I flew from London to Lyon, only Diego didn’t make the flight. He ended up flying to Geneva, so I drove the rental car from Lyon and met him there. Luckily this gave me time to go and visit Chris, Junko, and the twins…

Chris, Diego, and I were together the next day, staying in the very friendly Gite l’Aventure in the small village of Pisancon. Our host, Fabien, cooked wonderful meals each evening, and, helped by Angele. We were not alone in the gite; there was a very lively group of sixty-something friends, who took to singing loud soungs each evening over dinner.

The weather was tricky. We had rain near the gite, but heavy snow at higher altitude.

When I planned my series of walks and hikes for this year, I didn’t realize that Armenia would attract the most number of participants. I believed that a few people would ask about the trip, but due to the distance and obscurity of the country, nobody would actually come.
As it turned out, there were five of us. Isobel Tanaka and Yumiko Ichikawa was joined by Renald Gregoire, all current members from Tokyo. At the last minute, former IAC member Allan Miles took time out from his cycle tour of France, Spain and Portugal to fly to Istanbul and travel overland through Georgia to Armenia to join us.
I don’t think anyone quite knew what to expect. Modern Armenia suffers from extreme obscurity to say the least. Although it was once a large kingdom that stretched from the Mediterranean to the Caspian and Black Sea, and was an important element in the formation of much of European architecture and language, it was nearly obliterated at the beginning of this century during the Genocide, and then became a part of the Soviet Union until independence 14 years ago. While Armenia is famous throughout the countries of the ex-Soviet Union, most westerners couldn’t point to it on a map. Furthermore, it suffered a devastating earthquake in 1988, a terrible war in the early 90s with neighbour Azerbaijan, and a crippling ‘brain drain’ since independence mostly to Russia and the West.

I tried hard to explain Armenia or at least what it meant to me to my four trip participants. I told them it was a mixture of beautiful scenery, an ancient culture, and a proud people who have survived where others live on only in history books. But this doesn’t describe Armenia. It is a curious mix of the Middle Eastern (although the Armenians themselves don’t like this label) and the European. On the surface they are European, highly educated, cosmopolitan, and the capital Yerevan is brimming with universities, musical conservatories, opera houses, galleries and museums. Literacy is higher than most European countries at 100%. Dig a little deeper, or better still, travel out into the countryside, and you see a conservative people, patriarchal, very religious (Armenian Christian), with flashes of the Middle Eastern temperament.
Look deep into the eyes of an Armenian and this is what you see. Watch them talk and you see their emotions expressed in the waving of arms, the men outstretching their right arms and upturning their palms to express surprise. Upturning both palms signifies indignation. As Renald put it very well, they can be a little intimidating at first to the uninitiated, but speak a few words and their hearts pour out in kindness.

Coffee culture

Yerevan is a city of wide boulevards and leafy streets. At the centre is the enormous Republic Square where once Lenin stood guard. Now a large Shinjuku-style TV screen offers locals images of BMWs and washing machines, and opposite the Marriot hotel with its foreign guests has a permanent line of large black SUVs parked outside.
We all arrived within 24 hours of each other. I came from London, meeting Renald on the way in Vienna, and Isobel arrived via Moscow with Aeroflot. Yumiko had left Japan a few days earlier, to climb Mount Elbrus which is in the northern Caucasus on the Russian-Georgian border. Technically – for the north Caucasus range of mountains is the border of Europe and Asia – it is the highest mountain in Europe.
Allan turned up last, falling victim to Georgian bureaucracy in his attempt to transit the country.
For the first few days we wandered the city, quenching our thirst at the abundant cafes which line the sidewalks. We alternated on thick, rich Armenian coffee, brewed like Turkish or Greek coffee in small pots over hot sand, and half-litre bottles of Kotayk or Kilikia Armenian beer. Each day we met some of my Armenian friends, who took us to discover Armenian cuisine. One day it was the Old Yerevan restaurant serving traditional Armenian soups, grilled meats and fresh, thin lavash bread, to the accompaniment of musicians dressed up in traditional costumes for the visiting Diaspora tourists. The next day it was the brash Caesers Palace restaurant with gold door handles and bubbling fountains trying to outdo Las Vegas and cater for the local ‘new rich’ who have more money than taste. Of course most Armenians are very poor. The statistics are shocking. Some 50-60% of the population lives below the official poverty line, and survive by doing several jobs. The average monthly income is something like $40, but this, as with all statistics in Armenia only represents the official economy. Armenia is one giant black market, with few people paying taxes.

To give the group of taste of rural Armenia, I took them on a day trip to the mediaeval churches of Goshavank and Haghartsin. We joined a vanload of tourists, mostly Diaspora Armenians – descendants of refugees from the Genocide in 1915 who fled to Europe – and bumped along small roads to the churches nestled in green valleys. On the return, we stopped for a pre-arranged lunch at the home of a local family, and were served a large lunch of lavash, salads, dolma (mince meat wrapped in vine or cabbage leaves), yoghurt, and fresh vegetables. In the van we listened to upbeat Armenian music, and the Diasporans sung along.

The focus of the trip was to be the southern Zangezur chain of mountains, and I had arranged a van to take us to the small village of Tatev, situated at 1,600 metres on the side of a gorge next to a monastery from the 9th century. On the trip south, lasting about 4 or 5 hours, we stopped at a series of churches. Khor Virap is situated on a small hill near the Turkish border which separates Armenians from their national symbol, Mount Ararat. Next stop was the wine-producing town of Areni, and we visited a winery for a wine tasting. For lunch we stopped at Noravank, another church built high on the side of a canyon with a small café attached. We ate kabob (skewered mince meat) and more lavash, washed down with beer and coffee, before setting off.

