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| Ancient and modern Armenia, with Mount Ararat behind |
3.10.26 Yerevan
Sitting on the edge of Republic Square. A grey sky with drops of rain. But who cares? I’m back in Armenia. Almost exactly eight years have passed, and there are naturally changes. Lots of swish Chinese cars everywhere – including electric. Lots of flash new shops – fast food etc. People seems more stylishly dressed. Also new, the direct flight from UK with Wizz Air – five hours. Packed flight – probably 75% Armenians, but a few adventurous Brits. The opening up continues.
Waiting to cross the road, a street dog – with ear tag indicating a rabies vaccination – comes up and sits next to me, waiting to cross…
Now raining harder. Went to Kond, the last old part of Yerevan. Very run-down. Not elegant like Tbilisi’s old district, more backstreets of Bokhara. Built on a mound, which makes sense. Shoes left outside front doors. Windows NT tangle of gas plumbing pipes snake everywhere, as elsewhere in the Caucasus. Tried to find a working ATM – failed – but they take contactless here in the Modern Art Museum, which is slightly hard to find.
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| A street in Kond, old Yerevan |
Nice group of brightly coloured pix by Minas Avetisyan. Interesting naive pix by Vagharshak Elibekyan. Lots of Levantine balconies. In fact these are images of Tbilisi “Holiday on Kura River”. A big, black slash, like a mad signature. Disturbing flowers with eyes. The central problem with all modern art is trying to find a unique, recognisable style. Most pix here are rather derivative, or lacking in substance. But a nice gallery nonetheless – and a snip at 1500 dram (~ £3).
Earlier, I went to the big supermarket I used last time I was here. Bustling, with a good atmosphere of a thriving city. Back to the hotel, then out for lunch. Managed to find a decent ATM, took out 75K dram – including 20K notes worth about £40 each. 1.5% commission, better than some. Then along Northern Avenue to Parma supermarket looking for sandwiches. None. Spotted Tun Lahmajo along the way, where I remember eating the last evening on the previous visit. Busy but found table. On one of the pedestrian islands nearby, a street dog sleeps, curled. Not many here, unlike in Turkey, where they are a huge problem, alas. One thing is new – dispatch riders with food – some on bikes, some on electric scooters. Yandex one brand, Glovo another.
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| Murals above Tun Lahmajo |
Yesterday’s flight was smooth – a nice new Airbus 321neo – but very tight – seats packed in. Landed on time, then to passport control. Huge queue. I have vague memories of this before. If Armenia wants to become a major tourist destination, it needs to make this smoother. Took nearly an hour, and I risked losing my waiting taxi. I had a real dragon at the desk – she was looking at passports with a physical magnifying glass – she was very sceptical of my visit, especially when she saw the stamp from Azerbaijan. She wanted to know what I was doing there etc. Finally let me through.
My taxi driver young and chatty, practising his English. Driving nice new Chinese car – not electric. Lots of Chinese car brands I’ve never heard of. Next to us as we parked on the airport’s tarmac was a China Southern plane. Not many Chinese tourists visible, but they are probably in groups on tours. Lots of Russians here – the majority of tourists I imagine. Some French speakers a couple of tables along… Lots of people smoking here, still a long way to go on that. And vapes.
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| The khachkar workshop - but for how much longer? |
Along to Charents House-Museum – because, why not? Nice green route to reach it – one of the main central parks in Yerevan. I passed the khachkar workshop on the way, still hanging on amid all the building works around it. For much longer? Now advertising khachkar courses…
Charents House-Museum is a little inscrutable since I don’t know Charents' works, and practically everything is only in Armenian. But nice that he is honoured thus. A quote from a poem: “I love the sunsavouring word of my sweet Armenia…”
Well, that was a curious experience. One of the museum guides saw me writing the words above, and asked what I was doing. “Parlez-vous Francais?” And so she launched into a long explanation of the man and the museum. Classic Stalin story of let’s oppress the artists. I went there partly hoping to find a museum of near Eastern art, but it seems to have disappeared.
The weirdest thing today: I keep seeing groups of people – families, couples – that I’ve seen earlier in the day in completely different places. Maybe they are spies tasked with shadowing me… This short green band - formally Diana Abgar Park - is naturally one of the main options for a city stroll – and jolly nice it is too. A Chinese single-decker bus, made by Zhongtong Bus, storms by. As it stops, the signage at the back says “BRAKE!”.
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| The Blue Mosque |
Sitting facing the Blue Mosque of Yerevan, built by the Persians two centuries ago. I’d walked past the outside tiles last time, but never passed through its doorway, and thus never knew of its peaceful garden and mosque within – well below street level. Lots of bowls of water placed around – for the street cats, which abound here. A small group of (elderly) Italian tourists. Earlier I saw three Indians – speaking Hindi, so probably from the subcontinent, not the UK.
In the old supermarket opposite the Blue Mosque – and who do I see but the Russian family that sat next to me in Tun Lahmajo? – these are Soviet spies, surely… The food court pretty tacky – all KFC and Pizza Hut. Lots of greasy food. Plus one novelty – Taste of Artsakh… a double escalator and strip-lit stairs up further to...nowhere.
4.10.26 Yerevan
In the Alamo office by Ibis Yerevan to pick up my hire car. Several people ahead of me in what looks a long process…
Sitting now, in Yasaman Sevan Restaurant – outside by the lake. Lovely day, mostly clear sky with a few fluffy clouds. As I drove out of Yerevan to the north, behind me in my rear-view mirror I could catch glimpses of Mount Ararat gleaming… I hope the sky will be clear when I come back.
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| Lake Sevan |
The process of getting the car relatively quick, but it took me a while to work out all the controls on the automatic Kia Forte. Nice car, though. Another problem, there are no signs for speed limits, so I was never quite sure what I was supposed to stick to. Lots of speed cameras everywhere, lots of cops sitting in their black and white cars at the side of the road. Once out of Yerevan, straight along the M4. The countryside hilly – Aragats visible behind – the land quite poor, dry.
