The look on the clerk’s face at the main branch of UBS in the middle of Zurich when I asked her if I could buy Armenian dram was priceless. «No dear, that currency isn’t even traded in Switzerland» she replied. I bought Euros instead.
After getting out of the airport in Yerevan, I was immediately surrounded by a gang of taxi drivers. A better option would’ve been to order a taxi through the Yandex app. But I didn’t have internet at that time yet, and wanted to get to the hostel as soon as possible. It was 4 a.m. local time, combined with the time difference to central Europe, it meant I didn’t get much sleep that night.
We weren’t driving for long before we almost hit a stray dog wandering through the middle of the road. The whole ride I attentively watched how the taxi driver and other cars behave. It was a valuable lesson as I had planned to rent a car and drive through the country on my own. The road markings were either non-existent, washed out, or covered in dust, drivers would drive wherever they pleased. Thankfully that behaviour was not foreign to me anymore, and I knew I’d be able to cope with it.
On first sight, the country didn’t seem as poor as I had expected. The streets were decently clean, the buildings not crumbling, most cars in reasonable shape. But I was in the capital, home of 35% of Armenias population, the economic center of the country. That skews everything.
First thing I did after unpacking in the hostel was to get a SIM card. After that, walk through the city to get my bearings. The city centre isn’t big, takes only about half hour to cross on foot.
In early morning hours the city was quiet except for a few drunken people torkling through the streets. Only after about 10 a.m. the city slowly began to come alive and stayed so well into the night. Even toddlers were running around the parks long time after the sun had set.
Temperatures during the day would sometimes raise to uncomfortable levels, and that made me seek one of the many cafes. They are all nicely decorated and invite you to sit down, take a break, grab a snack, pull out your laptop and work for a bit while you enjoy the shade from the scorching sun.
The cafes in Yerevan are well prepared for digital nomads. Most tables have at a socket nearby and WiFi is plenty fast. The amount of young people I saw working from cafes was astounding. Who needs a coworking space if you can sit outside, in a nice cafe? Maybe in the dead of winter when temperatures drop to negative degrees celsius. In September though, it was still comfortably warm.
Outside of Yerevan cafes were few and far between. I had to get creative and work from communal benches, next to babushkas watching over my shoulders, on children’s playgrounds, or gas stations. My job doesn't require me to sit in front of a computer all day, so when attending meetings I would often not even use my laptop, let alone sit in one place. I’d dial in from my phone and stroll through cities or forests.
I was not even 24 hours in Yerevan before I thought to myself: this is a really nice city, I could very well imagine living here. But something didn’t add up. The average monthly wage is about 200’000 dram (420 USD). And yet the prices in Yerevan were high enough that it was hard for me to imagine living on that wage. So I wondered what life would look outside the capital. I would soon find out, because for the rest of my stay in Armenia I had a car.
Only three nights I had pre-booked, at the lovely Debed Co-living & Workation House. Other than that, I was free to stay wherever I wanted. My rough plan was to cover the country clockwise. Starting in Yerevan, first night below the Mount Aragats peaks, then north to Lake Sevan, Dilijan, Vanadzor, Dsegh, then around Lake Sevan, down to Kapan, all the way to Meghri on the Armenia-Iran border, then back towards the north-west through Areni, Artashat, Garni before heading back to Yerevan. In the end I had two extra days left so I extended my round trip to Gyumri, the second largest city in Armenia, located in the west of the country.
As soon as I drove out of the city, I immediately noticed a huge amount of litter, unlike anything I’ve seen before. Even in secluded locations, far away from civilization I found trash. And I don’t mean trash that has been blown there by wind (such as various pieces of light plastic), I mean trash that people have thrown away there at the very spot. A triple-A battery discarded on the slopes of Mount Aragats, miles away from the nearest village, or an aluminium can hundreds of meters off of the trail through the Angels Canyon. Trash bins in the middle of cities were overflowing, the trash scattered for meters in all directions around them. It was like of people didn’t care at all, were not even bothered by it.
The day I picked up my car, I slowly made my way towards Lake Kari, which is the starting point for ascending Mount Aragats. I stopped at the Hovhannavank and Saghmosavan monasteries, as well as the Armenian Alphabet Monument along the way.
