Tweet
OF ALL THE PLACES: FINDING ARMENIA IN SPAIN
ianyan magazine
Feb 12 2013
Posted by Aram Margarian on February 12, 2013
You know the feeling. You are on a holiday in a foreign land on the
other side of the world, doing whatever it is you do when you are on
a holiday in a foreign land on the other side of the world.
Then, you bump into an Armenian.
Oor deghen oor? Of all the places.
My latest experience of this ~V let~Rs call it the ~Soor deghen oor
feeling~T ~V was while traveling in Spain. An odar (non-Armenian)
friend and I were pottering around the outskirts of Valencia~Rs old
city looking for a late lunch. Since arriving in Spain, she~Rd had
had trouble finding suitable vegetarian meals. Pro tip: eggs with
mushrooms in Valencia comes with shrimp. Who knew?
We came across a restaurant with multiple vegetarian options and were
about to sit at an outdoor table when I noticed a nearby restaurant
advertising ~SBocadillos~T, followed by ~SArmenia~T on its chalkboard.
~SWait a second,~T I said. ~SCan we check this out first?~T
Not speaking Spanish I had no idea what a ~SBocadillo~T was. And
Armenia? Why? How? Why here?
We strolled over and a sprightly 60-something woman approached,
said something in Spanish and offered us a table with an open palm.
She had the look.
~SSorry we don~Rt speak Spanish but can you tell me what a boccadillo
is?~T I asked in English, before cutting to the chase: ~SAre you
Armenian?~T
The woman put her hands to her mouth. With her eyes wide open, she
nodded. The hint of a grin appeared behind her hands. We exchanged
pleasantries in Armenian and sat down after ensuring they served
vegetarian meals. Something about egg plant.
Her name was Loucig and she had come from Yerevan five years earlier
to work in the restaurant that her son had opened five years before
that. She worked 15 hours a day, every day.
She disappeared inside. Apart from a vegetarian dish I had no
idea what she would come back with. In the meantime we introduced
ourselves to her Yerevansti-looking son and ordered two Estrellas to
kick things off.
Thirty minutes and some mild hunger pains later, Loucig returned. She
brought with her an exotic-looking vegetarian platter for my friend
and a plate of succulent kofta-kebabs with a bed of mushrooms and
onions for me. A plate of salad and chips were thrown in for good
measure. We weren~Rt going to leave hungry.
I had been away from Australia for about three weeks; which meant
three weeks of hot dogs at American ball-parks and stilton burgers in
English pubs. Now just like that, I was back at my mum~Rs dinner table.
I was keen to chat to Loucig, but she again disappeared inside. She
returned minutes later with a glass of Estrella for herself and pulled
up a seat.
We started talking about a range of topics. She expressed that very
few Armenians lived in Valencia, nowhere near enough to justify an
Armenian church or an Armenian day school. She was clearly a very
patriotic Armenian and spoke glowingly of our culture, our history,
our character. And our stubborness.
We spoke at length about life in Valencia, life in Yerevan, life in
Sydney, what sort of work I do, how old I am and am I married. We
also spoke about prostitutes. As you do.
~SI am so proud to be Armenian,~T she said. ~SYou know why? In
Valencia there are prostitutes from all over the world but none of
the prostitutes come from Armenia.~T
I refrained from asking how she knew this.
I had to say something though: ~SYeah that~Rs great Loucig, but you
said before that there are very few Armenians in Valencia. Call it
a hunch, but I reckon that means there are very few Armenian hookers
in Valencia.~T
She stopped for a split-second before again covering her mouth. No
grin this time. Instead, she rocked back and burst into laughter.
~SAy Aram djan,~T she managed between laughs.
I laughed with her. We high-fived.
Throughout our conversation, I~Rm sure my friend was trying to make
sense of the conversation. I can only imagine what she was thinking
~V watching me joking and high-fiving with a woman I knew about as
well as the Queen of England.
Loucig went on to tell me about her ill sister, Hasmig, who was in her
70s and still lived in Yerevan. She insisted on giving me Hasmig~Rs
phone number to look her up next time I was in the Motherland.
It was a heartfelt gesture from a selfless and genuine Armenian woman.
I will probably never call Hasmig, but I will definitely never throw
away Loucig~Rs note.
As we prepared to leave, Loucig offered to make us dolma if we could
visit her restaurant again. We were leaving Valencia in a few days
so it was hard to commit to another visit.
She needed time to prepare the dolma and we were trying to work out
how to contact her if we could make it back. It all became too hard.
In the end Loucig shrugged and said: ~SHos naye, kez pum me esem? I
will make dolma. If you come, you can have dolma. If you can~Rt,
we will have dolma.~T
Great line! Fantastic afternoon!
Oor deghen oor? Of all the places.
Aram Margarian is an amateur writer who writes mainly about sport
but occasionally branches out into other areas. He is as proud to be
Armenian as he is to be Australian. He has discovered that shaving
before catching a flight in the US still makes him the randomly
searched guy 100% of the time. He drinks lattes and rants as @LordAram
on Twitter.
http://www.ianyanmag.com/2013/02/12/of-all-the-places-finding-armenia-in-spain/
ianyan magazine
Feb 12 2013
Posted by Aram Margarian on February 12, 2013
You know the feeling. You are on a holiday in a foreign land on the
other side of the world, doing whatever it is you do when you are on
a holiday in a foreign land on the other side of the world.