I was originally planning to go to Noratus to see the field of khachkars, but it was getting late and I was hungry, so I re-routed here. Tricky doing that on the motorway, no places to stop. So I used a filling station temporarily to re-programme the satnav. This is not something I’ve every used for travels before (and certainly not domestically), but I thought after getting pretty lost a couple of times in Georgia two years ago – and wasting time as a result – I’d knuckle under. It certainly is easier, even if cheating somewhat. Pretty busy here in the restaurant – I imagine many came up from Yerevan – it’s only an hour. Amazing to think that just behind the hills across the lake lies Azerbaijan. So near…
My white Sevan fish turned out to be fishballs – nice, but not what I was expecting. Service very slow – I won’t be able to make it to khachkar field, alas, and will need to drive straight to Haghpat. Down to the lakeside. The lapping of the waves – it’s quite windy, quite fresh. The waiter brought blankets to the table, and many other diners are using them. The water greenish, but changeable. The hills very smooth, little vegetation. Beautiful of course. To finish, an Armenian coffee – like Turkish/Greek, but more dilute. I can’t get out – a car is blocking me in the car park – a white Tesla, it almost goes without saying…
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| Room with a view |
In the Haghpat Hotel, which is simple but rather splendid. First, because it is situated right next to Haghpat Monastery. Secondly, I have the best room – number five. From my entrance balcony I see the monastery; from the other, a view down Debed valley, which is spectacular. To the left (south), there are broad green fields leading from the surrounding hills, which are covered in rich bobbly vegetation – aka trees – to the precipitous drop down to the river valley – several hundred metres. The late afternoon sun is illuminating the more distant fields, the nearer in shade. On the other side of the valley just waves of ridges, covered in low trees.
In front of the hotel and church(es), there is a small square/car park. A lonely tree near the hotel, and a few shops: the Aga ministore; “Fruts & Vegetables”; and Cappuccina (sic), next to one of the coffee and tea vending machines that are found all over Armenia from what I can see. I, on the other hand, have been drinking a tea (with frothy milk) kindly offered by the hotel host, a jovial chap in his 50s.
The tour groups are starting to return to their buses. It will be rather wonderful to have this place to myself later – and first thing tomorrow. The heating has come on, which is good: the temperature here in the mountains drops quite a lot at night. I wonder where the poor street dog – a bitch with swaying dugs from many litters of pups no doubt – will shelter. When new groups of tourists arrive, she goes up to them, hopefully, her tail twitching slightly in excitement. Oddly, she has no ear tag: I wonder if that means she is unvaccinated. The heating and hot water in my room work well; I discovered why. In one of the cupboards here, there is a boiler – hence the speedy flow of hot things.
So, the drive here. Once my car was released from its Tesla bondage, along the coast of Lake Sevan, then inland, and eventually into a surprisingly long tunnel. Not semicircular, but rectangular in cross-section. Very dark – memories of the “Tunnel of Death” in Tajikistan. Out of the tunnel, the landscape suddenly seemed different – lusher, more English. Lots of hairpin bends along the way – reminded me of this summer, when we ascended to San Zeno overlooking Lake Garda.
Down to Dilijan, then taking a left along the valley to Vanadzor. Very beautiful. Along the way, a village called Lermontovo – no idea why it is named after him. The outskirts of Vanadzor endless, but the central part looks rather nice – I look forward to staying there later this week.
A long swaying road to the north, amazingly accompanied by a railway line, which runs along the Debed valley – rather an engineering feat given the landscape. Seems to run all the way to Tbilisi – must be a wonderful ride. I’d like to do it someday.
Through villages whose name I knew from my preparations: Dzegh, Tumayan, Odzun, to the main town Alaverdi (same name as the one in Georgia, which I saw two years ago, apparently from the Turkish “Allah gave”). The main road cuts from the north to the south bank. This gives a stunning view of the old industrial area of Alaverdi – now completely rundown, but still standing on a huge scale. Makes Rustavi’s industrial wasteland look like a garden city in comparison. Real Tarkovsky post-apocalyptic visions.
Turn off to Haghpat, then a fairly steep road, ending in the space by the monastery and Haghpat Hotel. Fabulous journey, with elements of my trips to Stepantsminda and in Kyrgyzstan, especially how the road tracked the mountain stream – surprisingly strong and boisterous. I drove downstream: the Debed eventually joins a river in Georgia – not sure which, looking at the map (AI tells me it joins the Khrami river, which is a major tributary of Mtkvari/Kura, which runs through Tbilisi. Makes sense.
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| Haghpat monastery by night |
Down to the hotel’s restaurant. No one else around. Take rice soup and Armenian dolma, plus lavash and home-made cheese. Dolma very delicate, soup and cheese very salty, which is death for me… Alas, I fear this is pretty much all they have, plus a chicken dish of some kind. That’s the problem with travelling out of season; on the plus side, I get to stay in the best room hotels like this, with few other guests in evidence (I heard a couple of crazy cyclists talking Spanish here…). After supper, a quick walk around the monastery – still open, and illuminated with an eerie silver light. A wonderful sight to end the day.
5.10.26 Haghpat
Dawn. The sun rises behind me, casting deep shadows in Debed gorge. The tops of the mountains opposite lit with a pinkishh light. A few scraps of cloud are trapped between the hills. We are quite high here – between 1000 and 2000 metres. Impressive: not yet 8am, and a little old man is sweeping the square clean – and doing a good job too. I wonder who pays him?
