spoke concerning my Organizational Behavior course had never heard of CEP and didn’t seem to have a need. Apparently I first get hired and then worry about the courses; and I thought I had a job here. Karen insists that even though the administration may not understand the need, the students do very much need me, so it is worth the hassle. This business is apparently to be conducted at a dress-up reception on Friday evening, at which all the relevant parties, along with some local lawyers and other (important?) people will gather.

Well, better sign off for now. I must heat up my pizza, eat, and get ready for bed.

Love to all,

Barbara

Letter from Armenia

SEPTEMBER 3, 2000

MORE SETTLING IN

My apartment is starting to be transformed. Now two windows have screens, probably the only ones in Yerevan that do. Not much more cleaning and organizing I can do until I can find some nails and a hammer, plus some weather stripping to block some cracks, and a cover for my bed, and also a mat to put in the bathroom over the drain to keep the smells where they belong. So far, I have no clue where to find such things; there isn’t any local hardware store that I can find. It would help if I could read the language—or even the alphabet, which is unique. To me, it looks like a bunch of U’s facing different directions—36 of them! Maybe I have to take a mini-bus out to the flea market to get these things; I hope not.

Describing how things are here is difficult. My tendency is to romanticize it: probably I am seeing only the most superficial and that is subject to change as time goes on. Now, the activity on the street seems incredible to me

(recognizing that I have previously lived in suburban sorts of areas, not in the center of a city)—at 11:00 pm many people are dining and listening to a violin and keyboard team at an outdoor café near here. My bowl of barley soup with cilantro and milk, apparently, or perhaps yogurt, was a bit sweet and tasty! Over a bottle of wine—an Armenian wine similar to a chianti—Margaret and I talk at length about politics, Reagan and his legacy, the recovery, the coming election, and Margaret’s experience with getting refugees out of Africa and into North Carolina. Despite the fact that Liberian refugees have North Carolinian ancestors, gaining their right to immigrate was horrendous. Then when they arrived, the refugees were looked down upon because of their color. Light-skinned refugees have less trouble entering the U.S. and less difficulty after their arrival. The fact that Liberia was previously a thriving democracy but was now in economic chaos—without energy or water is dreadful. This was all quite educational for me, especially on top of my reading of Barbara Kingsolver’s book, The PoisonwoodBible (1998), opening my eyes to much of the history of the Belgian Congo and the subsequent invasion by U.S. companies that radically changed the economy for local people.

Apparently people here felt much more prosperous during Soviet times, having all their basic needs met, including education and health care. Now factories have closed, people don’t have jobs, and the infrastructure everywhere is crumbling. It is, in short, a mess! I don’t know whether most people wish they still had Soviet control or not, but certainly they are not happy with the current situation. Huge numbers of people have left (Yerevan is estimated to have gone from 1.5 million to half that; the country from 3 million to half also.) The government is widely considered to be corrupt, enforcing the law inequitably depending upon the relationship, thus discouraging investment. Furthermore, the tax rate is reportedly 80 percent, so most people don’t pay or they just don’t start businesses. One CEP Eastern Scholar, an economist, said that to be a successful entrepreneur, you must do illegal things. The problem seems quite irresolvable since a system change is needed. She offered to introduce me to people who are doing municipal government improvement with the idea that I might find a project to supplement my income, especially during the LONG (8 week) break in the dead of winter.

GETTING TO WORK

The CEP reception included many university officials, all of the visiting lecturers and Eastern scholars (Armenian educators who have studied in western graduate schools), and some local folks who came for the social time. Everyone was friendly and charming. The five members of the Public Administration School who attended seemed interested in what I could offer. They have worked with the International City and County Managers Association which had a project here, and with other western public administration educators. The Information Officer for the Embassy and his wife are also graduate students in public administration and eager to get together to talk about public administration in Armenia, as am I. They are both diaspora Armenian. An American expat at the reception previously in the Peace Corps here has stayed to try to foster linkages

with American firms so as to improve the agriculture business, very much needed. A man from the Press Club, who teaches journalism hoped I would do a workshop on media management—about which I know almost nothing. I hope I was not considered rude but that my refusal was clear! I could do something on strategic planning, however, which could be quite useful. Apparently, although newspapers include advertising, they wait for someone to come into the office and place an ad. A little lecture on enterprise might be good, too.

