There are no other ways of calling this trip if not odyssey. From Saburtalo, an area in Tbilisi where my first CouchSurfing hosts lived, I got a taxi to the bus station where marshrutky for Yerevan depart hourly. As usual, you do not choose a marshrutka. The marshrutka chooses you (you know the old joke, in Soviet Russia...), so I got chosen by a man who answered my "Yerevan" call, and got led to his vehicle. I was surprised to see that this wasn't the usual large and old minibus, but a smaller and more modern van, mostly loaded with goods (fruit and something else I could not identify). Other passengers were another man and a woman, both middle aged.
I got a prophecy for the trip when she climbed aboard, banged her head on the ceiling and spilled most of her coffee on her and on her seat. I was silently laughing behind her back when I opened my bottle of water, which turned out to be sparkly, and sprayed the van. The taxi ride shaked it well enough. Hilarity ensued.
We departed at 10:30, rather than 11:00. A good thing, as the whole trip takes around six hours. Such a good thing, in fact, that we got a flat tire 20 minutes in. It took roughly one hour to replace the tire. Unload half cargo, argue with the replacement tire which didn't come off its lodging, mount it, dismount it because it wasn't firm, mount it again.
Once the tire got changed, we started again and the proper odyssey began. Used to other marshrutky with a licence to kill masked as a driving one, I was surprised to see how this one never got faster than 80 Km/h. It took forever to get to the border with Armenia, where fun further increased.
I haven't been through a land border for ages. I do not even remember when the last time was. Going out from Georgia was a piece of cake. The border officer even improvised a "bon viagio!", which put me in a better mood, immediately killed by the entrance into Armenia. Women in medical outfit roamed the area, probably because of the ebola scare. One led me to a border officer, which examined my passport and started asking the usual questions, to which I have to say, I was not used anymore. All in a stunted English. They asked me where I was going to sleep, how long I was going to stay, if I had friends in Armenia, if I could provide an address or a contact number. I had to give him the number of Anna, the CouchSurfing host that's was supposed to take me in with her family for the first days, and the man called her immediately, asking if she was effectively expecting me (I could hear my name being asked). I somewhat felt like a traitor, giving out names to some sort of secret police, even if I assume that this is just normal practice here. I am just not used to this anymore, living in the Schengen area.
After that, the officer dismissed me, but the same scene repeated with the medical women. How long I was going to stay in Armenia, where I would sleep, do I have contacts here? I even tried to tell them that they were asking me question I just answered, but language barriers didn't allow for such fine conversation. And again the telephone number, this time mine also, which actually sounded more sensible.
In the end everything was fine. I guess that coming by land is just a bit less practical than landing. I wonder if I'll have to undergo the same in a few days, when I will go back to Tbilisi for my final farewell. Maybe in Georgia!
All this hassle, however, kinda got violently pushed away by the beauty of the scenery. The valley of Debed presented me with all the possible colours of autumn. Dark green, brown, yellow and some patches of striking red. It was a marvel to see, and I am sorry that my position in the marshrukta didn't allow for pictures. I was sitting between the woman and a batch of goods, and the windows being slightly tinted. You just have to believe me or wait for when I will do the opposite trip, when I will try to seize a window seat.
Such beauty almost distracted me from the incessant chatter between the man and the woman. At precise intervals he tried to talk to me, even if we agreed from the beginning that I did not spoke Georgian, Armenian, or Russian. He didn't speak English or Italian, so everything was supposed to be fine, but he kept trying to communicate with me mixing bits of German, Russian and the occasional Italian word.
When we got out from the valley, another kind of stunning landscape presented itself before my eyes. Infinite plains of yellow, slowly degrading into the colour of the sky (a pleasant blue at the beginning, a less pleasant yellowish-grey as we kept going) as far as the eye could see. For about thirteen seconds, the driver pushed to 100 Km/h, but immediately went back to the usual 70 Km/h. What was he thinking?
Small villages punctuated the road. Small and dilapidated metal shacks and red brick houses were overshadowed by huge and hideous Soviet-era monsters. Stray dogs, all still friendly, hopped around the people. Half built (or half destroyed) buildings could be seen in the distance. On the way, we passed the famous Armenian alphabet of stone, but unfortunately (or fortunately, considering the time) we did not stop.
On the way we stopped to a food shop in the town of Aparan. Modern and crowded, the shop had all kinds of delicious-looking treats, but what most interested me was the ATM, as I didn't want to arrive in Yerevan without some Dram, the local currency. I proceeded to withdraw 10,000 Dram, trying to make a mental exchange, only to realize later that I got more or less 20 Euro. I was bad at math back then, nothing has improved.
Once we arrived, the final chapter of the tragic comedy unfolded. The driver told me that a taxi would arrive for me. We stopped in some GTA-style back alley, where he proceeded to unload part of the cargo, several bags of garlic and various boxes. A taxi arrived, greeted me with "bonjour!", started singing pieces of "Felicità" once he got I am Italian, loaded the cargo (and me) and drove 500 metres, just to stop and unload the cargo again. The he drove 300 metres, gave a keyring to some old dude, who seemed incredibly puzzled (but not as me), and started driving again.
The adventure wasn't over. In fact, the guy didn't really have a clue (nor did he have a navigation system) of where the street number of my host was, so he kept stopping to ask other people, who were as clueless as him. In the end, even if I wanted to avoid this, I had him to call my host, who directed him to the place. But hey, do you think it was enough? No, because he still could not find the number (OK, it was a large Soviet-style group of buildings, not a straight road), until my host called him, directed him again, told him to stop where he was and showed up to rescue me. Anna proved immediately to possess a proud, fierce Armenian attitude, as the guy, who was becoming increasingly mad at every failed attempt to find the place, was trying to keep the entire 10,000 Dram bill, so she yelled him out of it. Grudgingly, he kept only 5000, giving me my change under Anna's vigil gaze. Finally, I got out the taxi and was welcomed into Anna's house.
From that moment on, my Armenian adventure turned for the best. Hello Armenia!/''
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