As I changed careers over the years, I have found the need to adjust to different vocabularies. Marketing in the construction industry wasn’t too bad with some technical terms and jargon and then some very “direct words” used out on the jobsites. But when I went back to teaching high school, I needed to re-learn the vocabulary of the youth. Things were no longer “cool” as in the 50’s but they were “tight” or “dope.” At first I thought they were talking about how my pants fit! And finally during my Peace Corps time, I noticed the 20-something crowd seemed to favor the word “random.” Sometimes, they used it to refer to someone’s behavior that was unpredictable and other times it seemed to refer to something that was “cool.” As one of the Senior Corps of our group in Armenia, I wasn’t always sure which it was.

Now over the past couple weeks as I have been reading a fascinating book entitled, Buddha’s Brain, the concept of random has come to the front again. The authors are looking at what current science has to say about the practice of meditation. Here “random” is used to describe the way our mind and emotions respond the various external stimuli around us. There is a pattern to how our thoughts trigger various feelings but it often buried in the experiences from our own past. But beyond this subjectivity that is based on our own personal history, there seems to be a pattern that emerges for all humans. We have all descended from someone who survived evolution. And our brain shows the imprint of this. Those that learned to notice “danger” quickly and respond quickly had a much better chance to contribute to the gene pool. This is not too surprising when we consider how small and slow man was combined to many of their companions in the jungle. It makes sense why The Odyssey and other ancient classics applauded their heroes for being “wily.” So up to this point, the book seemed to point out things that might be learned in Evolution 101.

But then they begin to draw new insights into our “survivor” minds as illustrated from current research into the physical wiring of the human brain. It is amazing to think that we have more neurons firing in our brain than stars twinkling in the Milky Way. But how these neurons fire, connect and form patterns in brain again is conditioned by our personal experiences. We possess a capacity unlike any previous species to have words, meanings, and emotions connect in ways that are very personal to each of us. Listening to talk show radio is an obvious confirmation of this. But despite this subjective nature of our experience we all have inherited brains from survivors that are wired first and foremost to notice danger. All our thinking, planning, and problem-solving skills have some pretty strong roots going back to the survival of our species. What was most interesting is that these patterns of thinking are not just emotional but physical in our brains. Living in Arizona now during the winter, I got this image of a dry creek bed just waiting for the next storm. The more technical description used by the authors is: the neurons that fire together tend to wire together. This has obviously been a good thing for the survival of our species but has a downside for those of us seeking to find joy and peace in our current lives. As the human brain has evolved it has developed what the authors call a kind of a Velcro quality when it comes to threats.

The flip side of this, as we often notice even during the holidays, is that our brains give our positive experiences kind a second tier importance, or a relationship with joy that has a Teflon quality to it. It is not just the taking down of the tree and the soon-to-arrive Visa bills that push joy to the side so quickly. You might say it is the nature of the beast. Those early primates who spent too much time dawdling in the woods to smell the flowers could easily find himself in a losing footrace with a nearby cheetah. This wasn’t exactly cheery news for me to think about my brain’s default setting is for danger. Especially after surviving the dangers of Corporate America, did I now want to spend my retirement years focused on new threats that await me? Looking at my aging body and dwindling savings, my brain could easily turn the issues of health insurance and protecting my little 401k into the top priorities. It is obviously no coincidence that Health Insurance and anger over execs with million dollar bailouts has evoked so much emotion of late from the American public. Fear has surely become a dominant feeling in America politics, along the discussions to indentify and punish the appropriate villain: Bush, the terrorists, Obama, the immigrants and on and on.

But just when things were looking a little gloomy, the authors returned to their basic discovery about our brains: neurons that fire together, wire together. And here I found a ray of hope. Recent science seems to be confirming the old adage to Stop and Smell the Flowers. Not just to smell them but to savor the experience. The longer something is held in awareness, the stronger the pathway is developed. And that holds true for all experiences like our relationships not just for flowers. That is where my practical side used to be in the way. Why sit around thinking about friends who are no longer in your daily life? But apparently thinking of friends who are not part of my daily life is not a waste of time. I am not just being nostalgic but actually enhancing a pathway in my brain to enjoy relationships now and in the future. For me this helps to put things in perspective. I have felt the pull since arriving back in the States to sort through all the investment and Medicare options that I need to decide before I retire next year. I have found myself resisting this pressure and not wanting to do the research. I can now see I need to find a middle path, to choose the best I can and realize my “survivor brain” will still be listening for footsteps after I choose. But even better, I now realize the importance of allowing all the joyous experiences both present and past to dance through my brain. When I return to my school assignment tomorrow, I can actually allow myself to dawdle as I watch all the youngsters playing on the jungle gym. My brain may be still looking for dangers but I didn't seen any cheetahs when I left so I think I am safe. I can savor all the spontaneity and joy I am seeing, knowing that my brain has just increased the opportunity for that in my life. And so too with all the wonderful smiles of children I have met abroad, they are still part of my experience to be enjoyed when I choose. My thoughts may continue to lead my mind in a rather random path but my heart does not need to follow. I like that.

Have a joyous 2011.

