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Summer approaches and now that the rains have left, presumably for several months, we hunker down to prepare for the dusty, dry heat. It's so dusty that three days after my place is cleaned, a new layer appears on all the furniture.
I'm settling into the job. We start late here - 9:30 and generally are in the office until 7pm on average. We're in the fund raising part of the cycle, an interesting place to begin, and it provides a framework for my orientation. I like the staff and my colleague. After leaving the period of doe-eyed tourist behind, I'm almost through a fifth week here - the early stage of irritability, anger and frustration. Why can't I get or do that? What do you mean the kitchen is closed after serving us beers and appetizers of tongue and brain and how could phone service be so f@%#ing bad? What I mean by this is that one out of six cell phone calls actually go through, the land lines are only slightly better and there is only one phone company. And oh, high speed Internet is based on a per use system, so if you use the net like most Americans do, you spend somewhere between $100 and $200 per month. No wonder some expats call this place Crapistan. My young but very wise colleague is amused to see someone else go through this phase. He reminds me that none of the issues I have are either life-threatening or even as unacceptable as to threaten personal hygiene. Eventually I laugh about the fact that besides the absence of loved ones, my main gripes are about material items. It's time to move on. And moving around here is rather tricky. Drivers are extremely aggressive. Passing someone at 40 miles an hour on a small residential street is commonplace. People swerve into oncoming traffic to miss massive potholes that make the roads look like a war zone. Pedestrians may have the right of way, but you would never know it. I'm walking around with my Swiss army knife on a keychain, thinking about hitting or scratching cars that get too close. To make matters even more interesting, the yellow light here not only announces the red light, but also to lets you know that the light is about to turn green. So while the crosswalk light still says 'go' to the pedestrian, motorists start rolling in anticipation of the green light. I drove here for the first time yesterday while returning from the hills. It reaffirmed my notion that I don't need a car here lest I teach Crapistan what road rage is all about. Fortunately I live in a central part of the city, 5 minute walk to work, minutes from numerous bars, restaurants and friends. Since I don't have a car or any interest in having one here, there are two options for transportation. One is the bus or marshootka. It's a mini-van packed to the gills with people which will take you along the route for roughly a quarter. Expats without cars usually opt for a cab for less than two dollars to pretty much anywhere in the city. Most of the cars are from the 70s, small stickshift sedan like things in varying degrees of falling apart. But Crapistanis make good use of them. Cabbies will turn their lights and or cars off at lights to save fuel. They have special alarms wired since the use of the horn is so common that people don't seem to notice. They decorate cars with mini-carpets and reupholster the seats, install new stereos and speakers. And most importantly, they tolerate the ignorant ex-pats who speak neither Russian nor Crapistani. Crapistanis in general are hospitable to a fault if such a thing is possible. Strangers stop my friend and I as we hike down the mountain after viewing a 13th century church and insist that we join them for coffee. And by insist, I mean grip my arm firmly, but not too tight, until we explain that we must get back to Yerevan tonight and the sun is already low. Every business meeting I attend out in the country end with insistent requests that we go to someone's house for horovatts (BBQ) and vodka. And the vodka flows like water with multiple toasts that honor everyone. And they won't stop bringing food until you're visibly uncomfortable from over-consumption. Back in the city we have dinner at Hammo's, the first home where the women actually join us at the dinner table and after we finish the fourth bottle of vodka, beer comes out because it's hot and you must be thirsty. Hamlet sat me down over dinner (and of course vodka) one night and explained that no matter how long I was here, that I am a guest in this country and that he and the others are responsible for me and are basically available for whatever I need. It's comforting and they have a sense of home and seem to understand what it must be like to be twelve time zones from home. I get invites to dinner regularly and when we travel to the marzes for meetings, someone always insists that we stay for dinner, vodka and coffee which Crapistanis drink at any hour. But much of my time is spent with other expats; a mixed bag of diplomats, NGO types, mercenaries and misfits. It seems like most of us single types are guys and if not a majority, than damn near a majority are gay. I haven't figured this one out beyond that fact that people with kids generally don't come here. The pool of expats is too small to support decent schools and this is considered a hardship post because the police crack heads, the power goes out on a regular basis and at some point they'll either be no water, no hot water or some combination of no power and no water. I'm told these systems are improving though. And so is the social life as I get to know folks and begin making connections. The diaspora is coming. The Crapistani diaspora totals about 5 million Crapistanis who live outside the country, generally the ones with money and education. They are the reason Congress sends so much aid to Crapistan, second only to Israel and now Iraq in per capita aid from the US. And every summer, they come back to visit the homeland. Just in time to drive prices on paintings and carpets up significantly. I should be more appreciative of my indirect employers, but during my irritable stage, they are like a horde of locusts bringing Coca-Cola umbrellas to the parks and making the decoration of my apartment more expensive if not delayed until September altogether. I will say that I appreciate the hundreds of millions of dollars donated for the road system, especially yesterday while driving over Selim and Vayads Zor passes. My apartment is livable, but I'm not ecstatic about it. High ceilings, office/guest room for potential visitors, a large bedroom dominated by absurdly huge pieces of furniture. Big leather couches, king size bed with a queen size mattress, a replacement that I insisted on because the original gave me my first back aches ever. The kitchen is modern, functional and even cozy. I have a full bath, three shower heads/not nearly as nice as it sounds, but everything works except the fans that appear to be three cheap speakers in the ceiling that make fan-like noises (it's the Crapistan factor). I have massive blank walls that need to be decorated in some way. And back to the positive: the location. My neighborhood is blessed with a grocery store right downstairs that closes at 10pm, a 24 hour store a couple of blocks away, espresso on the next block and the Cascade is one block away. One interesting feature to the apartment is the interior of the block behind the building. There are garages, trees, a motorcycle that can carry a large family and what sounds like two warring factions of dogs. They go nuts at night, territorial disputes, who knows. The strays in this city are countless and the city just reinstated a policy of giving about $10 per tail, a barbaric bounty for strays. But many of them are adorable, even to me. And the temptation to adopt is stronger than ever before, but probably still resistible. Well that's probably enough for now. I'll be more diligent on timing in the weeks to come.
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July 23, 2004