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| The contrapuntal Haghpat Monastery |
Sitting in the Haghpat Monastery, quite alone. I hope it will be a while before the tours start arriving. Quite simply the most amazing ensemble of church buildings I’ve seen. So many, and put together in a contrapuntal way. The main church of the Holy Cross with its huge gavit (=narthex) in front of me. Two smaller churches are free standing – St Gregory’s and Mother of God. Alongside the main church, a gallery leading to the library in which is found one of the most famous khachkars – Jesus on the cross. Another gallery at the back of the church, and standing a little further back, a huge belfry. All built of the grey stone basalt, some slabs pock-marked as those in the Georgian churches I saw two years ago. Cross incised on the walls everywhere, ornamentation around the doors all of which have rounded arches. Lots of towers with umbrella roofs.
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| Inside the Hamazasp gavit |
Into the Hamazasp building – another gavit, but free standing, rather than serving as an entrance to a church. Huge with an open dome. The supports of the dome very unusual in shape. Cut off triangular prisms, with hollowing out in an indescribable form. Very dramatic. Wonderful space.
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| A portal to another world |
In the passageway to the library, a tiny building/room, covered in inscriptions and crosses. To the library, another open roof. In the floor, dozens of what look like kvevri – presumably for storing food. Odd to have them in the library… They are quite deep – easily break your leg in them. Ah, guidebook says used as storeroom after invaders took the books… Nice open passage at right angle to the covered one. Lovely view under the broad arch of surrounding landscape, like a portal to another world. On the outer east wall, a striking carving. Two men hold a model of the church. One wears a hat, the other a turban. The forms are very stylised – so much so, they look modern – rather like Jacob Epstein.
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| Haghpat Monastery's bell tower |
The bell tower impressive in its verticality. The base is a cross, but morphs into an octagon higher up; the transition made with a kind of honeycomb design common in Central Asia. Even the windows are massive – surrounded by nested frames, and three key-like ornaments. Above, a larger double opening, with two semi-circular and one central octagonal pillars. On the east wall, the keys reveal themselves as arms of the cross. The tourists are arriving, but at the least the main church is open now (it was closed when I first came). Some well-preserved frescoes in the apse, a rather unusual Jesus staring down. Also frescoes on the side walls of various apostles etc.
A pleasant drive to Akhtala Monastery. Single, massive building, same grey stone. Unfortunately there are a bunch of girls dressed as angels or in costume, who are dancing around. There is a couple with a baby, so a christening, it seems. Angels are waving their wings, young ladies are dancing to vaguely ethnic music. Not just low-tech angels, but a high-tech drone, too. They are in the porch, which has two arches, and is massive. The space of the third arch is a self-standing chapel, joined on, with a continuous south wall. Unusual two porthole windows in the eastern apse. East face best: a huge cross – with a rough physical hole at the top – and under this a windows sitting on two squares placed diagonally. Overall, quite austere in feeling. Two tall niches, each containing two angled walls at an acute angle (around 85 degrees).
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| The east and south faces of Akhtala Monastery |
Beautiful interior – reminds me of Alaverdi in Georgia [the priest is intoning.] Stonework not in the best condition – lots of cracks, lost mortar. Very high, with wooden dome. Lots of ancient frescoes, but I can’t get close yet. I presume – hope – baptism is a relatively short service. [Some female chanters as well as priest now singing. A small organ plays, a female soloist sings – oops slightly out of tune there….]
Gave up waiting for it to end – just in time, as a big group of tourists turned up – in a coach with Georgian plates, probably having driven down from Tbilisi, which is only two hours away from here. So I am in Nurik restaurant next to the monastery. It comes highly recommended, and has a wide selection – welcome after my hotel’s limited fare. Sun out again, although the waitress said that yesterday it was bucketing down, which is odd, since it was sunny in Haghpat, just 20 minutes away…
In the car park, there is a street dog with her two puppies, trying to cadge some food. I might take some bread for them – I gave lavash to the bitch in Haghpat, she seemed to enjoy it… Aznavour(ian) playing in the background. Bean soup with chopped walnuts nice enough, nothing special…
Wow, the baptismal group have only just emerged now – took about an hour. Serious business these baptisms in Armenia. Still no one else here in the restaurant. Eating “pakhlava” – which has almond in it – yuk – plus Armenian coffee, still rather watery. Sky closing up, but bright. Most tourist buses have gone, so I should be able to complete my visit of the monastery and its frescoes.
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| Some of the impressive frescoes inside Akhtala |
Inside, I find German guide earnestly explaining the frescoes – just as in Alaverdi (the Georgian one). They are certainly impressive, both for their age and preservation. But you really have to be into them – like these Germans – to get the full experience. Nearly all women old and not so old. Guide is 50-ish bloke. Basalt the stone, and Georgian the influence throughout, the guide book says.
Haghpat seems a pretty thriving village – helped, no doubt by all the tourists that flock here. Early this morning, the children were going to the local school. Now they are returning. Women are buying their groceries at the Aga local shop. Still lots of people coming in on coaches – some big. Wind getting up, temperature going down.
A German group has left, after having their coffee and cognac, provided as part of the tour. As they leave, a flock of sparrows descends to clean up the crumbs dropped from biscuits eaten by the tourists. Meanwhile, the heavy-dugged bitch continues to work the crowds, ever-hopeful of some morsel. I’ll try to give her some in due course.
Such a great view across to Sanahin, where I now plan visit tomorrow. The idea being to get there in the window of time before the tourist coaches arrive form Yerevan and Tbilisi – I’m hoping that’s until about 11am. Staring at the view, the geography becomes clearer – the deep Debed gorge twisting south, to the left, the rather ugly modern blocks of flats in Sanahin, incongruously perched on the high plateau between the gorge and the mountains. The pylons loping across the landscape – pretty effectively, no power cuts here or elsewhere in Armenia that I can see. Then round to my right, the gorge continues on its way to Georgia, which is remarkably close here – hence the minivans with Georgian plates (and a taxi I just saw, also from Georgia, taking a couple of Koreans (?) back to their hotel, probably in Tbilisi).
