Eleven Days in Armenia: Part 1

When I first told my friends and family that I would be going to Armenia for 11 days this summer, the most common response was "Why?", accompanied by a look of bewilderment. This was often followed by, for those brave enough to admit their ignorance, "Where is that?" Not that I'm judging or anything. I would most likely still not know exactly where or what Armenia is had I not actually decided to travel there. And in a world so large with so much diversity, how can we expect the average American to know anything about some tiny country on the other side of the world that is roughly the size of Maryland, if they don't even know anything about Maryland?

Quick! What is Maryland's state flower?*

What other states share a border with Maryland?**

The bombardment of what Baltimore fort during the War of 1812 inspired the composition of the Star Spangled Banner?***  

See, I told you. But seriously, all condescension aside, Armenia has actually been on my radar for about ten years now. My friends and I moved to Boston in 2001, a city with a fairly large diasporic population of Armenians, and I took up work for a courier service driving a van, picking up packages from local businesses. I was replacing an Armenian man named David, so for the first two weeks of my employment there, and his last two weeks, we'd spend each day together driving around as he taught me the duties and responsibilities of my new job, which apparently included taking plenty of naps in the van, and saying sexually suggestive things to the receptionist at Peabody & Arnold. He would often tell me about his life in Armenia or about Armenian culture, as he had immigrated to America just a few years prior. He would do so in ways that showed he genuinely wanted to give me knowledge about his Armenian heritage and the important role the Armenian people have played throughout the course of history. This was my first exposure to the Armenian pride that I now know and admire.

A year later I found myself working at an insurance company of all places. The cube next to mine was occupied by a young, first generation Armenian-American fellow named Shant. He told me many things about Armenia - about the genocide, about how the present day border encompasses just a fraction of the area it once had, how Armenia was the first Christian nation, and where to get the best falafel in Boston. Coming from a long familial line of tailors, his father owned and operated a tailor shop downtown. A pair of vintage Levi corduroys I had been clinging on to had a broken fly, so I had Shant ask his father how much it would cost to fix. His father said it might be less expensive to simply buy a new pair of pants, obviously unaware of what a fussy dandy I am. I was willing to pay whatever it took, so I gave the pants to Shant for his father to fix. Two days later he brought the pants back with a brand new zipper and told me that his father would not accept payment for the work. This was my first exposure to the Armenian hospitality I now know and appreciate. Really appreciate.

Years went by and I can't say I thought much about Armenia at all. In fact it wasn't until last year while reading a book about the history of Iran that I happened to learn more about Armenian history in relation to the countries around it. Armenia, as we know it today, is located in the South Caucuses, bordered by Georgia to the north, Azerbaijan to the east, Iran to the south, and Turkey to the west. Under Tigran the Great, the Armenian Empire stretched from the Caspian Sea to the Mediterranean (an area larger in size than California), and crossed over the present-day borders of the neighboring countries mentioned above, as well as Iraq, Syria and Lebanon, which all still have significant populations of ethnic Armenians. After the empire fell to Rome in 66AD, and for pretty much the next 2,000 years, the Armenian people, and their sovereignty, would be subject to the imperial ambitions of the Byzantines, the Persians, the Ottomans, and others. In 1915, as the desire for freedom from Ottoman rule percolated among the Armenian people, and distrust of the Armenian people grew among the Young Turks, Armenians were deported in mass numbers from Ottoman controlled territories, including that of historical Armenia (roughly the eastern most third of present Turkey). This area was, and still is considered the heart of Armenian culture and identity, where they had lived as "Armenians" for more than two and a half millennia, and for even a millennia before that as patriarchal tribes that went by other names. Unfortunately, deportation was not the only way that Armenians were dealt with. Up to one and a half million men, women and children were brutally killed or left to die during the deportation process, leaving a scar on the collective conscious of modern Armenia. In 1918, after breaking the shackles of Ottoman control, the Democratic Republic of Armenia was established, but a mere two years later it was reluctantly incorporated into the Soviet Union, in which it remained until 1991.

