Yerevan: Eating and Drinking

Yerevan I liked.  Any city with a suburb called Massive Norks gets my vote.  Buildings were a mix of Soviet grandeur, huge squares, like Opera Square, and Parisian looking tenements, all railings and roof gardens.  Being March, and Armenia being south of Carlisle, I had expected balmy spring evenings but it was decidely parky, snow on the ground and a fierce wind blasting straight through us.

Unfortunately, the heavy cloud meant no sighting of Mount Ararat, Armenia's spiritual home, now in Turkey.  We were also to miss pretty much all of Yerevan's main sights, the Genocide Memorial, museums, as it was too cold and snowing too much to wander around outside. 

Setting off from the bar under the hotel, one of those almost austere eastern European bars, other drinking establishments were not easy to find.  We passed an hour or two in a pizza place on the way to the Cascades, watching the world go by, before going further up the hill, where we got in from the cold and into a decent German bar.  The Armenian style is for meals to take as long as the time available, multiple courses and plenty of drinking.  Some men, all in leather jackets, with one rotund fellow clearly the main man sat at a table nearby.  Others were coming and going, but all going to him before anyone else, kissing both cheeks, paying homage.  Tony Sopranonian.  We saw a couple of groups like this, with  black Range Rovers parked outside bars, driver keeping guard.

People watching

We realised later that bars were mostly in basements.  The trick to drinking in Yerevan was to look down.  In restaurants, there would be a staircase leading to a basement with a bar, and straight from the street, you just had to look for beer signs, though at ground level.   

 Bars were interesting, dark, with lots of nooks and crannies.  The closest we came to a pub, other than the German bar, was a fishy themed bar which sadly was quite empty.  I constantly got the feeling we were missing the point, that somewhere out there, there were lively bars jumping with Armenian music and food, and we were wandering around, oblivious.  Having said that, it was a Monday night.  Early or late summer would be the time to go, when the Cascades is full of open air bars and barbecues, locally known as khoravats, grilled pork, lamb or chicken.

The week following our visit was the Iranian version of New Year with 70,000 Iranians expected in Yerevan for a day or two of a massive, frantic bevvy session, their one chance of the year.  We were speculating on how messy that could actually get, all starting out nicely and ending up, "Leave it, he's not worth it", being screeched all round the city as the lack of alcoholic opportunity takes its' toll.  Apparently, they run the risk of being arrested if the police smell alcohol on their breath when they return. 

Food, however, was magnificent !  So many different influences, Persian, Turkish, Georgian to the north.  On Khorenatsi Street, we found With Artush, and getting in out of the cold, were presented with a large vodka each to set us up.  Bit early, so I stuck to a few beers.  A wide selection of wildlife was behind glass, evidence of Armenia's hunting culture, everything from birds of prey to a bear.  Food was Armenian, highlight being a bean soup, with fresh, local bread but the whole menu was superb.

Better yet was the Afrikyanneri Pandok, rustic, and again, nooks and crannies, with heavy wooden tables and seats.  The menu was broader than With Artush, not only Armenian but Georgian, too.  We had a huge selection, lamb, pork, another great range of breads, and, being a part Georgian menu, a return to lobio, happy memories of Georgia five years before, well, unless you are Dave.  Needless to say, all washed down by a decent few beers.  £20 in total for the three of us.  This was followed up by a wander round to a pizza place, nearest thing we could find to a bar, for a few more.

A couple of bars later and it was into a downstairs restaurant, few more beers, I squeezed a quick plate of something in, in time for a brilliant violinist to start up.

John Doc "Can you play, "Far, far away ?"

"Right then, bog off".

Old jokes number 142, courtesy of Colin of the Chuckle Brothers.  Actually, the violin bloke was way above that and would never have deserved such an insult.

Scarlet Sails: Where to Drink in Tbilisi

"Mr Spielberg, Mr Spielberg ! How do you want me ?  What's my inspiration ?"

"You guys just stay sitting at the bar, he (the star) will be in between you doing his piece to camera while you talk among yourselves."

What can you say ?  A late night in a faraway bar and someone pointing a film camera at us, saying talk among ourselves.  Hmmm.  A Scotland trip.  What are we going to talk about ?

"So, how strong was Hattie Jacques' gusset ?"