At about 4pm we arrived in Tatev, slightly shaken by the jarring 1 hour climb on the road down into and up the other side of the gorge.
Victoria, the daughter of a family I had stayed with on my first visit to Armenia in 2000 had come with us (she has worked for a travel agency and had arranged the van), but she was heading back to Yerevan with the driver. Yumiko was keen to show her how to make and drink macha (traditional Japanese green tea), so she produced her portable tea-making kit and entertained Victoria and our bed and breakfast hosts, Tamara, Gayane, and Zarine.

For the next week we stayed in Tatev, and used it as a base for exploring the surroundings mountains and valleys. The bed and breakfast was simple, and hot water had to be heated in buckets in order to wash, but the food was wonderful and in abundant supply. Everything was extremely fresh, mostly having come from their own kitchen garden. The cheese was very salty, like feta. The bread was made by the family each morning, and we were given large juicy tomatoes, of the kind that have long since disappeared from our supermarkets.

The small village of Tatev has dirt roads, and no post offices or such services. The inhabitants live mainly by tending to their fields and raising some cows and sheep. Renald, Isobel, and Yumiko got up early each morning to go running. They ran along the road to the monastery, and often saw some men from the village taking the cows and sheep up to the pasture for the days grazing.

Our first days walk was around 15 kilometres, and we climbed west from Tatev up through fields of dry grasses to the brow of a hill for a picnic lunch. The weather was warm, with bright sunshine and we could see the mountains for miles around. The ash-coloured mountains to the north were contrasted by the green hills to the south. Southern Armenia is squeezed between the two parts of Azerbaijan, with which Armenia fought a war in the 1990s. The borders are never more than around 20 kilometres away, although everything is stable and quite safe.
The next day we embarked on the first of our two overnight treks. Isobel had brought curry from Japan, Allan rice from Yerevan, and we added to this bread, eggs, vegetables and basturma, a spicy Armenian sausage.
We camped at 2,400 metres, a thousand metres below the peak of Mount Aramazd, which we had wanted to climb. However, my poor choice of route and the thick cloud above us made this impossible. Our curry and rice went down a treat as the temperature fell rapidly after sunset. Yumiko put on her down jacket and walked around camp looking like she was on the summit of Everest.

Our next hike was a simple 2 hour walk to a ridge above the gorge, where we had an eagle-eye view of the monastery, the river Vorotan far below, and the surrounding peaks. Isobel made everyone happy by producing 5 bottles of cold Kotayk beer that she had secretly brought from the bed and breakfast.

For our next overnight hike, I chose a route up through green pastures above the shepherds and their sheep. An old Soviet-era bus crawled along a dirt road on its way to Tatev, and so surprised were the passengers to see westerners with large backpacks and trekking poles, that the bus stopped and they handed us bags of apples.
Renald being the one with the most energy, went ahead of us and climbed to the top of the ridge, while Yumiko, Isobel and I opted for the easier circuit, although we were equally rewarded with a splendid view to the south towards the Iranian border.

Descending, we picked up Allan who had been sunning himself in a small valley, and hiked down to the nearest village. This village was even smaller than Tatev, and there were no cars, just a few donkeys and horses. The startled inhabitants pointed downhill when I asked them in my limited Armenian about drinking water. Filled up with water, we went in search of a camping spot. This we soon found on a grassy hill overlooking the gorge and Tatev. Spread out to the north of us were the dry hills and mountains leading up to the Azeri border. After dinner, with Armenian wine provided by Isobel and coffee by me, we sat and watched the stars come out. Soon the entire Milky Way was easily visible, and shooting stars appeared every now and then. In the far north we could just make out clouds being illuminated in different colours by fireworks in far off Yerevan for the Independence Day celebrations.

Our week in the village of Tatev had come to an end and we headed back to Yerevan the next day. We met a journalist friend of mine and discussed politics, poverty, and Armenian rock music. At an Iranian restaurant all tried the ‘hubble bubble’ or water pipe with some apple flavoured tobacco.
Yumiko was the first to leave, flying out on Aeroflot to Tokyo. Renald, Allan and Isobel took a guided climb of Mount Aragats, the highest mountain in Armenia at 4,095 metres. They were guided by two Russian mountain guides, both of whom were impossibly over-qualified. One had designed the telescopes on the Mir Space Station, and the other had commanded a mountain unit of soldiers during the war with Azerbaijan who had constructed a radio transmitter on the mountainous front line and then retreated over the mountains by night in the winter.
Camping at 3,600 metres they had snow, and returned to Yerevan after a long cold night.
We spent the last few days sitting in cafes and visiting the Brandy factory. Armenian brandy is famous, and was reportedly Winston Churchill’s favourite tipple. Stalin shipped it by the case to him each year.
Renald left the next morning in the early hours, followed by Allan after breakfast, off back to Georgia and further adventures. Isobel departed at midday on her journey via Moscow, and I was left alone, catching the early morning flight the following day.
It is true that Armenia is sometimes not the easiest of places to travel in, but it repays the investment made by the adventurous traveler well. Our little group of adventurers took everything in their stride and formed a jovial group whose company I will miss. I think good journeys need three essential ingredients; a good location, good food (and beer…) and good people. It will be hard to beat this trip for all of these reasons.

In the evening back at the lodge, Kanako and Yukiko made themselves comfortable…

The next day we did a long snowshoe hike, right up towards Gassan. The weather was brilliant, and the snow very white, so Renald and I got quite a tan.

To see all the photos, use this link:
http://www.malcomson.com/gallery/yamagatamar2005

GPS tracks of the hikes can be downloaded from here:
Gassan snowshoe GPX file
Gassan snowshoe Mapsource GDB file