A few hundred meters on a small hill above the Armenian Alphabet Monument I saw a huge iron cross. Wondering what it is, I started walking towards it. On my way I met a lone shepherd. As I pointed towards the cross he called off the dogs that were guarding his sheep.
On my way back I met the shepherd once again and tried to converse. Armenian is the official language of the people, but a large fraction also speaks Russian. Unfortunately I still don’t, so hand gestures and Google Translate had to suffice. This much I understood: he was from the village about 5km from where we were standing (explains the horse I had seen earlier), and asked whether I had visited all the monasteries along the Kasakh gorge (Christianity plays an important role in the Armenian culture), which I answered with да. To his question where I was staying I had to look up the Russian word for tent – палатка.
All roads in Armenia, even major highways, can be anything between «the asphalt is still steaming hot» to «has potholes larger that the radius of a car tire». I was glad I had a SUV, as I can’t imagine driving a compact car on such roads. Though evidently it is possible. I saw lots of second-hand Mercedes. And Ladas of all ages. The newer models such as Niva seemed very popular and well suited for the type of roads I was seeing.
I arrived at Lake Kari at around 5 p.m. After packing my backpack I started hiking towards the eastern peak of Mount Aragats. It’s the lowest and most accessible of the four peaks. The trail to it is easy, first half is through meadows with just a gentle incline, the second part over rocky terrain. Even though it is not marked, it’s well treaded and thus easy to follow. The hike to the top and back can be made comfortably as a day trip from Yerevan.
About half way through my ascend dusk started to set. The next morning I first climbed the eastern peak, where I arrived at half past seven. My next goal was the northern peak. The trail to it is neither marked nor visible in the landscape. It traverses the crater between the peaks which has sections full of huge boulders where it’s impossible to leave lasting footprints. Adding to that, not many people ascend the northern peak as it’s difficult to do in one day and requires camping on the mountain. I was glad for my smartphone, GPS, and offline maps to show me the way. But those tools aren’t strictly required. Unless clouds are low enough to cover the view across the crater, you should be able to make out a path towards the peak without any help. At half past 11 I was standing at the top.
For the way back I had two options: go back the same way I came, or take another route. I chose the second. While I’m glad to have made that choice, it meant descending and ascending hundreds of additional meters. It was more than I had bargained for, but I was rewarded with beautiful views of an untouched landscape.
It was already 6pm when I got back to my car, and I still had to get to my planned to camp that night at the foot of Gutansar. It was already dark when I finally got there. Driving at night was not too bad, I never felt in real danger. It was grueling though. There are no street lights, and few cars have working head- and taillights. Fewer still turn them on.
The next morning just after sunrise I hiked to the top of Gutansar. It peaks only at around 200m above the surrounding terrain, but offers a nice view in all directions. On a clear day you can see Yerevan and Mount Ararat behind it. The day I was there haze had covered most of the Aras Valley and Mount Ararat was barely discernible.
Lake Sevan is the largest lake in Armenia and one of the largest freshwater, high-altitude lakes in Eurasia. It was Saturday, and warm enough to swim in the lake, but only a few families came to the lake and were having a picnic.
My first stop at the lake was at what looked on Google Maps as a nice, secluded beach. It wasn’t nice, it was covered in litter. Shortly after I arrived two young boys on horses and their herd of cattle joined me. I offered them some Toblerone I brought from Switzerland. They accepted without saying much. A few minutes later I spotted the packaging of the Toblerone in between the other bits of litter. That left me speechless, and reluctant to offer any more of the chocolate to anyone. I didn't want to be responsible for introducing even more trash into the nature as there already was.
Just east of Sevan (the village) on the shores of Sevan (the lake) are what looks like private beaches. Most have shelters, containers repurposed as houses, makeshift playgrounds, fire pits etc. During summer these places function as beach bars. I was hoping they’d still be open, but in September they were all abandoned. The beaches were still decent enough that I decided to pitch my tent on one of them.
Roadside vendors were plentiful, selling local produce. Fruits, vegetables, wine in regions that grow grapes. But there was one particular item that I often saw being sold which did not make sense to me at first: firewood.