"How did Kirk Broadfoot ever play for Scotland ?"

We had decided to expand our horizons and leave the comfort of Tbilisi's Old Town bars.  We made about fifty yards and found the Scarlet Sails.  Deciding on a beer before going too far, we stepped inside, much darker than outside, "Three beers, please", felt at home.  A band was setting up, there were bar stools and, always a sign of a proper pub, coat hooks.


Scarlet Sails ... one of the all time great bars

The clientele were a mix of youngsters trying to find their adulthood and adults trying to find their youth.  As the band warmed up and got going, one young cadet du space danced on his own for most of the evening ... good luck to him, not harming anyone !

A lone American expected everyone to be impressed simply by the fact of him being American.  "Hey, it's the Russian girls !", he yelled to a table of girls and a response of utter apathy.  None of us made eye contact with him. 

The band were excellent so we never moved on.  The owner, whose origins I hazily remember as a mix of Azerbaijan, Russia and a few years in Birmingham, was herself an amazing character, and was generous with the whisky.



Our star .... and two new stars

A TV crew had been working at the far end of the bar making some local show.  They had been there since before we arrived and moved towards our end with their filming.  We got talking to one of the crew who explained they were part of the main soap opera in Georgia. 

Eventually, the magic words, "Would you mind helping us with our filming ?"  Our role was to sit with the star in our midst, doing a long talk to camera, surrounded by his barfly friends, i.e. us, drinking and talking among ourselves.  Filming was obviously in Georgian and so we, speaking English, had a completely free choice of subject.  Obviously, Hattie Jacques and Kirk Broadfoot.

Actually, this was all harder than it sounds.  As well as talking without peeing ourselves laughing, we had to take a big gulp and put our drinks down at the right time, or, as we say in the trade, on cue.  Needless to say, quite a few attempts, quite a few gulps.  And new stars were born !

Mr Spielberg was delighted.  The crew moved to the courtyard outside to continue their filming.  That week's observant viewer would have seen John Green at the pub door window doing his amazing Eric Morecambe impersonation. 

So, if anyone in Georgia ever asks you who is this Hattie Jacques, now you know why.

A final comment on Scarlet Sails.  Some bars are just blessed.  It's opening day was the day before Scotland's game in Tbilisi back in 2008 !  Could a pub landlord get any luckier ?  Probably still spending the takings !

Next stop ..... Big Brother Georgia

About three hours before our flight home



Tbilisi ... one of the best

Driving to Georgia - Yerevan to Tbilisi

"What way is he going ?"

"There's a big left further up, see it on the map ?"

"Must be at the end of the town, must be somewhere, there's no more turn offs after that 'til Azerbaijan"

We sailed past the big left.

A few miles on, for no obvious reason, the driver speeded up for about ten minutes, to the point of overtaking on a blind bend going uphill.  Sphincter twitching stuff, all from someone who had seemed to be one of the best drivers in history.

"They're bloody trenches !"

"There's gun emplacements up there"

Empty houses on the left, overgrown, no animals, scorched earth.  Armenia on the left, Azerbaijan on the right and us, in the middle.  Hurtling.

Sadly, the time to leave Yerevan had arrived all too soon.  Great place, magnificent food and people, though I would imagine better at a warmer time than March.  Also, with a little more time so you could find the good bars !  And maybe not on a Monday night.

Returning to Tbilisi, we planned a more direct route.  The main highway to Sevan, over the mountains and down to Dilijan, crossing the border back at Bagratashen and back to Tbilisi.  Sevan we reached in barely an hour, through snow covered rolling hills, rising and rising for miles before we actually got to Sevan and the lake, the not surprisingly named, Lake Sevan.




Lake Sevan stunning & very, very cold

Lake Sevan is at an altitude of 1,900m, over a kilometre higher than Yerevan, and with over 900 sq km surface, is one of the largest high altitude lakes in the world.  The Soviets messed around with the lake and so its' shores are lower than it once was with the result that an ancient monastery which was once on an old is now on a peninsula.  The Armenians are doing the sensible thing and making efforts to help the lake recover.  Not great news if you built a hotel on the shoreline.