Oddly enough, Armenia's tumultuous past was one of the many things that endeared it to me. It might have been my penchant for underdogs, or the general similarities I've noticed to that of Ireland, a country of which I am technically a citizen and have a great fondness for. Two relatively small countries (though one landlocked and one surrounded by water), both with majestically storied histories, but subject to constant invasion and subsequent rule by other peoples (the Normans, the Vikings, and the English in the case of Ireland). Both historically devout adherents to traditions of ancient Christianity, their respective countrysides spotted with mediaeval monasteries, which often doubled as places of learning, detrimental to historical record keeping and enlightened advancement of both countries. The ancient lichen covered grave stones of each nation feature crosses with intricately carved interlace designs of peculiar similarity. They both have not only national heroes who are revered for their heroics in battle, but also those who are recognized as personifying the soul of the nation through poetry, literature and art. And of course, like the unfathomable loss of life suffered by the Armenians, one million Irish died and one million more fled the country as a result of English malfeasance during the great potato blight, and the culmination of centuries of institutionalized poverty.**** Ireland also fought for and won independence for the first time just three years after the establishment of the Democratic Republic of Armenia, which left the northern Irish province of Ulster under English control, rendering it the epicenter of sectarian violence for the next 75 years until a ceasefire was agreed to in 1998 - a situation that is similar to that of the Armenian conflict with Azerbaijan over the disputed territory of Karabakh.

It had been roughly three years since I had been outside of the United States, not including trips to Niagara Falls and Toronto, and the monotony of living and working in New York City was beginning to take it's toll on my psyche. I had spent a year living in Japan from 2007 to 2008 and now found myself yearning for the same kind of enrichment and stimulation I had experienced there. So I finally decided to take a bit of a trip. Though no destinations immediately came to mind, I knew that the standard fare of Western Europe would not suffice. I was looking for someplace I generally had no preconceived notions about. Someplace where I knew I would be a complete outsider. Not necessarily a place that would be considered undeveloped, and while "westernized" countries were fine by me, I didn't want to go someplace "western". I had considered South America, particularly Peru, but soon set my focus on countries in Western and Central Asia, finally narrowing it down to the Caucuses. After further deliberation, and an inexplicably growing affinity for one country in particular, I made up my mind to travel there. That country was of course Armenia. The more I read about it, the more enticing it became, and as a native of the Genesee River Valley, which is typically flat and densely forested, photos I came across of majestically mountainous and often treeless Armenian landscapes that appeared to stretch out into an infinite horizon, sunk the hook in even deeper.

In early March, after a few weeks of price watching, I bought my ticket to Armenia on Aeroflot airlines, with a layover in Moscow. That final moment after entering all of your credit card information, in which all that lies between you and what may either be the time of your life, or a vacation from hell, is the click of an HTML button that says "Buy Ticket", can be a harrowing one. Because you know that by clicking that button, you are essentially thrown into a contractual obligation with yourself to be someplace far away, at a certain time in the future, no matter what happens between now and then, and no matter what you find out about that place before you have to actually get on a plane and go there. But that click can also be a moment of exhilaration, one that fuels your daydreams, that injects your mundane life with childlike anticipation, and gives you something to finally look forward to. It can be a click that sets into motion some sort of life changing experience that will leave you in a state of constant reminiscence, forever thirsting for more. In that final moment, without trepidation, I clicked. And I can say now with confidence that I'm sure as hell glad I did.



* ** ***

**** Ironically enough, and against the wishes of Queen Elizabeth, the Ottoman Empire sent monetary aid and three ship loads of food (which the English attempted to block) to help Ireland.

Happy New Year?

2009 was a bit strange. I lost my job, moved to New York, met some new friends, rejoined some old. Thinking back, it's just a blurry wash of people's faces, shitty weather, and still-image memories passing before my mind's eye.

Being unemployed will do that to you.

But it's surprising how quickly some things change, in ways you'd never expect them to. In fact almost always in ways you never expect. I don't think the first two months of 2009 and the last two could have been anymore at contrast with the middle eight than they ended up being. The details aren't important, but 2009 was pretty much a load of soft and tasty egg salad nestled between two painfully stale pieces of pumpernickel. And once you eat it, it's gone.