Soon I realized why. Scattered all across the country - even in almost unreachable places - are privately build picnic sites. The simpler ones consist of two stone slabs, one as table the other one to sit on, and a fire pit. Most have a freshwater spring nearby. Many have a roof above the table. Because Christianity plays a big role in the Armenian culture, there is often a stone cross or some other Christian symbol next to it. Some are built in honor to a relative or friend, and the stone acts more as a tombstone.
People use any occasion as reason to pack some vegetables, meat, lavash, and of course vodka, drive to one of these places and have a good time. Neither time of day nor day of week matters. Monday 2pm or Sunday after dusk, any time.
And that’s why they need firewood.
My next stop after Lake Sevan was Dilijan, a small town in the middle of the Dilijan National Park. I found a trail up Mount Andzavabatsat that was described as «hard», so I only prepared to summit it and then go back down again. It wasn’t that hard and I reached the top much earlier than expected, so I continued deeper into the mountains. In the end I made it all the way to Arevlyan Ayrikar (2767m).
On my way back down a farmer gave me a lift as he was bringing cheese down to sell in Dilijan. Because I saw a sign waning about bears, I asked if there were any. He said that he had just recently seen a mama bear with two cubs. To my rhetoric question whether they are dangerous he just gestured a giant paw.
Dilijan doesn’t seem like much, but is actually a pretty nice town. Its location in the middle of the national park makes it a perfect base to explore the surrounding mountains. If I had more time I’d stay in Dilijan for longer.
A newly built complex in the west of Dilijan caught my eyes. Upon closer inspection I found out it’s UWC Dilijan, an international college built in 2014. It wasn’t the only youth or education related facility I saw in the northern provinces. The other one was the COAF SMART Center near Debet. Given how remote and poor the regions are, they offer a remarkable amount of modern education options for its youth. Most of the financial support is coming from a wealthy individuals, philantropists, or the diverse Armenian diaspora in the US or Europe.
Dsegh lies on a plateau above the Debed canyon. The village is surrounded by the canyon on three sides, and hills on one. Hidden behind the slope of one of the hills is the Tsover Lake. Getting to it is only possible over an unremarkable, unpaved road. And so I was surprised to find so many people there - on a Monday afternoon, at 4pm. There was even a bar, with nice outside seating. This is a place surely only locals know, as looking at a map doesn’t reveal any of that.
I was still getting used to what kind of roads people were willing to travel across to get to these places. Most tourists probably wouldn’t think of going down that road and discard it as an agricultural access road or something similar. It was a lesson for me: to not take the appearance of the roads as indication what beauty may lie at the end of them.
Soon after I arrived an autumn thunderstorm passed over our heads and everyone has gone home. I was left alone. Later in the evening I was joined by some young folks who had the same idea as me, to camp by the lake. They came after sunset, pitched their tents, started a fire and stayed for the night.
Armenian people are very friendly. They won’t hesitate to offer help, or food, or shots of clear distilled alcoholic beverage. It’s their culture. I would often stop by the side of a road, get out of the car and just look around. Or roam through a village to stretch my legs and snap a few pictures. Many times people approached me and asked if I’m lost. Or I was even invited to follow them to their home because I looked hungry, offered a seat at their dining table and served food. Something like that just wouldn’t happen in Western Europe.
Their warmth is contrasted by fear. Some people I've talked to expressed genuine fear of being exterminated by their enemies in the ongoing conflict with Azerbaijan. I knew about the conflict, but western media rarely reports on details of conflicts that seem tangential at best. Talking with locals gives you a whole other picture. Unfiltered. Raw. Emotional.
It was at first unbelievable to think that someone could have that fear. But Armenians have survived one genocide not too long ago, and genocides are still happening all across the world. It’s not beyond my imagination that the next one could be happening right at the doorsteps to Europe. I'm aware that what I experienced is just one side of a two-sided conflict. Still, that dosen't diminish what I saw and heard.
For the first two weeks, I didn’t really notice the conflict. Except for the one guest in the hostel in Yerevan who told me he just recently left the compulsory military service during which he was active fighting in the Nagorno-Karabakh region. And then there were the three older men I met on a hike in the hills above Debet, one of whom showed me bullet wounds sustained on that day almost a year ago. That would’ve been right at the very beginning of the Second Nagorno-Karabakh War that started on September 27, 2020. A quick glance at my watch revealed that I’d be near that region exactly one year later.