As far as Armenia is concerned, this is the coast.  There are resorts with beaches, bars, hotels and everything you would expect for a summer trip.  The only problem being bordering on no protection from the sun, and with the wind channelled through the mountains and blasting off the lake, young Scots like us would soon turn into lobsters.  There was no-one around on the day we were there and it was seriously cold, the same wind making being outside painful.

On the lake, there were fishermen out in little more than rowing boats.  I am sure they know what cold is and that must be a dangerous job, squalls on the water and too far from the shore, heavy clothes in the freezing water.  No chance.

Leaving Sevan and moving north west, into the Tavush region, the road continued rising and once we were past the highest point, the mountains became forested and steeper, more alpine, though the snow disappeared.  The forest was inviting, enough space to walk easily but enough cover to protect from the sun and keep the temperature down.  Dilijan, the next major town, is an arty retreat, even in the Soviet times it was, and as a centre for the mountains and the National Park around it, would be well worth a return.



Men standing.  Stand long enough, they'll make a statue of you.

We continued, through incredibly diverse landscapes, e highway was good quality, even the standard of driving was good, through Ijevan, and on through smaller towns and villages, like Noyemberyan.   Where the story began, the road road cut through what appeared the S-bends of the border.  A sad, empty feeling really to consider what must have happened there.

Each place gave us a slice of Armenian  life, whether a shop you could hardly see for the fruit outside, a butchers with a pen full of sheep outside or the inevitable old boys standing around, talking of the events of the day.

Armenia is incredibly diverse.  Canyons, escarpments, dry, almost empty looking rolling hills.  Very different to its' northern cousin Georgia but still well worth a visit. 

Over the border, the villages were different in character, and were actually Azerbaijani, though in Georgia.  As we got closer to Tbilisi, the quality of driving deteriorated, random lane choices and bizarre speed, and it felt like we had left a sedate couple of days behind and returned to a busy, busy place.

Azerbaijan is far on the right

Azerbaijani funeral - the cemetry was miles away

When we returned to the UK, John Docherty was kind enough to research Foreign Office Advice:

"....... we advise against all but essential travel near the border with Azerbaijan due to the unresolved dispute over Nagorno Karabakh. This particularly covers the border areas of Tavush and Gegharkunik regions, where there has been sporadic gunfire. In Tavush Marz we specifically advise against travel on the road from Ijevan to Noyemberyan, which passes close to the border and military emplacements, and on the roads beyond Berd.

Hmmm.  Maybe not the bedwetters I thought they were.

Driving to Armenia - Tbilisi to Yerevan

The road out of Tbilisi followed the river as it flowed east and then split, one way to Baku, and Azerbaijan, and the other, south, to Yerevan, and Armenia.  Road signs listed faraway places only so far imagined.  Fantastic.

Leaving Tbilisi, there were miles of blocks of flats in the Soviet style, but you could see enterprise and hope in Georgia.  Good standard roads and towns on the outskirts of the city, for example, had shiny, new, police stations.  Someone is certainly putting money in - the US taxpayer most likely.

To cross into Armenia, we had to get out of the car and queue, so the official in the office, who we could not actually see, could check through an open panel in his sliding window that we matched our passports.  There were a few people hanging about, and the building could have done with a lick of paint.  Contrast with the Georgian border post, all glass and new, built, I saw, by the US.

First stop in Armenia

At the border crossing, there were only a few people crossing into Armenia, even fewer vehicles.  No queues of trucks waiting to cross that you might see at other countries' borders.  There were no big towns near the border but the dearth of economic activity served to emphasise Armenia's isolation.  And, my word, it was freezing.

There were two things I wanted to see between the border and Yerevan - Mount Aragats, to the west, and Lake Sevan, north of Yerevan.  I wanted to go in one way and out the other so we would see as much of Armenia as we could.  At the point of choosing, the driver asked "Sevan" or "Spitak".  The Sevan road looked poor so the choice was Spitak.

We would be crossing the Lower Caucasus range - not the intimidating scale of the peaks around Kazbegi but more cliffs and gorges, the first being one of the most spectacular, the Debed Canyon, running along the Debed river.

As we progressed, occasionally seeing vultures and other birds of prey, it was clear that March was not quite the best time, overcast as it was.  A railway ran alongside the road though, as John Green pointed out, we never actually saw anything moving on it.