And perhaps even more unsettling than looking back on a year gone by, is wondering what's to come in the next. Will you find love, success, good health - or will you lose it? Within the next twelve months, our questions will inevitably be answered, and we'll find our selves looking back on it all again, and in turn, wondering about the future.

With all of this weighing on my mind, on New Years Day I headed to Chinatown to have dinner with a friend. We went to Joe's dumpling place, or whatever, which is supposed to have the best dumplings in town. The waiter was terse and in quite a hurry when taking our order. Then be brought the fried rice and two orders of dumplings that we asked for, along with some other mystery dish that we didn't order. I tell the waiter we didn't order this particular dish and he started raising his voice in disagreement. I remained adamant that there must have been a misunderstanding with our order. He makes a clicking sound with his tongue and stomps off. He brings back a menu to try and convince me that we had indeed ordered the mystery dish by pointing to it on the menu, almost yelling at this point, in the intimately crowded dining room of Joe's dumpling tourist trap. All eyes were upon us. I simply maintained that there must have been a misunderstanding, which in any other restaurant would not have been met with such impudence. I decided to wait for the check before taking further action, but by this time I was raging inside and had lost my appetite. It just really made a very unpleasant experience out of what should have been an enjoyable dinner.

Not five minutes after stepping out of Joe's dumpling hell hole, I started to feel that all too recognizable gurgle in my lower intestinal tract. After foolishly failing to heed the warning signs, I realized that this was the real deal and frantically started to look for someplace in Soho that was open and had restroom. Suddenly there was a clearing, and rising from it, a Korean grocery store shining brilliantly in the viridescent light. I made it just in time. But I ended up sitting at the eat-in cafeteria there for an hour until I was sure my stomach had settled.

It was definitely time to go home. I got a seat on the 6 train and just moments before getting off, this guy standing directly in front of me attempted a hand-switch with his large coffee, and at just the moment when an object passing between two hands is at it's most vulnerable, the train jolted, which sent his coffee flying ass-over-teat directly in front of me, spraying me with coffee literally from head to toe (as a woman screamed dramatically). So coffee boy doesn't even say anything, but runs to the other end of the train. Great.
I felt utterly defeated, afraid of what humiliating situation I would be subjected to next. I was also struck with the notion that this may simply be a foreshadowing of what the new year has in store for me. I was worried in a way that I'm usually not.

I woke up the next morning still afraid. But in the shower, I was mulling over the previous night's occurrences and I started to realize something.
The service at Joe's was really shitty, but without even having to complain further, the guy actually ended up not charging us for the mystery dish, or the Tsing Tao he never bothered to bring me.
And although I was sprayed with coffee, and it was embarrassing, most of it actually ended up on the floor of the train, and probably on coffee boy. I was able to blot most of it up with a tissue before any stains set in.
And...I didn't shit my pants!

A wave of relief came over me - I had actually been quite lucky after all. Things could have been much worse, but I had only seen the misfortune that fell upon me, and not the misfortune I was actually spared. So I'm making this experience my theme for 2010. If you're yelled at by a Chinese waiter, some guy spills coffee on you, and you still don't shit your pants - it's been a fairly decent day. But seriously, I need to get some stuff done this year.

Worst. Blog. Ever.

Somehow I knew it would come to this. My exploration into the outer reaches of the blogosphere lasted all of six posts! Like many an impulse that has fallen by the wayside, I forsook it upon simply loosing the desire to continue. Not unlike the cello lessons I begged my parents for as a teenager - abandoned soon after discovering that the cello is in fact a terribly heavy and cumbersome instrument. Not unlike the time I was convinced that seiza style zen meditation was going to change my life and make me a much more agreeable person, only to give it up three days into the onset. Oh the painful onset. And not unlike the time I embarked on a trek to eat cheeseburgers across America, only making it as far as Hackensack, New Jersey.