There is no point in trying to get far away from the conflict zone. Armenia is a tiny country, there are few places from which you don’t see at least one of the borders with its surrounding neighbours. Two of these neighbours are their enemies. Taking photos where the border is visible at all is not a good idea, particularly not if you at some point get detained by the military. But it’s almost inevitable (the taking photos of the border, it’s definitely avoidable getting detained by the military). Any direction you point your camera to has a good chance that a border will be visible.
I didn’t plan on being detained. But it happened. 18 hours later I had all my belongings again and was free to go. That episode left me with mixed feelings. The situation itself was tense, at times I had no idea what was happening around me or what would happen the next minute. Spending the evening and following morning in an office at a military base, surrounded by a half a dozen officers and a translator was a whole level up from being stuck at a police station in Kyrgyzstan for two hours.
The soldiers who first detained me were super friendly though, I have no complaints there. They were strict, firm, but offered me tea, coffee, sweets, and even asked if I’m hungry and want to eat. That contrast was uncanny. The mix of them forcing me to sit in a car for two hours, not even allowing me to stretch my legs, but then turning around and bringing me tea and chocolate. Or telling me in no uncertain terms not to smile because at one point their incompetence made the whole situation too funny for me not to, but then insisting on me having some biscuits before we embark on our way from the border post to the military base in the province capital.
The sweets were good, as is to be expected everywhere in the former Soviet Union countries. I wish I brought some back.
Most people in Armenia don’t speak English. That also applied to the soldier who was driving my car that evening. By that time it’s been a while since I was able to relieve myself the last time, and the ample cups of tea and coffee didn’t help my situation. The language barrier was making it really difficult for me to ask him to stop the car by the side of the road so I could have a piss. No amount of English, German, or Czech words seemed to do the trick. His reply was always that there will be someone in the place we were heading to who speaks English and can translate. I couldn’t wait that long. A few hand gestures towards my groin region made him finally understand.
I still remember standing by the side of the road for what seemed like 5 minutes, staring at the clear sky. For a brief moment in time I forgot what serious situation I was in.
The officers all felt a bit disorganized, as if they didn’t know what to do with me. And what they were doing was glaringly wasteful, there was little common sense to be seen in their actions. When their investigation was over, no more questions to ask, no more WhatsApp messages to go through, no more pictures to delete, I told them they it could’ve been all over in an hour if they didn’t waste that much time. I don’t think they expected me to be so bold and give them feedback, negative feedback specifically.
Their response was that I should be happy it was over so quickly, that usually it takes longer. And that they were not as cruel as Azerbaijan, they didn’t detain me indefinitely. A reference to russian blogger Aleksandr Lapshin who was jailed and almost murdered by Azerbaijan. It was like saying «We’re not as bad as North Korea, we didn’t kill you». A pretty fucking low bar to have, comparing yourself with the worst of the worst on this earth.
Since they got my address, I asked them whether I will receive a postcard from them. They just laughed at me. Well, there’s a parcel on its way, packed with five pounds of Swiss chocolate. I hope I got the address right since they didn’t give me theirs.
That’s what good friends do.
We’re friends now, right?
Right… ?
From Debet Canyon I continued clockwise around Lake Sevan. The beaches were empty, bars closed. I have not seen anyone except another shepherd climbing the slopes of Mount Artanish.
Interest in sustainable energy production can be seen everywhere. The large commercial photovoltaic power plant north of Mount Artanish was just one of many signs. I’ve also seen many private photovoltaic installations, and most houses outside of larger cities have solar water heaters on the roofs.
There aren’t many train tracks in Armenia. Most seem for industrial use, or have long been abandoned. Despite that I was always cautious when crossing tracks. Then one train almost hit me. Incidentally the only working train I ever saw in Armenia. While crossing a track near Vardenis I looked to my right and saw the front face of a locomotive not more than 100 meters away, approaching with decent speed. A prompt slam on the gas pedal took me out of immediate danger. The encounter left me strangely unaffected, and I continued along the southern shore of Lake Sevan in direction of Martuni.