One or two houses use the solar heating system. A new property by the monastery, still being built, also has photovoltaic panels. Most houses seem to have metal roofs – the older ones corrugated. There’s a special atmosphere in the village at this hour: as the tourists peel away, the square by the monastery empties out, leaving it to the locals, the bitch, and me.
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| The view from the cemetery across Haghpat towards Sanahin |
As well as the monastery, it turns out there a couple of other monuments. Taking the road behind the monastery, rising steadily, there is an ancient water spring flowing steadily under its own building's roof. Walking further uphill, past the very extensive Haghpat cemetery, there is a small chapel of St. Tiramayr (holy mother of god), with three splendid khachkars alongside. Fantastic view over the gorge and mountains. The village roofs below remind me of Khinalug – but a lush, more verdant version. Most of the gravestones have black and white images of their occupants, as in other place – Uzbekistan, for example. Also a bench and table here. A nice tranquil spot for contemplation. A real maze among the tombs to get up and down – no clear route, just paths and steps at random…
Back in my room, I look out and see what seems to be a camper fitted out oddly: solar panels on the roof, and a warning that video surveillance is being carried out. A Chinese man gets out, and another camper pulls – behind my car. This second van had a Chinese number plate, was rather flashier than the first. Fortunately, the later arrival then started manoeuvring rather crazily – trying to park on the other side of the first Chinese camper, failing, pulling out, doing a U-turn, trying again. The driver did not seem very competent – the idea he might have driven from China seemed impossible. But I went down – the second van no parked awkwardly sticking out in the square – I saw the following sticker on the side of the first camper: “2026-2027 Global Self Drive Route Across Asia & Africa” and its Chinese translation. You have to be impressed by the craziness of the endeavour. Inevitably, they cooked rice for supper, which they were now eating in their vehicles.
Earlier, another Chinese group bowled up in a car with Armenian plates. They also parked next to mine, and interestingly the driver was a young woman, who has my respect for coping with signs in Armenian and English, no Chinese in sight. There were a group of four, and they whizzed around the site as one of the last visitors. Trouble is, these monasteries are so rich and complex you need to spend time on them. Otherwise they are just old churches. It’s also why I have left Sanahin for first thing tomorrow, to try to do it properly when I am fresh, not rushing it this evening. I hope the weather forecast of some sun prove true.
Slightly more choice in the hotel’s restaurant tonight. I have aveluk – which seems to be cooked black weeds plus yogurt. After, a chicken, onion and pepper dish (sorry, chicken…). This is chicken chakhokhbili – actually Georgian in origin, as its name suggests, but widely served here apparently. Rather nice (sorry, chicken). The aveluk – wild mountain sorrel – tasted pretty much as you might expect weeds to taste. OK to try once…
Lively tonight – four other tables occupied: three French, one Armenian. From the latter group, an old geezer has sat down at the rather out of tune upright piano in the corner (Belarus the brand), playing smoochy, clangorous music.
6.10.26 Sanahin
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| On the way to Sanahin, Alaverdi's decaying factories |
In Sanahin Monastery. Technically, I was the first to enter, although a group of Italians were seconds behind me. But worth the rush to get shots of this atmospheric place without tourists – it will probably be crawling with them later.
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| Inside the first gavit |
Similar to Haghpat in the way it looks assembled in pieces from a kit of monasteries. Two amazing gavits – my favourite bits. The main church high, very similar to Haghpat. The smaller Mother of God church, dark and atmospheric. Here there was a library too – locked – plus a possibly more imposing belfry, very square and solid, with a huge cross on the outside wall picked out in red sandstone (?). Weather holding up – bright with occasional sun. I hope it holds for the rest of today, at least this morning, as I proceed west to Vanadzor.
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| The west front of Sanahin Monastery |
The west front of the ensemble particularly successful: belfry, then six arches leading to a gavit, then the main church gavit. Very tranquil here, as you might expect, even though you pass through the rather grim Sanahin town – lots of Soviet blocks of flats. On the way here, manged to get a pic of the derelict works in Alaverdi. Back in the main gavit. Graves absolutely everywhere – impossible not to walk on the dead. Fine capitals on the four great pillars holding up the roof.
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| The view from the second gavit into the main church |
In Odzun church. Quite simply one of the most perfect church buildings I have ever seen. Its interior is high and very simple, but its exterior is astonishing. Journey was very Georgian – a switchback road with sharp turns, fantastic views over the gorge – hard to find a safe place to stop to photo, but I managed – not much traffic, luckily.
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| The road up to Odzun |
And then, suddenly driving across a gently sloping plain – a heaven in the skies. Odzun town small and unpretty, and this… I am the only one here, of course, aside from the lady on the desk selling bits and pieces. There’s an offering box, which I shall give 5K dram - ~ £10. This place deserves it – not least because it has a toilet, albeit just a hole in the ground, in a tiny outhouse. Needs must when the, er, devil drives…
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| Odzun church |
Sitting in the lobby of Hotel Kirovakan – room not yet ready. Great drive south from Odzun, then west parallel to the gorge, which was visible on my left as a great brown gash. Very rich agricultural land – looks very European. Into Stepanavan, then out towards Pushkin’s pass. Stopped at the faux Pushkin/Griboyedov monument – completely the wrong place for a meeting that never actually took place. Pushkin made into a giant – which he was artistically, just not physically. Then on to the turn-off for Pushkin’s pass over the mountain – which is a dirt track, currently, so decided it would be prudent to give it a miss. The tunnel – also rectangular in cross-section and dark – a good short cut. The road to this point already challenging; those poor oxen really must have struggled to get up the other side, and then down this one.
