Hayastan, Part II

Without any need to elaborate further on what has been scribed regarding the last 2 weeks before winter break and the stress accompanying it, it goes without saying that despite a sever infrequency (once in 3 days) in visits to a certain abode, only the Armenian apricot and apple could annihilate the wall surrounding the inner linings of a stomach. Bursting through was long overdue, and blissfully welcomed. If there is reason to return again in 4 months: R-E-G-U-L-A-R-I-T-Y is it!!!!

Subsequent to sleeping in airports and unheated hostels, arrival upon the scene I left exactly 5 months ago had been altered for the better. Prior to leaving, all I had heard from my NGO director was whining and bitching about not having a bright shiny new Toyota Corolla and no wife. Now, he has both and is a much happier man. My host family’s son has returned from prison after a 2 year absence during my stay in town. The Russian tutor and her family were doing well and using my old laptop for the better. All this being said; I returned to celebrate the holidays and see a new born baby.

Getting into town a few days before Christmas Eve, saying hello to everyone took some time – not to mention 3 friends had been married during that time. The night before Christmas was spent around a table in the back room of a little store in town, with old friends swinging back tiny cups of 60% homemade vodka. A local cop walked in, saw us all shitfaced and joined in the festivities. He then proceeded to drive me to my NGO director’s house so I could treat them to dinner and talk about their new life. That bored the shit out of me; I was particularly attached to his ex-wife.

Christmas Day. I have no recollection of what the last few were like, but pretty sure they did not include eating boiled cow leg with garlic and pickled vegetables. Then again, it’s likely they may have. Anyhow, it was good to be surrounded at 9 am with old friends and food familiar to me, much like the drunk dials placed to family in the United States. This was repeated the following day, along with more eating and drinking until it was time for the main reason for my return: Dyda Narek.

Uncle Narek entered this God-forsaken world about a week after I left last July. Newborns are usually spoiled little brats, but this was just absurd. No excuses. I was forced at finger point to take two hundred photos in one day. Narek wakes up, “Elliot come here!!”, “Elliot, we’re bathing Narek, here now!!!!!”, “Elliot, Narek is eating, come here NOW!!!” Generally, this would drive me nuts, but this kid was awesome, plus Gohar is too damn persuasive. Trying to plead with her to change the channel on the TV from those awful Spanish soap operas to something else just doesn’t happen – especially now that she is a tateek (grandma). Photos of the little brat will be up on Flickr shortly, yes, at the request of Gohar for all the world to see his holiness.

Its 2 days before New Year’s and don’t have the slightest on which direction to take back to Budapest. It’s either a boat or a bus. The fear of infrequency leads me to take the longer route, to postpone the “bm” stressed-based disaster from grad school. However, getting back to city I’ve grown to love inclines me to take a speedier route. Either way, I’ve told those necessary to send an email if I get distracted and not there on the first day of classes. Happy New Year! Slovim Goda! Shnorhavor Nor Tari!


One response to “Hayastan, Part II

  1. If you recall, last Christmas you were, indeed, eating xash, yelling at Aram for trying to make you drink despite the fact that you were sick as hell.

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