Waste disposal is only available in larger cities, and so most throw their trash into a ditch behind their village. In regions where waste disposal services are not available, and environmentally responsible people go to lengths to transport their waste to the provincial capital, so that it is not left out for nature to deal with, end up doing something illegal. In the eyes of the law they are disposing the waste in another district and that is not allowed. The whole situation is bonkers, the government doesn’t provide any means for proper waste disposal, and if people want to do it themselves they risk being punished.
There also didn't seem to be any effort in trying to cut down on the waste they produce. In every shop I was given a single-use plastic bag, even if I bought just two items. They looked at me in disbelief when I told them I'd carry the few items in my bare hands.
There seems to be zero interest in the general population for solving that environmental issue. I can imagine if children grow up in such an environment it all seems natural to them and nothing to worry about.
Mount Armaghan is one of those seemingly uninteresting mountains that when you look closer at are worth visiting. It is located to the south of Martuni, off of the road that leads to Getap. The peak offers a nice view in all directions, has a church at the top (if you’re into that), a building on the shores of the lake in the middle of the crater that offers shade and a few tables to sit at, and the obligatory fire pit. Unfortunately in late autumn the crater lake was dried up. In spring or summer when water is plentiful it surely is a nice place to spend the day.
Getting to the top was a challenge. Even though Google Maps shows a road to the top, it’s one of those dirt roads that’s only suitable for off-road vehicles. I had a SUV, but still there were sections where two of its four wheels were half a meter above ground. Dirt roads get washed out during rains, and it was common that dirt roads would split and I’d be presented with multiple choices how to continue. I had to choose wisely.
I was lucky to make it all the way to the top. On my way down I met a couple who had to park their car half-way up the mountain because their car couldn’t make it past one particular section which required 4WD and high ground clearance.
The Vardenyats Mountain Pass to the south of Mount Armaghan marks the border between the Gegharkunik Province in the north and Vayots Dzor Province in the south. Standing at the top of the pass, the view opens up to a long and all year round green valley in the south. The very southern end of the valley connects to the main corridor between Yerevan and the southern provinces. Half-way through descending into the valley I turned off the main road to visit the Smbataberd fortress.
As I was waiting for the sunset at the Smbataberd fortress, sitting alone on the high fortress walls, I heard two Czech voices. I didn’t reveal my knowledge of the language until one of them mentioned that he «can’t find it». Me being a naturally helpful creature asked – in czech – what it was that they were looking for. Whenever I do this, it’s almost always followed by «Sorry I didn’t understand you» (in english). Only after I repeat my question in czech they finally realize what’s happening.
They took a different approach to discovering Armenia. They rented a car and were trying to find as many geocaches as possible. It’s a neat idea, these caches are usually located in interesting places. Historically significant sites, natural monuments etc. They found the cache and a few minutes later were gone to race to the next one.
From Smbataberd I had two options how to continue to the south. Either along the main road through Sharon and Getap, or over a backcountry road through Karmrashen.
Before I left Switzerland I had studied the country using Google Maps satellite images. The area to the south-west of Karmrashen is distinctively flat and featureless, except for one clearly visible round mountain of volcanic origin just a few kilometres to the south-west of the village. Upon closer inspection I noticed that the mountain has a label and reviews, which indicates a frequently visited place. The pictures around that area looked nice, and so it landed on my favorites list. It was clear which way I’d continue.
Karmrashen was one of the poorest villages I saw in Armenia. A few old block houses from the 70s along the main street, farmhouses scattered around that, a few lonely cows, dogs barking from all sides, rusting farming equipment from the soviet era. Most houses seemed abandoned, except for the two apartments which were clearly still occupied as evidenced by the fresh laundry and green plants hanging from their balconies.
Not long after I stopped my white-with-a-thin-layer-of-dust Honda in the middle of the village, spread out my solar cells to charge my battery, and stepped out into the warming sun to attend our weekly company meeting, I noticed two children peeking at me. They were following me at a distance while I was listening to everyone else on my team explain what they were planning to do that week.
The people in the Karmrashen seemed poor, and the village itself is quite far from the next major city. Yet access to internet was spotless. 4G is almost omnipresent in Armenia. Only in very remote places I couldn’t get any signal. As long as I had a village in sight, there was a good chance that I'd also have access to internet.