I heard that on Tuesday and Wednesday, we will resolve what courses I will teach, probably not a course with an interpreter—presumably Karen had talked to the Caucasus Director about this. People making decisions about what I will do without my even being in the room gives me a feeling of being a pawn and not in charge of my own life. Even when I’m in the room, people often speak at length in Armenian, leaving me out of things. Is this a lesson in the need to let go or of asking clearly for what I want? Perhaps both; asking but not being attached to what I want. When Karen and I go together to meet the Director of the Public Administration Institute, I will ask him to refrain from speaking about me in Armenian or to translate if he finds it necessary to do so.

We did meet as planned with Khachatour Bezirjian, Director of the Armenian School of Public Administration, another professor, and the Dean of Pre-Job Training (they seem to have many deans); now my courses are set. I will teach only at the School of Public Administration this semester (yeah!) and one course again there next semester along with another somewhere else perhaps. My students will have had 4 years of English language study, some are in their first year in graduate school, some are in 2nd year (again yeah!). Classes will meet three times a week for the 2nd year students, two times for the first year students, 1 V hours each time, I hope only on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday but I may also have to teach on Friday. The times vary depending upon the day (how they work out the schedule is more than I can fathom. Apparently the students are the cream of the crop—sons and daughters of officials or officials themselves (a third yeah! I think). Their study with me will count toward their English language study. The mini-bus route goes up and around fancy embassies and homes and past a lovely park. When my foot heals and on warm but not hot or cold days, I will try to walk, at least home if not going to school (uphill). My classes will start at 10 or 11 most days, except Tuesday when they will start at 8:30 so I will get home early afternoon—a total of 6 contact hours, I think. Karen assures me that if they like the course, which he says they surely will, they will do the reading and writing, and attend class even though it isn’t required because they are the most ambitious of all the students. Monday I will begin with overviews of the courses and get some feedback from them regarding their goals and so on.

ADMINISTRIVIA

The first day of our CEP retreat with all the Armenian Fellows, the Coordinator, Assistant, and Regional Director was an interminable meeting on the logistics and administrative details ofthis program—the third time we have heard it. Does this hearken back to Soviet times or an individual

obsession? Everyone complained of being demotivated by this emphasis on process rather than on the program and the results we hoped to attain. Tomorrow is a tour of the city and surrounding area. All the fellows seem quite compatible and able to work as colleagues. While walking back to our apartments after the meeting, we spotted an electronics store with a large array of converters and surge protectors, CD’s and videos, including many American videos. We were all excited by this resource. Of course none of us has a VCR but we thought perhaps we can organize a video night and rent one. One of the popular Armenian CD’s, including a piano and wooden flute called a duduk was playing. Haunting and at the same time appealing.

THE TABLE

The CEP reception table was loaded with food; most of it went untouched. The same was true of the CEP luncheon; later I was to learn this is typical. Participants and organizers certainly don’t take the food away, either! The amount of wasted food was enormous! The wine was perhaps less wasted—the red wine was delicious, perhaps a good export product. This was quite ironic—given that American parents used the line remember the starving Armenians as a ruse to convince children to clean up their plates. Perhaps it is a reaction to prior lack. I am quite sure there are people in the country with too little food.