Most of the towns on this road seemed to be post-Soviet industrial hell-holes.  The Russians, obviously not daft, seem to have used the satellite lands they held under the old Communist era to put their chemical works and whatever else needed hiding.








Allaverdy sat in a bowl, surrounded by mountains and had a sprawling works at the base of the valley.  A huge pipe lead hundreds of feet up the side of the mountain where a chimney belched out noxious smoke.  At least the pipe was there taking the smoke out of the valley where the people actually live.  There was a huge cable car going from the road level, across the valley, up to the crest of the hill, presumably for taking the workers up.  This was where the road started to climb and, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, the first snow flakes appeared.

As we climbed the snow got worse.  My visions of a roadside bar, a coffee, beer, barbecued pork lunch, maybe a riverside and sun, evaporated unmentioned.  Still climbing, the snow now being blown across the road like sand, less and less traffic, as mutterings from the Doc in the front grew.  The heavy grey snow clouds gave a foreboding feeling.  Each town we passed through was similarly grim - endless disused works made of concrete, windows long smashed and roofs gone, along with anything of value, and featureless blocks for the workers.  The only obvious source of work was motor repairs.

Despite the weather, a lot of the flats had their washing, sheets and blankets hanging out.  A depressing job pulling those back in would be.

The snow was now heavy.  Sometimes, we could not even see the road and could only drive based on the line the traffic coming towards was taking.  John Doc suggested turning back, but there was no guarantee it would not be worse behind us so we pressed on, passed Spitak, and through the Pambak Mountains, crossing what we hoped was the highest pass on the road, about 7,000 feet.   

"Remind me.  Why didn't we go to Tenerife ?"

Mount Aragats was on our right.  Somewhere.  Probably.  All we could see was white and no idea of how far we could actually see.  I do not doubt my story does not do this side of Armenia justice whatsoever.

I am sure we missed stunning views, mountains, gorges, ancient churches and whatever else the country has to offer.  We managed to drive by a 13,000 foot mountain without seeing it so please accept my apologies.


The journey was supposed to take five hours and we eventually reached the outskirts of Yerevan after nearly seven hours.  There were huge signs advertising its' hosting of the Junior Eurovision Song Contest.  The Doc surprised us by explaining how the Eurovision is another massive bevvy session, where people go every year, meeting old friends from other Eurovisions, going to out of the way places across Europe.  Sounds great.    A Scotland trip by any other name.

I wondered if you get the Eurovision equivalent of Dave's, groundhoppers who can outdo each other with their exploits, how many successive Eurovisions they have attended and so on.

Yerevan.  We had arrived.  It was snowing and we were in need of a beer.  And I was hungry.

Hyur Travel - Armenia Travel Agency

Hyur were great.  The Gorni trip was arranged with Hyur Travel a few weeks in advance of us travelling.  Hyur offer a wide range of set trips all over Armenia, including into Ngorny Kharabakh, or you can tailor your own trip the way we did, and which they gave great advice on. 

Our plan for the day was to cover Gorni Temple, a short trek into Khosrov Nature Reserve and the Gheghard Monastery.  We were impressed as the mini bus arrived at the hotel bang on time, if not a few minutes early.  The driver was safe, always a good point, and our guide was the excellent, knowledgeable Lilit Suchyan. 

I asked the hotel staff about the car I had booked weeks before for the return journey to Tbilisi.  The response was the blank, obtuse look only produced by Eastern European hotel receptionists, until Lilit stepped in and without fuss arranged a car for the next morning to Tbilisi.

Hyur organise far more than tours but for more info check their website, http://www.hyurservice.com/.  I would thoroughly recommend them.

Garni, Geghard and Khosrov

FFFssst.....powff, "What to ... was that ?" 

A couple of feet away, sticking out of the road was a chunk of basalt.  Basalt that was not there before.  My brain went into overdrive.  Was there more coming down ?  Is there some kids at the top of the cliff ?  Move back from the cliff in case there is more coming down, not too far or I'll into the river. 

The rock had landed half way between John Green and I.  Had it hit either of us, skull crushed like eggshell jumps to mind.  An unsettling moment.  I would not have known a thing about it.