And it was cheap! I paid 3000 dram (6.30 USD, 5.77 CHF, 5.41 EUR) for one month of unlimited 4G.
The only difference between Europe and Armenia in terms of internet quality I noticed was the increased roundtrip time to the US. It went up from ~150ms to ~250ms. This does not seem much, but some websites became remarkably slower. It made me appreciate developers who put in the effort not to waste their users bandwidth and time.
Vayots Sar is a round mountain of volcanic origin to the south-west of Karmrashen. The road to the top is steep. The SUV was struggling to climb the more than 15 degrees incline, but we eventually made it. The flats to the south-east, surrounded by mountain ranges on two sides form a corridor that directed my eyes towards Mount Ararat.
Later that evening another car joined me. A group of young Russian women with a guide drove up the mountain to enjoy the sunset. Their guide was the only one speaking English, and made sure to mention to me which ones of them are single.
They definitely had a better car than I, and the guide was surprised that the SUV I was driving made it all the way to the top. They also came better prepared, had a stove to brew fresh coffee, and the obligatory shots of alcoholic beverage.
The only other visitor we saw was a military helicopter that approached the mountain, circled once around, and then continued towards the east.
After Vayots Sar I drove to the south to join the main corridor and continue to the east. The Vorotan Pass, at 2350 meters above sea level, marks the border between Vayots Dzor and Syunik Provinces. A lone vendor was selling tea and fruits by the large soviet-era monument that spans both sides of the road at the highest point of the pass. I bought a few supplies for the road ahead.
The Syunik Province didn’t offer anything particularly interesting. It was distinctively colder than in the other provinces, but perhaps it was just a sign of autumn arriving in the country.
Few gas stations accept credit cards. Outside of Yerevan I came across just one, and the operator only reluctantly agreed. He also had trouble getting the payment terminal to work, an indication that it’s not used much. At gas stations that don’t accept credit cards I had to tell the operator how much I want to spend. At first I had no idea how many litres fit into the tank, let alone drams. Eventually I found out that for 20’000 dram I’d get between two thirds or three quarters of a tank. Gas definitely wasn’t cheap.
As I was driving through Shinuhayr I was running really low on gas and didn’t see any gas station ahead of me. I also didn’t want to drive 20km back to the nearest one that was indicated on my map. So I asked a guy standing besides one of the many car wash stations if he knew where to get gas. He pointed towards one of the side roads, and waved his hand to follow him. So I slowly drove behind him, 50 meters into the side road he stopped in front of a residential house with a makeshift car shop attached to it.
Out came a guy and asked how many litres I want. I glanced at my fuel level gauge and guessed that I’d need about 30. He disappeared into the house and came back out a minute later with a bucket and funnel. I understood that it’s about 10 litres. Two more buckets were brought and I handed over 15’000 dram. It wasn’t the best deal and I had no idea about the quality. But my tank was full again and the car didn’t give me any problems with that load of gas. All in all, I was a happy customer. On my way back through the town I tried to buy from him again, but he wasn’t home.
Most tourists only go as far as Halidzor, where they hop onto the Wings of Tatev – the longest reversible aerial tramway. For those only wanting to go to the Tatev monastery, the tramway is a better option than driving through the gorge, a few hundred meters down and up over tightly winding roads. I wanted to continue further to the south, to Kapan and beyond, so I skipped the tramway. Unfortunately during my crossing thick clouds had filled the gorge and couldn’t see much. I was hoping for a nicer weather on my way back.
Everywhere I went I felt watched. People were turning around to have a second look at me. As if they were seeing a ghost. Was it the first time they saw a tall, blonde man with long hair? My looks was indeed an outlier amongst the dark-haired population. I quickly got used to it. Looking differently is something I simply have to accept as someone traveling outside of Europe.
One thing I didn’t get used to was to have a personal shopping assistant almost every time I stepped into a grocery store. The stores work the same as in Europe: you take a basket, walk around and put stuff into the basket, before you leave the store you pay for all items in the basket at the counter. They either didn’t trust me to follow that well-established process, or they were curious what a lone westerner buys. Either way, one of the clerks would follow me and watch my every step. A smile every now and then reassured them that I’m still fine and don’t need any help.