And now here I am, two years later and a world away, crawling back to you on my knees, begging for your attention once again. Do I come hither, arms outstretched, bearing lush tales of exploits in the Far East? No. Rather I return to you a broken and humble man. A mere shadow of the man who once regaled you with whimsical narratives of clumsy old ladies and scholastic Pauly Shore references. 'Tis I, though you may barely recognize me. For I am no longer nestled among the thick and cozy cushiony context of being a student in Japan - the very thing that spurred my initial foray into weblogging and which, but for a short time, made me a mildly interesting person.

Allow me to briefly recap the last two years of my life...

When we left off, I was in Japan, and it had been brought to my attention that I had overlooked a major contract stipulation regarding my living arrangements, whereupon I took lodging in a "guest house" located in a bustling Tokyo suburb not far from the city center. From that day on, life was good I must say, which accounts for my neglect to actually sit down and write about it. This is all I will divulge of that period now, though I may be cajoled into delving into greater detail about my days there in the future. For now, allow me to simply bring you up to date. Upon returning to the States I was in a bit of a state of shock. After some readjustment, and with the help of a few friends, I was back on track at my final semester at university and back to work for the same company I had been employed at before I left for Japan.

Upon graduating in the Spring of 2008, which was no small feat considering the circumstances, (again I won't go into great detail, but the phrase "by the skin of my teeth" comes to mind) I decided to make an attempt at finding a job in Japan. I pursued three opportunities. The first, an interview in Toronto, Ontario with a company that has schools in Japan that teach English to children. Not only children, but they actually have classes for infants, and even pregnant mothers, with babies inside of them! The meat and potatoes of the interview consisted of a role-play lesson in which I, the teacher, had five minutes to devise a lesson plan and was then judged on my ability to teach it to the student, in this case, a grown woman, acting like seven year old girl. Not only did my very non-outgoing personality lend poorly to this situation, but the vague eroticism of it all was very distracting. I did not get the job.

The second opportunity: The Boston Career Forum. That's right, it's October, that time of year when hoards of suit clad, soon to be Japanese graduates converge on the Boston Convention center to look for a job that will undoubtedly dictate the course of their lives. I managed to land an interview with Bandai, the toy company. It was in Japanese, and I must admit I had a bit of difficulty discussing things that were completely unrelated to food, booze or pillow talk. However, I did manage to land a second interview for later that day, which didn't go quite as well. I did not get the job.

The third opportunity: JET. JET is the Holy Grail of jobs for foreigners in Japan. It's a government run employment program that places people from English speaking countries into primary schools all across Japan to be English Teaching Assistants. It pays very well, flight cost is covered, rent is covered, transport to and from work is covered, and they offer health insurance. Needless to say, it's a very competitive program and the application process was extremely arduous and time consuming. I submitted it in November '08 and had an interview by the end of February '09. The interview went well, because I was actually offered the job in March! If this event had taken place just a month or two earlier, I probably would be writing a much more interesting weblog entry right now, from Japan. You would probably be enjoying it.

However, a series of events took place for which there is no need to get into at this time. The stars were aligned, if you will, and I chose to gratefully decline the position I was offered, and instead moved to Brooklyn, NY, where I have been since May, and where I write to you now, on my bed, in my humble 7x7 bedroom.

The events of the past which I have described to you are, for the most part, inconsequential to what I may write in the future, but are intended to give a little context to the garbled words that from this day forward will leave my mouth, enter my ears, travel through my brain tubes and exit my fingers in the form of hasty key strokes. I have, in the past, expressed my doubts and reservations regarding the intrinsically self-absorbed, narcissistic nature of weblogs. (see first post) But here I am telling you that...on a weblog. Ironic, isn't it? I feel it's audacious to even assume that someone is reading this. But all qualms aside, or momentarily brushed under a nearby rug and out of sight, I feel compelled to write, so write I will.

It Just Wasn't Funny

I had to give a PowerPoint presentation in class last week about the Supreme Command for the Allied Powers' post World War II policies regarding the energy industries of Japan and their effects on the recovering economy.
I read the slide, shown below, explaining the actions of Edwin Pauley, the United State's Representative to the Allied Reparations Committee, regarding reparations in front of the class and added, with a deadpan expression on my face, "...essentially weasing the juice."