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| Pushkin was a literary giant, but not this tall |
Still a longish road from there to my hotel in Vanadzor – not helped by very unclear instructions form satnav – confirming my dislike of them. I tried to do what any full-blooded Armenian would have done – tyre-squealing U-turns to get back on track. Vanadzor looks a bustling city – you can see it’s the country third biggest. Along the main street, Tigran Mets Avenue, lots of well-dressed people, young ‘uns too. I got close to the hotel, which I knew was slightly hard to drive to. So I dutifully followed the satnav’s instructions, which told me to turn right up an unpaved track full of big stones and deep potholes. Was this right? I wondered. Satnav continued to bark orders, taking me down impossible alleys; I did the best I could, keeping the (tall) hotel in my sight. Eventually I arrived, but I fear for my tyres.
Inside reception, smart, a helpful lady said my room was not ready. So I waited 30 minutes, until it was. Nice room – number 400, top floor at the end of the renovated section – most is in a dire post-Soviet state of disrepair. The room spacious, with a sofa in front of the bed. Big bathroom (no bidet, sigh). A good view west over the city, although it would be a stretch to call it nice: mostly rusting industrial buildings, rubble, wild plants.
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| Looking west across Vanadzor |
Out for a late lunch, and it turned out walking not much easier than driving. I took an overgrown path from the front of the hotel, past the decaying wing, down a track that look like a country lane. But the quickest way down, apparently. Then to here, Madera Vanadzor, which required me to cross several large roads. There are pedestrian crossings, but not light, so you just walk and hope. Seems nice enough here – reviews very good. Quiet at this time, aside from the boppy background music (all 70s synths) playing. Tried again to order kharcho soup – off, so took the beef version. Sorry, cows. Good food, but when it came to pay, the lady took away my contactless card, and brought it back with a receipt. I think they are honest here, but still, I shall be checking.
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| Vanadzor Art Museum |
To Vanadzor Art Museum, which is lovely. Lots of natural light from its glass front, light-coloured walls with works spaced out well. I feel better just being here. Illustration for Sayat-Nova “Tunes in Armenian, Georgian and Azeri”. A classic Soviet realist portrait of “Machinist Aghan Khachatyan” by Romanos Sargasyan – it works because of the engine wheels behind. Down a floor, “The Days of Revolution, Leningrad 1917” by Aram Garibyan. Very powerful lighting effects give the feeling that something is about to happen…. Another effective portrait of the workers: “The Artisans of Leninakan” by Hakob Anankyan. Modern yet tender (Leninakan the Soviet name for Gyumri).
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| A smelter's portrait by Gevorg Mnatsakanyan |
It’s striking how many themes recur in Soviet paintings – things like “harvest”, “rest” – because they are ideologically safe. An unusual landscape that capture the sense of Armenian hillside villages, by Ashalyus Giloyan. Another fab pic of the worker: “Smelter, Alaverdi” by Gevorg Mnatsakanyan. Beautiful use of red-hot heat and the dark colours of the overall, plus a nice diagonal in the top right hand corner. “Landscape with a bridge” by Hrachya Khudaverdyan, not as boring as it sounds because of the great swathes of light on the inside of the arches, while all else is dark. A striking pic of Mount Ararat “In Farm Fields” by Deghdzanik Mkhtaryan because of the almost psychedelic colours. Ararat looks like a mountain on another planet – which it is, of course, for Armenians… A tiny watercolour “Illustrations for Nairi Zaryan’s Poem “Pushkin in Kars” (sic).
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| A landscape by Ashalyus Giloyan |
This is a really great collection of modern national artists. Even the weaker pix are well done, and the best are superb. The only thing missing, for me, is an overall sense of the various schools and their development. Downstairs a temporary exhibition of portraits of (contemporary?) Armenians They don’t seem a very happy lot. They make me think of the hundreds of portraits on the gravestones in the churchyard yesterday. All these lives, all this sadness…
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| Vanadzor railway station |
Walking along Tigran Mets Avenue. All the street lamps are wreathed in fibre optic cables, newly installed, or ready to install. All around me I hear people say “che”. Which is confusing, because in Italian it means “there is”, but in Armenian it means “isn’t”… To the local station. Quite a grand avenue leading to it. All of the buildings along it use the (local?) pink stone – very harmonious, but with variety too. Even blocks of flats use it for facings.
Walking back to the hotel along the perilous path, a street dog took exception to my presence, but only barked vociferously. Given the problem navigating this route by day, the thought of doing it in the dark was just right out… So I am eating in the hotel, which has a barely functioning restaurant – I seem to be the only one here, and the food on offer is basic. But cheap, as is all food here – lunch cost about £6. I also need to find a better route for the car tomorrow – I can’t go over those potholes and rocks again. Shows that Vanadzor still has a long way to go for tourism. It’s a lively enough town, but Westerners/Chinese aren’t going to put up with some of these things.
One thing in all the cafés and restaurants: a sign forbidding smoking on pain of a 50,000 dram fine – that’s more than £100. So people don’t smoke in restaurants. Just everywhere outside, where it is universal. Still, good that Armenian government is trying to change that. It’s like Italy 40 years ago, when everyone smoked everywhere; now far less. The voluntary pedestrian crossings seem to work quite well: you step on them, and the traffic slows down pretty quickly.
Despite being unable to follow Pushkin over his pass, today pretty successful. I did manage to get to Sanahin early – first, in fact – to experience it alone and undisturbed. And Odzun was even better than I had imagined it to myself. The journey from Odzun down and across to Stepanavan was pretty idyllic – beautiful countryside in broken sunshine. The juxtaposition of the level fields and the great crack in the earth running from east to west, was striking. And this Hotel Kirovakan is delightfully quirky: the renovated part rather nice, the other part a disaster. And its position strange, overlooking the city, but oddly cut off from it. The art gallery was also a bonus. I had read it was worth visiting, but it was much more than that: really worth coming to Vanadzor just to see it. It deserves to be better known.