Because many roads are unpaved and in autumn the weather was dry, dust quickly collected on the car. Yet most cars I saw on the roads were sparkling clean. That is because the country has more car wash stations than gas pumps. They are conveniently placed and easy to use. During the four weeks in the country I washed the car at least four times. A quick spray of foam, followed by a splash of water and the car looked like new. It took less than 10 minutes, and cost only a few hundred dram.
I doubt that the wastewater is treated in any way, most of the chemicals likely end up in rivers. Considering how aggressive the foam was in dissolving the dirt, I can’t imagine it being any good for the environment. What isn’t absorbed by the soil flows into the Aras river and eventually into the Caspian Sea.
In Kapan the first signs that I was nearing Iran were starting to show. Prices in hotels were written in both dram and in rial. And prices were also much lower: 10’000 dram for a night in a hotel really wasn’t much. The low prices were also reflected in the service quality, unfortunately. One evening at the hotel restaurant I picked a few items from the menu, only to be told that most of the dishes are not available. Neither were my backup choices. In the end, I had little to say in what I’d eat. At least borscht was available, I was really looking forward for that.
On the very south Armenia shares about 30km of border with Iran. Two roads lead from Kapan to the border. I took the western road down, in the hopes to take the eastern road back up to Kapan. Though I wasn’t sure if the eastern road was open for civilian traffic, Google Maps shows parts of it veering into Azerbaijan.
Armenia and Iran maintain friendly relations, and so a constant stream of trucks were crossing the border near Meghri. Spotting Iranian trucks was easy, their license plates are printed in Arabic script, black on yellow background.
I hadn’t planned to enter Iran, I wasn't allowed to drive there with my rental car anyway. And getting the visa would take a few days which I didn’t want to spend waiting at the border. I stayed one day in Meghri, and then continued back towards Kapan.
The other road from Meghri to Kapan first goes eastwards for about 10 km, hugging the Armenia-Iran border, then turns north. Shortly before the turn to the north I was stopped at a checkpoint. The soldier looked at my passport, then into the trunk of my car, and let me through. The only thing he told me is if I’m sure I want to go that way, because the road would have many curves. I wasn’t concerned by that at all.
As I was returning to the north, the weather hadn’t improved much, it was still wet and foggy. The whole region in the south – Syunik Province – appeared to have a peculiar climate. Mornings were often clear and in late afternoon clouds and fog started to push into the region from the north-east. At times the fog was so dense that I couldn’t see the road in front of the car. When looking at satellite images, I noticed that north and east facing slopes in that region are green, while the opposite slopes are barren. A constant push of moist air from the direction of the Caspian Sea would explain that.
The way back through the Syunik Province was unremarkable. I was happy to cross the Vorotan Pass once again, as the temperatures increased again the further to the west I going.
The slopes around the Areni are covered in vineyards, the town is known for its wine production. Every year they organize the Areni Wine Festival, unfortunately I missed it by one day. All wine factories offer tours which is just as good opportunity to get drunk.
Just east of Areni is the Areni-1 Cave, a significant archeological site from the Bronze Age, where the oldest oldest brain, shoe, and winery in the world have been found. The cave is right at the intersection where the road to the Noravank Monastery splits off of the main road. Most monasteries in Armenia look similar, they differ only by how well they have been restored. If you’ve seen two you’ve seen pretty much all there is to see. I as not religiously inclined person soon stopped visiting them, there simply are too many. The Noravank Monastery was one of the few that were on my list. It’s for sure one of the better preserved ones, and easy to get to.
The HIKEArmenia app was useful throughout my whole stay. Looking at the map view revealed a few clusters of trails in various regions. One around Dilijan, one along the Debed canyon, one to the east of Vayk, and a few more. I used these clusters to decide in which regions I should stay a bit longer.
The region around the Noravank Monastery has three different trails marked. I had planned to hike one of them the day I was detained. That hiking in Armenia could be dangerous never crossed my mind. The only real danger I was considering were wild animals, bears specifically. I did hear wolves during some nights, but they don’t pose any danger to humans. During the first couple minutes I was detained I briefly stepped a few meters off the road, and was immediately called back by the soldiers. Not because they thought I’d run away, as I first suspected, but because I was told that there could be landmines.