The class' reaction leads me to think at least one of the following assumptions to be true:

1) My classmates are dry, humorless, overly career oriented, brainiacs who were probably too absorbed in the actual historical substance of the information on the slide to notice the ridiculousness of it.
2) They simply don't know me well enough to know how to react to something like that.
3) I now know what it's like to date myself in front of a room full of ignorant teenagers.
4) It just wasn't funny.

I'm going to have to go with the robust combination of 2, 3 and 4.




In other news - I'm moving to a place called Kichijoji in Tokyo on August first. It turns out that the contract for my current living situation expires at the end of July. Somehow I managed to miss this, though it was mentioned various times on several different official type documents.

One of Those Days

I only had one class today until 12:30, so I putzed around in the computer lab for a while after and then went to Starbucks to study Japanese. That's right, Starbucks! You got a problem with that? Except they just call it "SUTABA" here, so it's OK.
It's near my school and there's always a place to sit. Moreover, they tend to play decent study music music (ie: The Bob Marley/Lee Perry sessions, but today was all Motown) and I've worked up a somewhat of a rapport with the staff where I start to order, stumble, and then they finish the sentence for me with a huge smile. There's something messed up about speaking Japanese that's actually Italian. See what happens when YOU order a "gurande aisu kyarameru mokito ". It tends not to roll off the tongue so easily. Then again, maybe that's a good thing.

After that, I walked to Shinjuku for a stop at Yodobashi, the self proclaimed largest camera store in the world. Really it's more than just cameras, but the store is located in a number of adjacent buildings. It's funny to look at the customers perusing the selection at Yodobashi. I don't know why really, but I guess when I see someone looking at camera stuff it makes me think that we all have this secret camera life. You just have to wonder what all these people are taking photos of. And the fervor with which some of these suit-clad middle aged men are testing high priced cameras with tends to lead the imagination into directions one would rather not discuss on a web log.

On the train ride home I watched as this poor old woman tripped over the step up into the train and fell flat on her face. I mean really flat on her face. A bunch of people ran to her aid as she kept doing the ol' "touch nose, look at hand as to make sure not bleeding" routine. Fortunately there was no blood coming from her nose, but a nasty gash on her shin left a nice trail of blood from the spot where she fell to the seat someone had offered her. There was a crowd of people around her as the doors closed and the train sped away to the next station. A woman took a handkerchief and tied it around her leg where the blood was coming from. At the next stop, someone who was getting off anyway helped her off and the train station attendants brought a wheel chair and quickly mopped up the blood so as not to cause a delay in service. Everyone was so concerned, and the train staff so helpful and efficient... So I'm just wondering how that would have played out on the train in Boston...?

So when I got home I checked my mail, and to my utter surprise, I had received an email from my university saying that ALL CLASSES are canceled next week due to a measles outbreak...
Hey, I was under the impression that Japan was one of the developed countries in Asian...
So I'll be heading out west as of tomorrow for a little vay-cay.
Japan and I need some alone time...

I Heart Japanese Toilets

Yes, yes it's been a while. I can sum up what I would have written during the past month, had I the time, by saying - Japan is good. I've never been a man of very many words, anyway. But here's a tip, my photo page is updated more frequently.

Classes are going well. Campus is like a zoo, a very fashionable zoo. No more sitting in class behind the girl wearing pajamas or the dude in a fleece with nasty cat hair all over it.
Thursdays and Mondays are Japanese Religion, Japanese Language and Japanese Business history - from 9:15 to 3:00. On Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday I have just one hour and a half long Japanese language class at 11:00, though I usually stick around campus to do homework for a while after.

