Herachtutsyun

I'm famous, shamous!~ Yesterday, Vramshabou asked me if I wanted to come jam with him at Hussusayin Poghota, the busiest street in Yerevan. I said I'd pop by. After I spent the afternoon depitting a dzmeruk (watermelon), I grabbed my dhol, and half of the depitted, smirnoffed, balled watermelon, and joined the the gang. I came around 7 o'clock, they were already jamming for a bit. I came in and joined the fun. 

Then the funeral procession duo (some jerk-offs with a dhol and an accordion) came two benches away from us and drowned us with their depression songs. So we went further ahead settled and started playing again. Some girls asked to write an article about us, (although I felt more like it was an attempt to hang out with the beautiful VramTASTIK, then to actually write an article). As dusk approached, more people were passing by and we actually started gathering a crowd of a good 20-30 people. 

A lot of people were filming and taking pictures, a couple of em even posed with us. At about 11 o'clock, I had been playing for 4 hours, and had been needing to pee for 3. So I called it quits and left the guys to their jam. It was wild and fun and I love these guys. They're all up in my biz!

Nagorno-Kharabagh

NGK is the politically-challenged, war-torn region of Armenia. It is actually not even recognized by any country to be part of Armenia. They have their own capital, their own airport, a special passport and you need a visa to access it even from Armenia. But if a kharabagi goes abroad, he holds an Armenian passport. 

This is the region I travelled to this weekend. We took an AC-less marchoutka (a van) down to the mountainous region. The 12 hour journey, though sweatingly painful, was balanced by the incredible landscape 

When we arrived in NGK at 2200, we had a full meal followed by the local attraction tut'i oghi (trans: Mulberry Vodka). This liqueur is said to affect everyone differently. Michael told me that after one shot he felt drunk already, but this 60% alcohol spirit did not phase me after the Czech absinth I was downing in Prague. So me and the boys had a couple of shots of that bad boy. 

Still, it seemed crazy that 4 shots didn't get me drunk, it didn't even make me tipsy. I thought, maybe Revan was right, and my abused body suddenly got used to the substances. But that night I had a series of absurd, surreal, Guillermo-del-Toro inspired dreams. In my latest and clearest one, I had impregnated a woman, and I could see her stomach growing at a very high-pace (like the fast motions in Planet Earth). Then, when her womb held the fully developed fetus, I could see the baby's limbs as if the woman's stomach was made of some type of latex-like fabric. Her stomach's skin than faded and the baby was floating, with his back against the woman's closed up stomach. The background was a very dark –almost black shade of blue. Her stomach and the aura of the baby was blue, with what seemed to be cloud-like scarf around him.  The woman started floating, with the baby still floating against her stomach and they were going somewhere and then MY FUCKING ALARM went off and I lost them. 

This hauntingly beautiful image is engraved in my brain for what I can only hope to be long enough to develop the skill to accurately draw what my words fail to describe. I wish I had brought back a bottle of this enchanting vodka, so they could come back to me and I to them.

Դհոլ - Dhol

So, as you're read in the previous post, I bought a dhol... It's a double headed cylindrical drum used in Armenian music. Shit, that's pretty sick right?

Well, about 2 hours after I bought this baby, I joined my home dawgs Vramshabou and Mattevos in the park to go jam. Vram always plays guitar in the park, but that day, we all got together and created a weird blues ensemble. 

Because I am just generally not a very organized person, I left my dhol's case out in the open. And passer-bys started giving us money. heheh Cause we'z hot stuff yo!!

Unfortunately, I had to go do some volunteer work I had forgotten about, but the boys kept playing, and they ended up making a little less than 7,000 Drams each!! (about 20 some dollars).  

The pic is not my own personal dhol, but it look s a lot like it. I play mine with a thick paintbrush (that I also purchased at Vernissage), a teaspoon (to bang the side of the drum) and a wine glass to create a cowbell effect (that one I stole from Marco Polo heheheh). You're supposed to play it with just your hands in the armenian tradition, but the boys are playing blues, so I had to jazz up my instrument a little to be on part. 

Վերնիսսաժ -Vernissage

I saw on Hana's blog that she bought a gooorgeous typewriter. And I got "un chti peu" envious. So when I headed down to the local flea market in downtown Yerevan, called "Vernissage" I was on the hunt. Unfortunately, I could only find one typewriter with Russian characters... the other option was Armenian... do not want. Ideally it would have French letters (the ones with the accents... BLAH)

Anywhooo, I ended up buying an old school camera from the dude instead. It's so cool. I loves it. I take it everywhere with me and am thinking Im going to fool many peoples. 

http://www.rus-camera.com/camera.php?page=zenit&camera=zenite

This is my new baby.... discontinued in 1988. 