John Doc, John Green and I were visiting Garni, and down in the Avan Gorge, cliffs made of hexagonal basalt columns, hundreds of yards down both sides of a fast flowing river at the bottom of the gorge.  We were looking up at the ends of the columns, whatever had been below them having been hollowed out and eroded away by the river over the years.  An other worldly sight and none of us even knew they existed.  John Doc said the wallcreeper that I had excitedly pointed out on the cliffs had flown off and loosened the stone when it flew.  I understand wallcreepers are rare.  Not rare enough.  Cold and ice getting between the columns must have made them ready to fall.

 



Towser

I was shaken by the near miss.  I had been on edge, half expecting Towser, a monster of a dog that had attacked the jeep earlier, to come bounding over the hill.  Locally known as chobani shun (chew bony shins ?), these dogs are massive, mental things, bred and trained to attack anything that might go for their sheep.  In these mountains, that means attacking wolves, bears, or, in fact, anything or one that is not their owner. 

John Doc told us about him and Frank being in a jeep attacked in Greece by a pack of six of these things.  Its' attack on the jeep, as we approached a farm, was launched without hesitation.  This was no playful pooch chasing a car up a leafy drive.  This was all out assault.  If dogs talked, it would have been yelling, "Ah'm gonnae do you, ya bass". 

I was in the front, riding shotgun, and, as in the westerns, would have been first if it did manage to get in.  Saliva flying, one bloodshot eye, me frantically making sure the windows were up and the door locked, and both Johns shouting encouragement to mad Towser.

Garni is the gateway to the Khosrov Nature Reserve, 239 sq km of high mountains and deep gorges, about an hour east of Yerevan.  Khosrov is home not only to bears and wolves but also the extremely rare Caucasian Leopard, maybe up to 10 individuals.  This must be about as far west as you are likely to find leopards which makes Khosrov quite a special place.

Khosrov is also famous for snakes and reptiles.  There the day after the worst snowfall in a decade, encounters were, at best, unlikely.  Lilit had said further towards the Iran border, the habitat is even better for snakes and also eagles.  The Iran border .... what a feeling to be so close to such a different culture. 

John Doc and I saw what I thought was a hen harrier quartering low over the bushes on the side of the hill.  This was the trekking  section of the day.  Immediately after Towsers' attack, we crossed a river and climbed a long stretch through unbroken snow to the entry to the park.  Leaving the jeep at the ranger station, the three of us set off through over the hills for the ancient Havats Tar Monastery, a few miles away. 



John Doc's Album Cover

It was a beautiful, clear day and the hills seemed endless.  We were walking along the top of the valley side with great views across to Garni, but ploughing up and down was getting hard work.  John Green decided to wait and the Doc and I kept going with the guide. 

The hills were rocky, covered in low bushes and you could clearly see are fantastic habitat for wildlife.  I was sure further into the Park and away from people, you would have a decent chance of seeing something.

Why Do I Find the Soft Snow ?

Ploughing became stumbling as we, or at least, I, kept breaking through the snow, past my knees.  The sun was making the snow softer.   At least that was what I told myself.  We got within sight of the Monastery and all agreed to turn back.  I think we were all getting a bit fed up with blundering around - the guide was a lot shorter than me so was struggling, too.

We found John where we had left him - he had not actually had to wait that long - and returned to the jeep.  You could see the track into the park disappear away down a valley, not passable today, but planting the seed of a desire to return at a more practical time of year.

Returning to Garni, Towser launched another attack, but it was all rather half hearted, and he soon gave up.  I liked the village, and the groups of old boys standing around.  Many seemed to playing some game, but the real naturals, just stood.  All day.  Most likely, every day.  The odd ones, mostly young, we saw walking.  Amateurs.  Not quite got it yet.  If Eastern Europe ever gets to host the Olympics, you could guarantee a new sport would be standing.  Male team standing.  Male solo standing.  Never female standing, though, the women out here too busy doing pretty much absolutely everything, while the men are, hmmm, busy ?

Towser's victims

The three of us were enjoying a short visit to Yerevan, Armenia's capital, and our trip to Garni was part of our big day out.  Basically, only day out, so a lot was packed in.  Our excellent guide, Lilit Suchyan, told us the snowfalls the previous day were the worst in Yerevan for ten years.  The same snowfalls we had driven in from Tbilisi to Yerevan the day before.

Geghard Monastery

Garni Temple