Then, you bump into an Armenian.
Oor deghen oor? Of all the places.
My latest experience of this ~V let~Rs call it the ~Soor deghen oor
feeling~T ~V was while traveling in Spain. An odar (non-Armenian)
friend and I were pottering around the outskirts of Valencia~Rs old
city looking for a late lunch. Since arriving in Spain, she~Rd had
had trouble finding suitable vegetarian meals. Pro tip: eggs with
mushrooms in Valencia comes with shrimp. Who knew?
We came across a restaurant with multiple vegetarian options and were
about to sit at an outdoor table when I noticed a nearby restaurant
advertising ~SBocadillos~T, followed by ~SArmenia~T on its chalkboard.
~SWait a second,~T I said. ~SCan we check this out first?~T
Not speaking Spanish I had no idea what a ~SBocadillo~T was. And
Armenia? Why? How? Why here?
We strolled over and a sprightly 60-something woman approached,
said something in Spanish and offered us a table with an open palm.
She had the look.
~SSorry we don~Rt speak Spanish but can you tell me what a boccadillo
is?~T I asked in English, before cutting to the chase: ~SAre you
Armenian?~T
The woman put her hands to her mouth. With her eyes wide open, she
nodded. The hint of a grin appeared behind her hands. We exchanged
pleasantries in Armenian and sat down after ensuring they served
vegetarian meals. Something about egg plant.
Her name was Loucig and she had come from Yerevan five years earlier
to work in the restaurant that her son had opened five years before
that. She worked 15 hours a day, every day.
She disappeared inside. Apart from a vegetarian dish I had no
idea what she would come back with. In the meantime we introduced
ourselves to her Yerevansti-looking son and ordered two Estrellas to
kick things off.
Thirty minutes and some mild hunger pains later, Loucig returned. She
brought with her an exotic-looking vegetarian platter for my friend
and a plate of succulent kofta-kebabs with a bed of mushrooms and
onions for me. A plate of salad and chips were thrown in for good
measure. We weren~Rt going to leave hungry.
I had been away from Australia for about three weeks; which meant
three weeks of hot dogs at American ball-parks and stilton burgers in
English pubs. Now just like that, I was back at my mum~Rs dinner table.
I was keen to chat to Loucig, but she again disappeared inside. She
returned minutes later with a glass of Estrella for herself and pulled
up a seat.
We started talking about a range of topics. She expressed that very
few Armenians lived in Valencia, nowhere near enough to justify an
Armenian church or an Armenian day school. She was clearly a very
patriotic Armenian and spoke glowingly of our culture, our history,
our character. And our stubborness.
We spoke at length about life in Valencia, life in Yerevan, life in
Sydney, what sort of work I do, how old I am and am I married. We
also spoke about prostitutes. As you do.
~SI am so proud to be Armenian,~T she said. ~SYou know why? In
Valencia there are prostitutes from all over the world but none of
the prostitutes come from Armenia.~T
I refrained from asking how she knew this.
I had to say something though: ~SYeah that~Rs great Loucig, but you
said before that there are very few Armenians in Valencia. Call it
a hunch, but I reckon that means there are very few Armenian hookers
in Valencia.~T
She stopped for a split-second before again covering her mouth. No
grin this time. Instead, she rocked back and burst into laughter.
~SAy Aram djan,~T she managed between laughs.
I laughed with her. We high-fived.
Throughout our conversation, I~Rm sure my friend was trying to make
sense of the conversation. I can only imagine what she was thinking
~V watching me joking and high-fiving with a woman I knew about as
well as the Queen of England.
Loucig went on to tell me about her ill sister, Hasmig, who was in her
70s and still lived in Yerevan. She insisted on giving me Hasmig~Rs
phone number to look her up next time I was in the Motherland.
It was a heartfelt gesture from a selfless and genuine Armenian woman.
I will probably never call Hasmig, but I will definitely never throw
away Loucig~Rs note.
As we prepared to leave, Loucig offered to make us dolma if we could
visit her restaurant again. We were leaving Valencia in a few days
so it was hard to commit to another visit.
She needed time to prepare the dolma and we were trying to work out
how to contact her if we could make it back. It all became too hard.
In the end Loucig shrugged and said: ~SHos naye, kez pum me esem? I
will make dolma. If you come, you can have dolma. If you can~Rt,
we will have dolma.~T
Great line! Fantastic afternoon!
Oor deghen oor? Of all the places.
Aram Margarian is an amateur writer who writes mainly about sport
but occasionally branches out into other areas. He is as proud to be
Armenian as he is to be Australian. He has discovered that shaving
before catching a flight in the US still makes him the randomly
searched guy 100% of the time. He drinks lattes and rants as @LordAram
on Twitter.
http://www.ianyanmag.com/2013/02/12/of-all-the-places-finding-armenia-in-spain/