Other stuff I bought include... euhm, A FUCKING DOHOL (I shall blog seperately about this) and a Jazzve pot to make Armenian coffee... oh and some ridiculous Armenian bracelets. 

Ambert

When my father and little sis were here, we went on many excursions. By far my favorite one was Ambert. It's a region close to Mt. Araghats (the highest point in Armenia). Lemme break it down, real quick: the reason I LOVED Ambert was because the air up there is fresh and cool. 

I came to Armenia because I wanted to escape the heat of NYC. Only to find that in July here, it's just as hot as it is in NYC. Actually, it's even hotter, just sometimes, less humid. 

The temperatures in Yerevan were just about to kill me when I went to Ambert. Then, the mountains saved me. 

Aghtchiq

        I promised a blog on Armenian women. Unlike their male counterparts, nature was particularly kind with this gender. I wouldn't say that all Armenian women are beautiful, in fact a lot of 'em are downright nasty, but damn, there are a handful of them that pass me by, and after a glance throw me back a little smile that makes me want to do things to them that I could get arrested for. 

       My first day in Yerevan, I was exploring the city with Hayk and I saw one of the most gorgeous woman ever (maybe THE most). She had straight, long, black hair flowing in the wind as she was walking. Her eyes were dark and piercing and she was lightly tanned. She was wearing heels, jeans and a black top. While most women can't seem to walk in heels, Armo chicas look like they were born with it. A six inch heel for them is like a slipper for a regular woman. She didn't just turn my head, she broke my neck. 

Later that day, I was sipping on Armenian coffee (also called turkish coffee). Then I customarily flipped my cup over and five minutes later, Hayk and I were trying to decipher my future. We couldn't gather very much from it except that there was the image of a woman's profile in the cup. I don't know if it was fate that it happened on that same day, or if it had nothing to do with my afternoon encounter, or even what it meant for my stay in Yerevan, but I took a picture of it because I knew you wouldn't believe it if I had just blogged about it. 

Last week, my Armenian teacher was busy with other students. So she had her daughter substitute for her instead. Let me tell you something about her daughter, she was probably put into my life as a test. A test of restraint, concentration, and torture. She is breathtaking. She has long, wavy light brown hair. Her face is round and her features are soft. She has one of the cutest smiles ever and a sweet teaching methodology. On top of that she has a skinny body, a small butt and big breasts that she presses up against the table when she explains Armenian grammar. Half of that class I think about her (read: fantasies), one quarter of the class is spent with my eyes lingering on her breasts and her eyes, and the last sad quarter I force myself to focus on what she is actually trying to teach me. 

She is usually just teaching one guy, chris. The other day I approached Chris asking him if he had a girlfriend. Turns out he doesn't and class has been just as hard on him as it was on me. We are both hypnotized by the same features and he unfortunately brought my attention to other enticing things about her. I told him I was going to try to get myself out of her class because I actually want to learn Armenian, and given the fact that I have no chance whatsoever with her, there is no point putting myself through that.   

Yes Hivand Em

I caught a pneumonia in Armenia. I didn't want to blog about this but yesterday Tala said it was fine to do a miserable blog. Thankfully, today, Alex accompanied me to the Hospital. He's a funny little man, that hayastanci! He always talks very fast and moves kind of restlessly. Which is obviously a promise for comedy. 

Some five minutes after I convinced him to enter the doctor's office with me, she asked him to leave because she was going to check my lungs and he immediately left even though she just lifted my shirt. I was like "wow, wow, wow... this is not Taliban, in a week we're going to Lake Sevan together, you will see me in a bikini... if you can't handle my back, are you going to have a stroke at Sevan?" 

So when they put the ivy in my arm he stayed and talked to me, always making faces behind the doctor's back. I got really agressive towards the whole staff today because I am starting to feel like they are prolonging the treatment just for financial reasons (and my resources are running out). So when they asked him to be quiet I FLIPPED and was like "Yesterday, when the brat came in crying next to me, you didn't do shit, and now he has to be quiet? He will talk as loud as he wants!"

(that kid was lucky I was attached to the Ivy... he was crying for 30 minutes... I wanted to break his neck).

Then Alex, who was just being his restless self, tripped over the ivy (but he didn't disconnect anything) and he was so embarrassed and the nurse scolded him about it meanwhile I was laughing hysterically which turned into an incontrollable cough... but however (as Alex would say)

He actually made the experience more bearable. So yeah... a big thank you to Alex who has been driving me to the hospital several times, and doing everything he can to make me get well... calling the doctor all the time. And thank you to everyone else, who's been calling, txting, msging and just being overall a great support. Let's kick this pneumonia in the BALLS!