Descriptions of Armenia that I read before coming here sometimes said Middle Eastern without Arabs but so far it seems about as different from that description as it could be. The food so far has been unlike Middle Eastern, supposedly Continental food, but except for the pizza, which is very popular (everywhere in the world, perhaps?) it is different from anything I have ever had. Lunch today was a variety of sliced vegetables including green peppers stuffed with beef and rice I guess and something called a salad that was a mixture of ham and many other unidentified objects I cannot name since people don’t generally know English words for the ingredients. I hope to find a simple soup and a glass of wine this evening and go to bed early. Jet lag is hanging on, causing erratic sleep patterns—eleven hours difference requires a major adjustment in one’s body rhythms. After waking this morning at 2:30 and being unable to sleep I got on the internet, then went back to bed at 5. Awakening at 9:30, I was too late for a shower! I didn’t feel quite so smug about my ability to cope with limited hours of water! I must do better tomorrow.

TOURING AROUND

The last day of our CEP get-together was a welcome respite from the paperwork, an orientation tour. Heading out to the Monastery and Temple near Yerevan, we saw a full view of Mt. Ararat—the spectacular, conical, more than 16,000 foot snow-covered peak, followed along by Little Ararat, like a baby following its mother.

The monastery is built into the rocky side of a mountain in an incredible setting—with craggy peaks pointing to the sky, green shrubs covering the hillsides, and a river, bounded by trees, at the base of the hill. Founded originally in about 400 AD, the monastery was completed in the 1200s. Quite vast, it required considerable hand labor. Luckily for us, Talin, an architect/lecturer of Armenian descent is an expert on Armenian monuments so was able

to describe the attributes of the structure and their origin. Many of the extensive carvings on the monastery are, for example, Persian symbolism—lions, birds, bulls, and geometric designs like rosettes. The majority of the structure is carved out of the mountain, not made of cut stones, then extensively decorated with carvings inside and out. The stone is volcanic tuffa, stone that is very easy to carve, then hardens after exposure to the air. A church service was in progress and as we wondered into rooms away from the nave where the service was being held, we noted the incredibly fine acoustics—we could hear the music clearly from every room. In one room was a spring, with water considered to be healing. People splash it on themselves, on their eyes, especially, and throw coins into the pool for good luck. Upstairs around the outside, we found a hole where high officials could observe from above, a common feature of Armenian churches. We picnicked by the river which unfortunately had a considerable amount of trash in it.

As the first country to adopt Christianity as its official state religion, its people are proud of their many intact churches scattered all across the country. The Armenian Apostolic Church is separate, not affiliated with any other, although it is similar in practice to Greek Orthodox. Some people consider that this isolation probably created problems, that both the Church and the country would have been more powerful in association with the Greek Orthodox, Russian Orthodox, or Muslim religions. However, they also speculate that Armenia might also have become part of another country—for good or bad—but it is all speculation anyway.

After the Monastery, we stopped at a small Alexandrian temple similar to many in Greece. Built on the side of a cliff as was typical of that style, apparently a beautiful canyon lies just below but we hadn’t time to explore it. We were able to walk up into the temple and to wander around. People took photos of all of us draped on the steps.

The tour continued in Yerevan to orient people, driving past the various important buildings, including embassies and universities. For me, Yerevan State is near enough to walk but I take a mini-bus to the School of Public Administration, which is quite far.

AFTERMATH

After wrapping up the evening with drinks at the park we all went home to bed. However, in the middle of the night I awoke with severe stomach cramps, cold sweats, weakness, a face drained of color, followed by diarrhea and vomiting for hours. It was obviously a case of food borne illness. For awhile I wasn’t sure I would live and wasn’t sure I wanted to. Finally the worst was over but after returning to bed the chills hit me, forcing me to get up and put on heavy pajamas. Today I have been too weak to get up for any length of time or even to read. After spending most of the day, only just now, at 3:00 pm, did I get up to type this. I have tried to be very careful with my food, but I realized that day I had unpeeled tomatoes (and thus washed in problem water), had mayonnaise on the potato salad, and more on a sandwich. I had also eaten some sweet—a roll made of honey, nuts, and berries, that was sold by a vendor by the monastery. But the culprit was likely the second sandwich I ate after it sat all day in the car; mayonnaise is volatile.