The potential of landmines near marked trails is something that the HIKEArmenia app failed to notify me about. I think it’s a rather important information to mention in the trail descriptions.
The landmines didn’t move me at all, figuratively and literally. But now as I’m writing down this story, thinking about it sends chills down my spine. I’m sitting in a safe place, a cafe in Zurich, people are walking in the streets, mindlessly, unconcerned about their every step. And there I was one wrong move away from being blown up in the air.
My way back to Yerevan led me through the town of Vedi, where I left the main road to go explore the Angel’s Canyon. Around Vedi are the last hills before the landscape opens up to reveal the Ararat plain surrounding the Aras river.
Perhaps the nicest historical building I saw up close was the Temple of Garni. It isn’t just the temple itself that is beautiful, but also its location, on the edge of a cliff. The sunset was stunning. No wonder the architects picked that particular location to build it. Both sides of the gorge below the temple are supported by huge walls of basalt columns which the locals aptly call «Symphony of the Stones».
I had been in Armenia a few weeks by that time first signs of winter started to show. Nights were colder, mountain peaks were covered in white.
The Ararat plain and Lake Sevan are separated by the Gegham Mountains. The highest point is Azhdahak at 3597 m above sea. Several trails lead into this area both from the north (Lake Sevan), and from the south (starting just behind Garni). Azhdahak was the last mountain I wanted to climb, but wasn’t sure whether I’d make it. It is usually done as a two day trip, as it lies some 20 kilometres behind the end of the paved road in Geghard. I decided to drive as far as the car would take me across the dirt roads, and walk the rest. I was lucky and barely made it across some pretty sketchy sections. Once I reached the snow limit and couldn’t drive any further, I parked my car and walked the rest on foot.
The view was so beautiful that I didn’t want to go back down. But I couldn’t stay on the mountain, I knew the night would get cold. As the sun was setting on that clear and calm night, the snow started to freeze. I love the sound frozen snow crunching beneath my feet. It was pitch black when I finally reached my car.
As the end was nearing, I calculated that I’d have two extra days, and so I extended my trip all the way to Gyumri, the second-largest city in Armenia. It lies about 100 km to the north-west of Yerevan, with Mount Aragats straight in the middle between the two. It is not a particularly interesting city, though it’s pretty decent place to work from. I didn’t have any trouble at all finding cafes and a hotel. The city has a similar vibe as Yerevan, even if it’s notably smallera
Even small villages have a well equiped childrens playground, or permanently installed amusement park. Often close to the city center. That sounds great, unfortunately many of the playgrounds and parks are in desolate condition. The equipment rusting and falling apart.
From Garni to Gyumri I took the road south of Mount Aragats, through Armavir, Karakert, Aragatsavan. For my way back from Guymri to Yerevan I took the road north of Mount Aragats, through Artik, Alagyaz, Aparan, and Kuchak.
My last night before returning to Yerevan I camped on the shores of the Aparan Reservoir. Temperatures during night dropped near zero and people started to heat their homes. The preferred heating technology in villages is «homemade biomass» (a fancy word for cow dung), which results in lots of smog during the evening hours, particularly if there is an inversion that keeps the dirty air trapped near the ground. The smell reminded me of my first days in Bishkek. I feel pity for the people who live there and can’t escape it. By the next morning the air was clean again.
From that location I saw a tall structure on the horizon. Upon closer look I recognized it as the giant iron cross I mentioned in the beginning. After only a few minutes of driving I reached it. I was on familiar group again, I had made a full circle around Armenia.
The rest of the day I spent driving back to Yerevan. I checked into a hotel and returned the car. The two last nights in Armenia were before me. I had a coffee with a friend who I met earlier in Debet and got some more tips about Armenia in case I ever return.
Flights to the west usually leave very early in the morning. It didn’t make sense to sleep that night, so after a lovely dinner we went to visit the local clubs in Yerevan. The clubs were packed with people. Like if COVID-19 had never reached Armenia.
A woman in the Calumet Ethnic Lounge Bar told me that she recognised me from some time earlier. I was surprised, but only slightly so. I was an outlier in this small country, after all.
My blackness calls me back.