First Nice Day in New Town

The First Nice Day in my New Town

June 5, 2018

First, I believe I need to clarify the title of this note.  The town where I have moved to do my Peace Corps work for the next two years is beautiful.  The townspeople, my host family, and the incredible team who have welcomed me to their organization have been warm and friendly and patient with my lack of Armenian language. The problem has been the weather, which if my brother is correct, is all my fault.  Every time I visit Texas with my bicycles, it rains.  They have been in droughts when I show up with my bicycles and it rains.  So, I come to my village and it rains and rains.  My organization team told me this is unusual so, of course, I realize it is all my fault.  Hopefully it will not rain every day for the next two years, although this week's forecast is not very good.

            My morning view from the front porch.                      The road to the village and work.

Today, I did one of my favorite things when visiting a new city, and on rare occasions, when I had the time, somewhere I lived.  I sat in the park downtown (funny call this little area downtown) that is directly across from the building where I will work for the next two years and just quietly watched the city come alive.

As the new American in town, I know I already stand out like a sore thumb but I attract even more attention because of my attire.  I chose to bring my Stetsons and Cowboy boots.  It is what I wore in America and if part of my assignment is to introduce Armenians to American culture, this will help do the trick.  Now I realize that my apparel , especially my hats, is somewhat of an anomaly in certain parts of America as well but, my choice of head and footwear is just part of who I am.   Sitting on the cement wall that borders the park, I am viewed like a living statue to the passers-by. I have been told in my culture class that Armenians will stare at each other so they will especially stare at me until I am accepted. Cool, I just smile back which I think is more confusing to many of them.

         Here is the stone wall where I sit in the morning, my water bottle a point of confusion as well.

As with any city, people are driving by in cars and trucks and delivery vans heading to do whatever they do for work each day.  There are moms walking children somewhere I am unaware of because school is out for the summer except for the older students taking tests.  Maybe the moms take their children to work because I have not seen any hint of daycare facilities.  One little boy passed me and kept turning around to look at me.  His mother pulled his arm and used the universal mother voice to let him know to come hither and quit staring.  I don't know what she said but I understood the action as I have seen it every where.  Moms are moms. Kids are kids.

Let me tell you a little about the cars going  by.  They are a mix that would have to be seen to truly appreciate. There are old cars and trucks.  I do mean old because some are from the Soviet era which ended in 1992.  There are new cars like Lexus and Mercedes.  Some have steering wheels on the right and some on the left.  They drive on the right like American traffic unless, of course, they are dodging pot holes in the road.  I will never complain about potholes in America again because some of these are more like tank traps. They all seem to know where they are and move freely from one side of the road to the other without accidents that I have seen.  I saw a priest driving a nice car leaving the bakery next to my office.  He, like most of the cars, had a beaded cross hanging from his rear view mirror.  It is similar to a rosary but the prayer, as I understand it, is, "There is good; there is evil; there is God".  The priest also had a smiley "Have a nice Day" face dangling.  I think the way most drive here it is a way of hoping God is their co-pilot.  More about the cars another time.

As I sat watching, I noticed an older gentleman sit about a hundred yards down the wall from me.  Every once in a while, our eyes would meet.  I wondered if I had maybe taken his usual sitting place.  I am going to have go meet him one morning soon.  As I get used to my new surroundings, I would like to make this sitting on the park wall a morning tradition.  Too bad the cafe is on the other side of the park.

I went to the cafe my first morning in town.  It was a Sunday and I was not supposed to report to work until Monday.  My host family had left me alone and gone to Yerevan.  I wandered down the hill to town and found the cafe on the other side of the park.  I went to the window and ordered a cup of coffee.  The man in the window told me to sit down.  A few minutes later a lady delivered my coffee with a very confused look on her face.  It was only 10:00 and I was way too early for the cafe crowd I now realize.  There are no all night coffee houses or early morning Starbucks here.  I think, if I become a regular visitor, it will help me meet more of the townspeople.  But, I will have to see if they have coffee to go so I can sit on the park wall.

I left my perch on the park wall after shocking many of the townspeople by saying good morning in Armenian (Barev Dzez) and smiling.  Armenians, I am told, do not usually greet people they do not know and certainly do not smile at a stranger.  In my horribly accented Armenian and my goofy American grin, I was swaying from two conventions.  I hope it has a positive effect in the long run.  I went up to my new office and met with my organization.  After about an hour, we had a coffee break together.  I peered out the kitchen window at the park across the street.  It had come more alive with children on swings and playground equipment.  The benches and the park wall were being occupied and used for conversations.  The little town had come awake and now it is my home.

This is the little playground full of children in the afternoon.