7.10.26 Lori Berd
To Lori Berd fortress near Stepanavan. Not much to see here except the walls, which are fine enough. But the deep gorge that forms the ultimate in moats is stupendous. A really deep cut through the multiple layers of rock, which is also broken up vertically. Lush vegetation growing at the bottom of the gorge. Lots of low cloud this morning – in fact, emerging from Pushkin’s tunnel, it was foggy – actually low clouds. But patches of blue sky in places.
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| Lori Berd fortress |
Went down to breakfast at the hotel – awful. Instant coffee, and no milk until I asked for some. A couple of eggs, bread, jam, bit of (nice) cake. Pity, it lets down the hotel. As I left for today’s travels, I was surprised to see that the car park was full with around 20 cars. Once again the satnav tried to lead me down unclear goat tracks, which I ignored. I carried on down Mashtots Avenue – wide-ish but full of terrible potholes and bumps. Awful roads here. Managed to escape finally.
Interesting: the soil is very fine and black here. Lots of worms crawling in the wrong place on the surface. I saved a few. After the fortress, off to look at the “golden lily lakes of Stepanavan” – which are not very golden at this time of years. But picturesque enough. Then on to Tashir, searching for various possible eating places. Pretty grim. Feels like the end of the land, which it is. Before, some beautiful landscapes – flat fields leading to high hills. So back to Stepanavan, to “Lunch by Hovasapyan’s and Bakery”. Extremely well reviewed, and seems to serve simple, honest food. Car parked outside, after the nth U-turn in the middle of the traffic.
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| The golden lily lakes, not so golden this time of year |
Afterwards off to Privolnoye, on the route of Pushkin’s road down from Georgia, although sadly the last part is closed because of some territorial dispute with that country, rumbling on after all these years… So many speed cameras here. I wonder if I have been caught at some point. I’ll find out. Their traffic lights are good, because they have a countdown for both green and red, so you can judge things better in terms of speed and stopping. We should adopt it in the UK. Today I saw a street dog go up to the (voluntary) pedestrian crossing, sit for a moment, then walk carefully across – no humans present. Clever old street dog.
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| Privolnoye's Russian-style church |
Sitting on the church steps in Privolnoye. A cockerel clucks around, and there is the smell of cow manure in the air. The church has a huge onion dome – this is/was a Russian village, it seems. Past the village administration (with an ancient mustard-coloured school bus outside). Past the village store, which is called “Market”, past decaying but picturesque wooden houses straight out of nineteenth-century Russia. A small admin building, using the pink stone again, whose lower floor rooms are stuffed to the ceiling with straw. A coffee vending machine – even here. A little man wants me to stop. He phones someone – I hope not the police. I drive north, to the end of the metalled road. Dirt track. The little man has followed me in his car. Claims to be the administrator of the village, wanted to see my passport. I told him about Pushkin etc. He seemed dubious. We shall see.
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| Pushkin rode down here; end of the road for me |
Well, I guessed that would happen. As I drove back following Pushkin’s route, admiring the soft contours of the hills and lush landscape, as he did, I descended a hill into Stepanavan. At the bottom, I could vaguely see flashing blue and red lights. They belonged to an extremely chunky 4x4, done out in army olive green. Without a moment’s hesitation, the vehicle pulled out, overtook the traffic and stopped at an angle across the whole road, blocking my and everyone else’s path. A young man in uniform got out, came across, and asked whether I minded answering a few questions. Of course not, I said, and we both pulled over to clear the road.
Inevitably, he asked me what was my interest in Privolnoye. I should point out that this village is not just isolated and apparently unused to crazy tourists taking pictures of their church and houses, but that it is the last settlement before the border with Georgia. That border is disputed, so they are a bit jumpy around here.
I explained about Pushkin and the road. Fortunately, Pushkin is very well known here. The young man – late 20s, early 30s – made the connection, and asked: “Are you a writer?”. I said yes, and then he asked whether he could see any my books. Tricky, but then I thought of the world’s greatest library, on the Internet. Fortunately, Armenia’s mobile Internet is really good, and I pulled up the Google search for my name. This had several pictures of me, which the officer was very interested in, and took photos of them. I then showed him my Wikipedia page. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to speak English (we spoke in Russian), but went away with the info he had gathered. He was always extremely polite, and never threatening – no guns were involved.
He sat in his 4x4 with this fellow soldier/driver, and I could see them checking out things online. He also spoke on his phone to confer with his superiors. Finally he came back, and I was just showing him my travel writing when he said it was all OK. He also asked whether I’d been to Azerbaijan, but in a way that suggested he had already found my travel diary of two years ago. He apologised for the inconvenience, I thanked him, we shook hands, and they drove off. To give credit where it is due, he really was the model of politeness and correctness at all times – a credit to Armenia’s army/border guards (assuming that’s what he was.) I wasn’t too worried by this whole episode because (a) I half expected it (b) I had really done nothing wrong and (c) Armenia is a civilised place these days. I can think of a few that aren’t and where this conversation could have ended rather differently.
Well, today ended quite dramatically after a rather slow start. I supposed very few Armenians have been up to the northern border where I was today, never mind foreign tourists. Which is why the little man in the village was suspicious. I supposed I made a slight error not stopping when he signalled to me as I left. But I thought he was just some general bloke who wanted to sell me something. He didn’t look official in any way. It was only when he pursued me to the end of the road and asked to see my passport that I asked him: “And you are…?”, and found out he was the local power.
Clearly not many people seek to follow in the footsteps of Pushkin. Doing so, I realised just what a hell of a long journey it was, and over some serious mountains. It takes real determination to keep going. Of course, things were easier then, in the sense that there were no borders between Armenia and Georgia. It was all Russian Empire. Now, just 200 years later, everything has fragmented, and the borders everywhere have become super-sensitive. Adds a certain frisson, I suppose, but it is inconvenient. For example, in Central Asia, where travelling between different nations is still a little uncertain.
