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Glendale News Press
Oct 12 2007
FROM THE MARGINS:
Journey to the other side of the world
By PATRICK AZADIAN
In Armenia, it's said that if you are a nice person, Mount Ararat
will show her face to you.
In search of whether I was a nice, I recently set out on a two-week
journey to Armenia.
The long trip on economy class felt inhumane. This was my first such
trip to the other side of the world in 30 years.
A German couple sat next to me on the way to London. Despite our
mutual attempts to be friendly, our lack of a common language didn't
allow me to cut the perceived length of the trip via socializing.
The London-Yerevan stretch was a different story. I had a whole row
to stretch on and a friend on the same flight. Sara Anjargolian was
going to Armenia for a photography project capturing the lives of
separated families due to economic hardship.
The plane arrived at the Zvartnots Airport at 4:25 a.m.
I arrived exhausted. I hoped not all members of my family showed up
at the airport. I'd be too tired to show my excitement. Luckily, only
a brigade of three brave relatives greeted me.
The next morning, I set out for a walk in Yerevan.
Mt. Ararat reluctantly showed her face to me. Sitting there in the
early fall smog, she was as honest as a young nun. She seemed to say:
`I don't know you, but I will give you the benefit of the doubt.'
Seeing today's Armenia without historical context is meaningless.
This was a land that had been under Arab, Turkish, Persian and
Russian domination for centuries. Observing Armenia without
remembering that many of her children were descendants of the
survivors of the Armenian Genocide was hollow. Being forced to choose
the lesser of the two evils, the nation had also endured the Soviet
experimentation in socialism.
Even today, neighbors to the west and the east are intent on
squeezing the life out of these people just because they dare to
believe in their right for self-determination.
With the scope of history in mind, it wasn't difficult to understand
the attempt to live the good life in Yerevan. Despite economic
hardship, people maintained a good and happy appearance.
Western-style cafes, bars, clubs, casinos and retail stores were
abundant.
A bar called Texas carried a poster of Bob Marley at the entrance. I
gave it B+ for effort. An `Irish' pub called Shamrock carried
Bushmills whiskey on the menu. It got an A- for authenticity.
Despite the urban craziness, Yerevan is safe. People have no fear of
walking home at late hours cutting through dark allies. American and
European visitors look very much at ease.
Tourists' worst fears come in the shape of ice cubes threatening to
cause chaos in their stomachs. In my case, the imbalance never
arrived.
Many taxis carried U.S. flags from their rearview mirrors. Armenia
reminded me of the scrawny good kid in class who never got any praise
from her teachers.
In contrast, the neighbor's rowdy kids were bestowed with shiny stars
every time they sat quiet for a few minutes.
In the midst of this newfound freedom, Armenians hadn't forgotten
their commitment to the arts. During my two-week stay, I visited five
museums, one contemporary art center with current exhibits and a
classic performance by a local orchestra and a composer. A feat that
even a New York art lover would envy.
In Armenia, suffering hadn't only been the privilege of the common
people. Two of the artists on my list, Sergei Parajanov and Yervand
Kochar, had the badge of honor for spending time in Soviet prisons.
Mt. Ararat showed her full snow-covered self to me at the airport on
my way back home. She was as stunning as a pagan goddess, eternal as
the universe and as majestic as only herself. Noah had also found her
trustworthy enough to rest the future of humanity on her peak.
I asked her to continue to keep an eye on this piece of land. Just
like any other member of humanity, the Armenian people had the right
not only to survive and struggle, but to live, prosper and, God
forbid, even have some fun. Perhaps their time has finally arrived,
if they are willing to take full advantage of this historic
opportunity.
As I entered the plane, I had a wish for this long-suffering people.
Someday, friends like Sara would be hard pressed to find suffering
due to economic hardship and foreign domination.
- PATRICK AZADIAN is a writer and the creative director of a local
marketing and graphic design studio living in Glendale. He may be
reached at respond@ fromthemargins.net.