I've also joined "Photo Club". University clubs, or "circles" are an important aspect of Japanese university life. They help students make friends, relieve stress, and are basically an excuse to get loaded with 20 or 30 like-minded people. Many clubs are sports oriented and other are for hobbies or interests. My favorite is FOLK SONG CLUB, which is described in the clubs list as follows:

"Hello, we are Folk Song Club. But we do not play folk song; we play Rock almost of our time. We organize bands with our member and play songs of favorite artists. If you want to enjoy playing Rock with us, come on and join us!"

Endearing...
Photo club meets once a week and has access to dark room facilities. We've only had one "nomikai" (drinking party) so far which took place at a Japanese style bar and then culminated with the cramming of 20 people into a tiny karaoke room, all of whom were chanting "take it off, take it off!" in Japanese.

I finally got around to taking pictures of my place. I guess the house is relatively old, but I'm not sure how old. Space is at a premium all over Japan, so homes are basically squeezed into whatever space is possible, are very boxy and sometimes have three stories. My place is pretty tiny. It's two stories, and can't be over a thousand square feet. It's interior is pretty traditional, which means tatami straw floors, sliding doors and paper screen windows.


See http://www.flickr.com/photos/unbdaveable for photos from the last month...

Delta 55, Rochester to Tokyo via Atlanta

After receiving a thankful bow from someone driving in a car that I let pass today, I think it finally sunk in that I'm actually here.

I arrived three days ago via a connecting flight from Atlanta, which would explain the Jeff Foxworthy fan club in the customs line ahead of me. And if they were allowed to enter the country, my student VISA and I sure as hell weren't going to be turned away. Sure enough, I was not asked a single question, but simply allowed to pass through customs and baggage inspection unmolested.

I was greeted by a student from my university, my personal monitor, who was holding up a card with my full name on it, including middle. She took me to my home where I met my roommate's parents. He was at work so he asked them to receive me. They're very nice, as is their son, my roommate.

The second day I had an orientation at my university.
Check in was at 2:30...

Me: I'm here for the exchange student orientation.
staff: OK, this is it.
Me: Are you sure? (looking around) Is this orientation or an anime convention?
staff: Well...little of both?

Naaah, just kidding. Everyone seems pretty nice...and young. And with the exception of the girl sitting next to me who was intently reading manga written in Japanese, and then later filled out a form stating that she had never studied Japanese before, anime zeal was, for the time being, suppressed.
And I met two dudes from Boston college, but had trouble joining in their discussion regarding the pluses and minuses of living on campus your senior year.
While on campus, I checked out one of the school cafeterias. I was very pleased with what I saw. kakiage, kitsune soba, curry rice, just to name a few dishes. And for an average price of about $2.00.

After orientation I headed over to Ueno park to meet Norie for some night time flower viewing, or "hanami", which this park is famous for. The cherry trees around Tokyo started blossoming last week, which means that, for Japanese people, it's time to party. On a given day while the trees are in bloom, a company office will send its lowest ranking member to the park early in the day in order to lay down a tarp which reserves a space for everyone else who will join him after work ends, at which time the drink, and the portable karaoke, will be plentiful.
However, on this night, with the exception of a few die-hards, the cherry blossom revelers were few, as the temperature dropped to a chili 40-something degrees. But there were still quite a few people simply walking through the park, enjoying the sakura blossoms.
After that, we headed to a near by izakaya where I enjoyed my first proper Japanese meal since I've arrived.

Today I went back to my university for the Japanese placement test, which will determine what classes I can take. It went well, but my kanji is a bit weak.
From there I came back to Funabashi and made a trip to city hall where I applied for an "Alien Registration Card". In order to open a bank account or buy a cell phone, it's necessary to have one.
I then went on a long long walk trying to get from funabashi station to higashi-funabashi station, near my house. I think I'll have to check the ol' Google Earth again, cause I got pretty lost (see web log name). Much of my journey was accompanied by warm air and sunshine, which suddenly turned into a freezing cold gale and a thunderstorm with sleet, as seen in the photo below. I was kind of in the middle of nowhere, without an umbrella, so I got pretty wet, but soon found my way to...the same station at which I started, where I took a train one stop to my home station and bought an umbrella at a convenience store for the walk home, where a hot bath was calling my name.