The other thing that struck me was to feel sorry for the poor oxen that brought Griboyedov’s body home. They had to walk all the way from Tehran, again, over some serious mountain ranges. Were they changed every few days? Or did they make the whole journey with the same suffering animals. We will never know, because no one ever gives them a thought…
One thing: here petrol is called “petrol”; why? Because “gas” means LPG for cars that still use it. An interesting quirk. Not many women drive outside Yerevan. But there, it seems really common – especially the flash family SUVs, which are plentiful now. As you would expect, fewer Teslas and BYDs out here, but there are some. So many Ladas, of all types, ages and conditions. Rather strange, this contribution of Italy – Ladas are based on an old Fiat design – to Caucasian and Central Asian culture. Who would have guessed it would endure so long? Very few Russian tourists up here that I have noticed. But everyone speaks Russian, even the young people. I thought they were moving to English, but obviously there is enough demand for Russian up here that they learn and use it.
8.10.26 Vanadzor
The day begins with the usual morning chorus – of dogs across the city. I wonder what they are saying? Good morning? Heard the news? Another day, another dollar…? Vanadzor is like other towns and cities built in a valley – long and thin. This makes walking around rather fatiguing – you always have to go there and back. Yerevan, by contrast, is more compact, because built on a circular plan, complete with a ring road and a mini green belt.
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| Another day begins in Vanadzor |
Lots of travelling today, back to Yerevan via Gyumri. At least the weather looks decent: the low clouds on the mountains clearing, blue sky above. As I feared, breakfast was full of hordes of middle-aged Russians – even before the official opening time. A big party bowled up last night – so apparently Russians do visit this up here…
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| The crazy but beautiful Holy Saviour's Church in Gyumri |
Sitting in Vardanants Square in Gyumri – brilliant but slightly hazy sunshine. Lovely space, with the crazy church to my right. They should build more churches like this. Inside rather tacky, full of painted angels. Outside, a great lump of rock that fell off during the earthquake. Road here lovely. Passed Spitak, which had the worst of the damage. Through the tunnel, and the clear sunshine turned to swirling clouds. Very Scottish in feel. Very quiet – barely any traffic. In Vanadzor, a nasty traffic accident: a JCB had managed to crash into the back of a car – causing serious damage. Not sure how that happened. Moving on soon, long way to go.
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| Mount Ararat's peak just about visible above the haze |
Now in the Veranda Restaurant, Tegher. Hazy, alas, so Ararat barely visible – only the peak, er, peeking out. Crazy drive to here – satnav taking me down goat tracks again. Only one other party in here. Long drive from Gyumri. Mostly on M1 motorway – 90 km/h. Good road, cops around. On the way, passed a small cemetery. Before Gyumri there is a huge one – military, dead from the First Karabakh war. All those young faces in uniform… I forgot to mention, outside Vanadzor, a huge bird swooped across the road – an eagle, I’d guess. There it was quite Scottish, here it is barren and Spanish. Now 20°C – was 11°C in Vanadzor. Very hot and trying. Roads off motorway terrible – deep potholes again.
The blokes of the other party here going outside for a quick fag… There is noticeably more pollution here: before Gyumri it was much clearer. Smokestacks in evidence down by the motorway (and also some in Vanadzor).
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| This is huge: note the people for scale |
By the abandoned Radio Optical Observatory ROT-54 near Orgov. Huge and so deep – frightening to look down into it (how would you get out if you fell in….?). And the rocket-like measurement gantry suspended in the centre. It’s like a 1950s vision of the future – pure Tarkovsky. The man at the gate very helpful, only 1500 dram – about £3. Worth infinitely more for the experience. What a sight – with Tegher Monastery behind, and Ararat to the left of it.
Nightmare in Etchmiadzin. Road blocks, traffic. Was it worth it? Probably not… Well, that was probably the most stressful drive I have ever done. The stupid satnav made me go in circles, then in the wrong direction. Eventually, I gave up and used the sun as I usually do. But its repeated idiocy meant that my phone’s battery was very low, so I couldn’t use it to guide me through the awful Yerevan rush hour. Somehow I made it back to Alamo car hire on time, with 7% battery left. In fact, I realised I blundered: I should have asked to charge my phone at the swish restaurant (around £20 for the meal). Fool me. Now I know. Also, I need a new battery charger – mine is pitifully slow. I got the car back in one piece and with a full tank, but the man found a dent in the boot: no idea if it was there before. Weird place to have it. Ah well, if they charge me for it, they charge.
Out for an evening stroll up Matsots to the Cascade. Whole place is heaving with people in the nicest possible way. The level of liveliness surprises me for a city of only a million inhabitants. Shows how far it has come since I was last here. They are putting up scaffolding with speakers here – for a concert. Seems this has become one of the city’s key spaces. Figures silhouetted against the sodium lights on the Cascade, but I don’t quite have the energy tonight after my drive.
9.10.26 Yerevan
Up to the Cafesjian to use its escalators to the top. Ararat still surrounded in haze, but visible. It is a huge, looming presence that must wound every time Armenians see it. People doing their morning exercises up here – running up and down the steps, stretching at the top. A couple of street dogs join us. I saw two others on a pedestrian crossing together, then going their separate ways. One used another crossing nearby. The Armenians seem to treat them well: I often see them petting the dogs – especially women. They dogs look pretty healthy – not thin at all. I saw a small one limping near Vanadzor, and on the motorway, several dead, alas. Mind you, pretty foolish of them to out there – it’s really barren and harsh. Towns are far more suitable for street dogs. Also quite a few people walking their own dogs here – I was delighted to see one man pick up after his had produced, a sure sign of civilisation.