Oct 12 2007
FROM THE MARGINS:
Journey to the other side of the world
By PATRICK AZADIAN
In Armenia, it's said that if you are a nice person, Mount Ararat
will show her face to you.
In search of whether I was a nice, I recently set out on a two-week
journey to Armenia.
The long trip on economy class felt inhumane. This was my first such
trip to the other side of the world in 30 years.
A German couple sat next to me on the way to London. Despite our
mutual attempts to be friendly, our lack of a common language didn't
allow me to cut the perceived length of the trip via socializing.
The London-Yerevan stretch was a different story. I had a whole row
to stretch on and a friend on the same flight. Sara Anjargolian was
going to Armenia for a photography project capturing the lives of
separated families due to economic hardship.
The plane arrived at the Zvartnots Airport at 4:25 a.m.
I arrived exhausted. I hoped not all members of my family showed up
at the airport. I'd be too tired to show my excitement. Luckily, only
a brigade of three brave relatives greeted me.
The next morning, I set out for a walk in Yerevan.
Mt. Ararat reluctantly showed her face to me. Sitting there in the
early fall smog, she was as honest as a young nun. She seemed to say:
`I don't know you, but I will give you the benefit of the doubt.'
Seeing today's Armenia without historical context is meaningless.
This was a land that had been under Arab, Turkish, Persian and
Russian domination for centuries. Observing Armenia without
remembering that many of her children were descendants of the
survivors of the Armenian Genocide was hollow. Being forced to choose
the lesser of the two evils, the nation had also endured the Soviet
experimentation in socialism.
Even today, neighbors to the west and the east are intent on
squeezing the life out of these people just because they dare to
believe in their right for self-determination.
With the scope of history in mind, it wasn't difficult to understand
the attempt to live the good life in Yerevan. Despite economic
hardship, people maintained a good and happy appearance.
Western-style cafes, bars, clubs, casinos and retail stores were
abundant.
A bar called Texas carried a poster of Bob Marley at the entrance. I
gave it B+ for effort. An `Irish' pub called Shamrock carried
Bushmills whiskey on the menu. It got an A- for authenticity.
Despite the urban craziness, Yerevan is safe. People have no fear of
walking home at late hours cutting through dark allies. American and
European visitors look very much at ease.
Tourists' worst fears come in the shape of ice cubes threatening to
cause chaos in their stomachs. In my case, the imbalance never
arrived.
Many taxis carried U.S. flags from their rearview mirrors. Armenia
reminded me of the scrawny good kid in class who never got any praise
from her teachers.
In contrast, the neighbor's rowdy kids were bestowed with shiny stars
every time they sat quiet for a few minutes.
In the midst of this newfound freedom, Armenians hadn't forgotten
their commitment to the arts. During my two-week stay, I visited five
museums, one contemporary art center with current exhibits and a
classic performance by a local orchestra and a composer. A feat that
even a New York art lover would envy.
In Armenia, suffering hadn't only been the privilege of the common
people. Two of the artists on my list, Sergei Parajanov and Yervand
Kochar, had the badge of honor for spending time in Soviet prisons.
Mt. Ararat showed her full snow-covered self to me at the airport on
my way back home. She was as stunning as a pagan goddess, eternal as
the universe and as majestic as only herself. Noah had also found her
trustworthy enough to rest the future of humanity on her peak.
I asked her to continue to keep an eye on this piece of land. Just
like any other member of humanity, the Armenian people had the right
not only to survive and struggle, but to live, prosper and, God
forbid, even have some fun. Perhaps their time has finally arrived,
if they are willing to take full advantage of this historic
opportunity.
As I entered the plane, I had a wish for this long-suffering people.
Someday, friends like Sara would be hard pressed to find suffering
due to economic hardship and foreign domination.
- PATRICK AZADIAN is a writer and the creative director of a local
marketing and graphic design studio living in Glendale. He may be
reached at respond@ fromthemargins.net.