The icy wind partially freezes the surface of the lake overnight and the waves drive the angular slabs of ice to the shore, where they rub against each other melodiously. The opposite shore seems a long way off and the snow-covered areas seem sparsely inhabited. It’s hard to believe that some of these rolling hills are over 3000 meters high! We enjoy the peaceful morning with a cup of coffee in the morning sun and have to wrap up warm for the ride today. Soon we follow the small river Hrazdan towards the capital. Despite its proximity to Yerevan, the valley seems incredibly remote. Here, too, steep flanks frame the valley floor and we marvel at the countless inviting picnic benches. However, such spots always have a dark side: as seemingly everywhere in the world (with a few exceptions), the rest areas are surrounded by a vast amount of trash. Plastic bags are stuck in the bare trees and bushes, and bottles, diapers and wrappers lie scattered wildly. In Armenia, as in most of the other countries we have passed through so far, the idea of recycling is still in its infancy. Even though we collect our garbage without exception and put it in the garbage cans provided, we know for sure that our garbage will end up unsorted in an open pit somewhere in the fresh air.
The drive through the Hrazden Valley also impresses us with trash of a completely different kind. Huge, Soviet-looking sculptures rise into the sky in unexpected places. Vacant buildings bear witness to dreams not finished and the abrupt end of the Soviet Union. For lunch we sit down in the former park of a night club and marvel at the futuristic-absurd building on the opposite side of the street: with its large, round towers it looks like a castle. At first glance, it looks like a large, vacant hotel. At second glance, it becomes obvious that the building has probably never taken up its actual function. At third glance, a car suddenly drives up and the owner of the unlucky castle and his friend get out. Communication is shaky, but the proud man shows us music videos with his building as a backdrop, offers us a free room, and adds, “If you know anyone who would like to finish this house, give them my number!” (If you are that person: get in touch here: 098314949091).
Following our lunch break, we set out on a short exploration of this particular ruined building, feeling like we’ve been thrown back to a seemingly golden age, when the Communist upper echelons spent their vacations here and no idea seemed impossible.
In Yerevan we target the home of a Warmshower host. Bruno and his family live a bit outside and so we don’t have to fight our way through the whole length of the city, but can sneak up on the metropolis through the back door, so to speak. Bruno works internationally and the French family moved here from Lebanon a few months ago. The huge house is in an elegant development. Showering, washing and resting is once again the order of the day. We explore Yerevan by bus and on foot and are impressed by the unexpectedly tidy (inner) city. Modern stores, restaurants, pompous buildings, parks and car-free shopping miles adorn the cityscape. On an elevated site is the Genocide Memorial. This memorial commemorates the horrific genocide during and after World War I that claimed the lives of over one million Armenians. Responsible for the death marches and massacres was the Ottoman Empire; today’s Turkey. However, to this day, Turkey refuses to confirm the well-documented atrocities. In Turkey, this chapter of history is twisted and denied, and the political situation between Armenia and its big neighbor is correspondingly tense. The relationship with the eastern neighbor Azerbaijan is also heavily burdened. Here, old ethical conflicts are compounded by the fresh wounds of the conflict over Nagorno-Karabakh 2020. The borders with both countries are impassable, and so Armenia lies like a long corridor between Georgia and Iran.
The initial polished impression of Yerevan fades as we later complete our city tour on an unusual path. In a small valley littered with garbage, tattered Chilbi railroads present a desolate picture. A few steps further we come across the children’s railroad of Yerevan. During the Soviet era, this facility was apparently operated by children. Today, an old man sits in front of a rickety table offering napkins, cookies and sweet juices.
Apart from us, there is no one to be seen far and wide. The locomotives and wagons stand patiently between the old trees and once again we feel like in a time machine.
After three nights with Bruno and family, we set off again. The track today is something very special: It is flat! Directly in front of us the majestic Ararat (Masis) and its little brother (Sis) rise into the sky. With its height of more than 5000 meters, Ararat is the highest mountain of the region and it seems unbelievable that we pedaled with our bikes from Switzerland up to its mighty foot! Only when we look down from the monastery Khor Virap we realize how close the Turkish border is. Only 70 meters away a thick barbed wire fence cuts the plain in two. Military installations are visible on both sides and observation posts seem to be installed on every small hill.
A vacant stall next to the road offers itself as a view-protected place to spend the night. Luxury view of the two proud peaks included. Just as we want to push our bikes through the small gate, a car stops. Bottles clink and two minutes later we are sitting with Colen and Gor with a beer in each hand in the cozy corner of the sofa and talk via cell phone and gestures. “No problem – it’s safe to sleep here”, they say and disappear again 20 minutes later to milk their cows at home. We settle in, rejoice like little children when the last clouds disappear from the summit, enjoy our unexpected after-work beer and cook our dinner. Hardly eaten, the car with Colen and Gor shows up again. Apparently the cows have been milked successfully, because Gor puts a pet bottle full of fresh milk on the table. From now on there is no more room for our stuff, because immediately Lawash, the Armenian giant flat bread, sausage, cheese and schnapps are spread out and we are cheerfully invited to help ourselves. So shortly after our own dinner we follow this invitation rather hesitantly, but the company is really very nice. Gor has a wonderfully engaging laugh. He loses it only briefly when he tries to describe the situation of Armenia with a forceful gesture. He holds his left hand flat in front of him and says “Armenia!”, while he clenches the other into a fist and repeatedly hits the flat hand with it. “Turkey, Azerbaijan” he comments on the fist.
We learn that the two are proud farmers on land that has been farmed by their family for generations. Both have families and seem to be mostly content with their life here. As a farewell, we sing a hearty “Happy Birthday” together, drink another shot of schnapps, and the two of them are gone again, waving and honking, and we are richer by a liter of raw milk, a huge loaf of bread, and another refreshing acquaintance.