As the train for Armenia passed through the outskirts of Tbilisi, rocks were thrown through the window of the compartment next to ours. The lady that the glass and stones would have hit was fortunately standing in the corridor at the time.

 

The Armenian passengers and train crew immediately pointed out that we had been passing through an area which housed Azeri refugees. Maybe they were right and it had been Azeris targeting the Armenian train but it definitely hadn’t been grown men throwing the rocks. Apparently I was the only person who had spotted the culprits. On questioning I stuck to my ‘bored kids’ theory.

 

The midnight border crossing took hours but flashes of lighting occasionally lit up the soldiers hustling us through the rain from one passport check to another and added a little excitement. Helen phoned the old couple at the B&B in Vanadzor. “Konechno!” (‘of course’), came the reply, “we’ll pick you up from the station at 2am, 3am, whenever you arrive”.

 

Edik pulled up at the empty station, drove us home and showed us round his grand old house. “You have an indoor pool!’, we exclaim ignoring the lack of water. “Konechno!” he replies with a shrug, “we have everything apart from jobs”.

 

Helen got the full story as she sat up with the mother and daughter. In Soviet times things had been great. The nearby factories kept everyone in work and life with a big house with a pool was just fine. Then the double whammy. The Soviet Union collapses and the factories  have nowhere to sell their goods. The jobs disappear. At the same time war breaks out with Azerbaijan, bleeding dry the already dying economy. In a matter of weeks Armenians suddenly find themselves queueing for tiny pieces of stale black bread and their power and water is only switched on for a couple of hours each night.

 

Since the early nineties a third of the population has left the country and they’re still leaving. Edik has a daughter in Moscow, a son in Greece and a daughter in Vienna.

 

Things seem a bit better now but guys like Edik are apparently still desperate for a source of income. Everything got a little awkward as he was about to drive us up to the monasteries - he wanted $60 for the trip, almost three times the going rate. I think that on hearing Helen speaking Russian on the phone he hadn’t quoted us ‘foreigner rates’ for the B&B and was trying to get what he could from us. We left and got a taxi instead.

 

It was down hill most of the way so the taxi driver had the engine turned off to save petrol. We free-wheeled past the massive disused factories.

 

The 900 year old monasteries, ‘Haghpat’ and ‘Sanahin’, were beautiful. Large arched halls made from heavy stone blocks of dark rock. Pillars and  prayer stones were carved with intricate designs but the overall impression was of peaceful empty spaces. Shafts of light and incredible acoustics created a sense of a awe rather the overpowering forms and images of big churches and cathedrals back home.

 

At the station we met a young solider who was pleased to hear that we were enjoying the sights in his country. He was doing his military service with the Russian army based in Armenia, a popular choice as it meant you were able to obtain a working visa for Russia. Another proud Armenian doing his best to get out.

JL