After this experience, my resolution is to be much more mindful; I hope I have not already ingested a parasite that will keep haunting me. Tomorrow I will start cooking my own food so that I can eat simple, known things! Certainly the fruits and vegetables here are abundant and tasty and offer the opportunity for familiar and nurturing combinations. I will buy some rice, which is comfort food, good for one’s stomach. The never-used, and thus clean, electric cooker in the apartment will be put to good use.

As I lay in bed for hours, I learned how people outside get the attention of people in the building—which is by standing and calling to them. That is, when someone drives up to see someone from the apartment building, they yell to them from the street, rather than going upstairs. I can understand this, as the building is high and the elevator quite rickety. This yelling seems to goes on most of the time.

Well, I think I have enough energy to make my way to the grocery (mini-market) for a few more things that I need. Done—but I looked and looked for crackers, which I thought would be best for my stomach, and for vinegar, honey, and coffee to brew (as opposed to the ubiquitous instant), but to no avail. They had Corn Flakes and Cheerios, though! Go figure! I bought a frozen chicken and rice and will make a lovely chicken and vegetable soup tomorrow—I can’t wait! I also bought packaged very crispy toast and flavored yoghurt. I also need a few household things but have seen no stores that have such things. I have seen lots of computer stores, clothing stores, book and stationery stores, food stores, and restaurants everywhere, but ??? They have to be around somewhere!

Now I must send this installation.

Be well,

Barbara

Letter from Armenia

SEPTEMBER 6, 2000

DIFFERENT MUSIC

This Letter from Armenia is a bit different from the usual. Now I have come face to face with what it means to be where I am. I see that since being here, I have been looking ever outward, soaking everything in from outside, getting my bearings in this strange land where I cannot read any signs or understand the spoken word and where I experience strange and foul smells. I must find my way on my own, because although I have a few colleagues, they are engaged in their own activities and will not, nor should not, be particularly concerned about me. It is very different to be here or somewhere like this with a partner or a group of any kind. As professors, we will all go our own ways, contacting each other as time permits and need requires. I must learn to be more resourceful and self-guided than before and than most people are required to be. And from this, I shall learn what capabilities I have.

I have neglected myself, not acknowledged my feelings or true thoughts, but kept a stiff upper lip, so as to make it through each day, alienated from myself as I find myself alienated from this society. But a time comes when to be whole means to face the truth of all that is. I

notice that I have a sense of dread that I will overspend my resources, knowing that this volunteer pay, supposed to cover expenses, is very much underestimated, and that I will leave here with less than I had when I came and no way to recover. And yes, that I will end up destitute and unable to live, as to live is to create something my heart compels. I struggle with the notion that I have been had, still again. It is my ongoing curse, this concern with survival and sometime sense of victimhood. I understand I chose this freely, in the face of many warnings (and also many assurances) and still believe it is my path. I understand that in the past, something has always appeared, often quite unexpectedly, to keep me going. Not, perhaps, to enable me to reach my goals or my desired standard of living (and that of which I know I am capable), but to keep me going. I understand that I cannot know the future at all and not knowing, I cannot control. And, I understand that the only thing that abides is change.

For now, I must experience my experience, for this is my working meditation, at long last, after all the hubbub of getting here. It is my current reality, which cannot, will not, be neglected, without great detriment to my psyche, body, or soul. It takes more courage for me to do so than to pretend to myself that I don’t experience what I experience, to pretend to others that the situation is hunky-dory, to look with rose-colored glasses, or to give myself a pep talk, telling myself all will be well if I only think or do thus and so—after all, the future is a Great Mystery, which no one can foretell, is it not? No, I choose the Buddhist way of embracing all that is. This, I believe, is the way to wholeness. Now is the time for me to settle into my body, my heart, my soul, and let all that is simply be—the sadness, the fear, and the hope. For feelings, after all, are just feelings, and part of being human (which in fact let us know we are alive), and not something to be feared or chased away. This would I think, for the moment at least, hearten my teachers that at least I have learned something. I understand that what is, is. All of it.

Namaste,

Barbara

Letter from Armenia

SEPTEMBER 9, 2000

The weather