Last night I ate a veggie burger, (a) because the restaurant Future Diner was very close and (b) because I am fed up being forced to eat meat. But what is interesting is that the option exists now – eight years ago I don’t think it did. Crows flying overhead. Lots of men/ladies cleaning up around the steps – good move.
Etchmiadzin really was hell (sic) yesterday. First, there were extensive roadworks on the main road leading in. Then the police closed off the road I needed to take – it looked like some kind of market. The satnav was taking me all around the houses, so I decided to park and walk. Big mistake probably, but at least decisive. The church itself was OK – quite quirky, but nothing in comparison to the stunning monasteries I’d seen. And the inside was gaudy and weak.
In any case, my reason for going there was not the church, nor its position as the Canterbury Cathedral of Armenia. Decades ago I bought one of the few Armenian language courses, called “Spoken Eastern Armenian”, all on cassette tapes. The recordings were made in the late 1950s, judging by the copyright in the manual, and reflected Armenia of the time – talk of “kolkhoz” etc. It was charming as a time capsule of that world, and actually rather good – I have been listening to it a lot recently. In lesson 4, the dialogue goes: “They say that Leninakan and Etchmiadzin are big cities [Leninakan was the Soviet name for Gyumri.] Is that so?” To which the response is: “They aren’t so big. Yerevan’s the biggest city in Armenia, but Etchimiadzin is one of the oldest.” Well, you could have fooled me, driving in it. And the outskirts – through which the satnav decided to take me – were particularly depressing in their modern ugliness. (Ararat slightly clearer now.)
Quite a few doing callisthenics – young and old. Great idea, like running along the Thames. Looking down towards the opera house, the idea of constructing the Northern Avenue, which cuts across the otherwise boring grid system was a masterstroke. It lends the city all kinds of new perspectives.
Despite the horrors of Etchmiadzin, yesterday was a great drive. First, as a study in contrasts – between the rolling hills and fields of the verdant north, with its odd wisps of ground-level cloud, its clear – and clean – air, and the arid, scrubby hills of further south, devoid of anything much, except polluting industries and ugly towns. It was also fascinating to visit – finally – Gyumri’s crazy church. I’d often seen pix, and almost didn’t believe them (definitely clearer towards Ararat, although a grimy stratum of pollution is already building over Yerevan.)
It was nice to drive on some good roads from Gyumri. Some of the urban streets have been shocking in their disrepair. The M1, by contrast, was a real pleasure, even if the surrounding landscape was harsh and monotonous. But the best part of both yesterday and the previous days was how my vague plans on a map became reality. I love looking at maps – especially with the terrain visible in mountainous regions like here – and imagining being there, travelling along those roads. And that is precisely what I have done these past days, confronting the imagined and the hoped-for with the real. It is a real privilege to be able to do that, not least in the almost total absence of other tourists, and with generally perfect travelling weather.
To the bookshops. Epigraph – nice, then Bukinist – huge, lovely smell of old books in the second-hand section downstairs – nearly all in Russian, plus a few in Armenian. But a good holding in general. Quite a warren of rooms – it looks deceptively small from the outside. Now in “Sonriso” on the Northern Avenue – I need an (Armenian) coffee plus cheesecake. Breakfast (self made) was exiguous. Sun coming out, but still hazy cloud. Yum, good cheesecake, strong Armenian coffee – just what I wanted. Here on Northern Avenue, another great place for strolling and people watching.
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| Sasuntsi Davit Relief |
Back to Cafesjian. Still hazy. To the Sasuntsi Davit Relief, so modern and so ancient – it looks Sumerian. Unusual design for a gallery: you have to use an individual lift for each; also to exit. The exhibits by the stairs seem the same as it was eight years ago. To the other great permanent exhibit, Khanjyan’s triptych. Striking that lots of faces look like portraits of contemporaries. Explanation confirms that some are. Nice pyramidal structure for Vardanants central panel. But good to see Mesrop Mashtots placed first with his alphabet.
To the National Gallery. They have finally changed the rickety old Soviet lifts. In one room a painting by Mariano Fortuny, a name I know well, but probably few others do. A Canaletto with no less than seven dogs. There’s probably a PhD in there somewhere. Curious image of Holy Mother of God church in Iran. View of Moscow from Sparrow Hills, mentioned in Tolstoy. Nice pic of three church fathers and a fox. Over-the-top orientalism in “Moving the Sacred Carpet from Mecca to Cairo”. A (real-life) bridal couple having a photo taken here with suitably arty backgrounds.
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| Noah descending Mount Ararat |
Now down to the Armenian artists – the heart of the collection. Some of these I remember. For example, “Noah descending Mount Ararat” by Aivazovsky, and “Darial Gorge” – a place I know well – though they were in different rooms back then. Another “Darial Gorge”, this time by Gevorg Bashinjaghian, born in Sighnaghi.
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| Mount Kazbek, Georgia |
Also Kazbek, Ararat – all the biggies. Two contrasting scenes of Lake Sevan. Nice portrait of Komitas by Tadevossian.
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| Komitas, Armenia's greatest composer |
In the modern section, “Industrial Landscape, Alaverdi” by Gyurjian, the one I drove past. Another pic of Komitas, “The Last Night” by Muradyan. And Sayat-Nova by Safaryan.
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| Alaverdi's industry, back when it flourished |
Temporary exhibition of Sharambeyan. Beautiful colours of Garni gorge, which I visited eight years ago. At the end, a huge gallery of ancient Armenian religious art. Too much for me to see today. But I’d forgotten just how good the collection is, at least for Armenian and Russian pix – you could fruitfully spend hours there. Next time.
Moody Sonnets: Pushkin’s “What If?”
More destinations:
2024 Georgia - with photos
2025 Azerbaijan - with photos
2025 Istanbul - with photos