Last week the headlines read: Dollar Stores taking Wal-Mart’s Lunch Money. That is definitely the case in Arizona where price-conscious shoppers abound, myself included. I never thought I would find items where Wal-Mart was over-priced but an $1,100 a month salary can sure change a fella’s perspective. Then today’s headlines offered what appeared to be some promising news to local residents about the direction of our economy: Foreclosed Homes Hit 32 Month Low. The bright light shone for about a minute until I actually read the article and discovered the cause of the change. The Phoenix area was averaging 50 foreclosures a day so B of A had installed a moratorium for the past two months. Not exactly a long-term solution. Even poor Obama seems trapped in his search for a solution. He tries to compromise with the GOP on the tax legislation and has his own party turn on him for siding with The Enemy. You kind of wonder after a while whether politicians are so focused on the other party being wrong that they have forgotten to do what’s best for the country.

So in the midst of all this Grinch News from the economic world, where can I turn? Where is Tiny Tim when I need him most. Still on a movie reel I guess with the other holiday classics like It’s a Wonderful Life. (I must admit a preference for Chevy Chase whose holiday challenges always puts mine in perspective.) And on top of these discouraging national trends, I am currently immersed in my own Grinch Event: trying to crunch data regarding my school assignment to justify our program’s federal funding. It is truly déjà vu. After two years in the Peace Corps, I already know this dance.

So with this as the backdrop for my current life, I was delighted when one of our social workers invited me yesterday to attend a little musical performance. Even though there were 150 students standing on a grandstand in our cafeteria, the fact that they were all kindergartners still qualified this as a little musical event. As you might imagine, the sight of them was just delightful and a true injection of B-1 for my flagging spirits. I stood in awe as their teachers proceeded to move their charges into a semblance of order despite their overflowing energy.

Just when I think the concert is ready to start, in march another 150 students visiting from a nearby pre-school. Apparently this has become an annual exchange between the two schools with differing economic status. The visiting students have each brought a book purchased and wrapped by their parents to be given to our kids at the completion of the musical performance. And a performance it was! We Wish You a Merry Christmas was sung with mucho gusto and even had some arm gestures included to add to the dramatic flair. But my favorite had to be the resounding rendition of Feliz Navidad. With almost 90% of our kids being Hispanic, one has to agree with the MasterCard commercials that some things are really Priceless. This was actually our second musical event at our school in the past 3 days with the older students playing the violins and wind instruments two evenings before. But it wasn’t quite as easy to recognize the songs as their efforts far exceeded their talent. But it was still sweet to watch them perform before their proud parents.



Since I will not be going back to California for the holidays, this was actually the second installment in Jack’s Early Christmas. Over Thanksgiving my son Shane flew down for the Monday Night game where the 49ers actually won a game. You would never know it was the Cardinal’s stadium with all the jerseys sporting names of SF players. And while the football game might have been culmination of our family holidays, the time leading up to Monday night was even more special for me. When we weren’t wandering around the local malls, we would sit around my daughter’s apartment watching movies or renewing our old Monopoly rivalries. And we even cooked our first turkey together without basting each other.



With Shane flying back to the Bay Area, I returned to my little carousel pony and the ups-and-downs of my current life in Arizona. There are the boys in my 8th Grade groups that I struggle to have impact with as they slowly drift closer to the gang affiliations of the friends and families. But then I walk by the playground on my way back to my office and all the joy and enthusiasm of the little people dissolve the cloud over my head. Then school lets out and I drive home, devoid of energy and wondering when the flexibility in my back will return. But I walk out on my balcony and see the soft light still showing through the neighboring trees and my perspective widens again. Such has been my carousel of late.

Last night I was fortunate enough to sit with a new friend from our mediation group. His home built decades ago sits on a hill with a marvelous view of the surrounding mountains. He was having a birthday party and suggested we come early to enjoy the setting sun. I can only imagine since his diagnosis with cancer that he spends a good deal of time out there. The sky went from bright red to salmon and finally to those fine wisps of pink in the clouds. It was peaceful sitting there with 10 people who felt very little need to speak. I figured out that Nature’s Movie was over when someone started passing around the popcorn.

And so my carousel ride continues. Some days I feel fragile, both in body and spirit. And with it come feelings of separation and doubt. Other days my spirit is lifted by the smiles of our youngest students, who chase each other around for no apparent reason. Then they take each other’s hands and go back to where they started from. That makes very good sense to me.

I hope that you are holding onto the hands of your loved ones this holiday season. It really is a short journey we are on.

A Swinger of Birches

There is that classic line from the Thomas Wolfe novel saying: You can’t go home again. Of course I didn’t think that applied to me. After two years in a foreign culture, it would be nice to finally come home. Many Peace Corps Volunteers who visited home during our two years of service commented how hard it was to return after a visit. There would naturally be an adjustment from the slow pace of Armenia to the hectic pace of America. It might take a couple weeks or a month but I would be fine, home again, at last.

Fast forward three months from my return from Armenia and I am still trying to get my footing. Several of you had encouraged me to continue my blog upon returning. The new focus would be on my AmeriCorps service in Arizona. Sounded like a good idea, especially since my monthly blogs helped me to process the various challenges I met. But now I was hesitant. The Peace Corps suggested that we share our experiences so fellow Americans got a fuller understanding of other parts of the world. But now what? I had no Post-Soviet culture to discuss or even visits to Egypt, Turkey or India to share. I was in Arizona and hadn’t even seen the Grand Canyon yet. The only dramatic changes seemed to be going on inside me and that is not always easy or even comfortable to write about. So I decided to cut my mailing list down to relatives and friends and just share my current confusion as it was.

The first thing that showed up upon returning was my age and my health. Since I would turn 65 in September, it was time to sign up for Medicare. But it soon became more than a theoretical event as my health took a dip for the worse. After a month of fighting some kind of viral cough, I had my back go out. Now that was really a blow to my ego. If I had been climbing a mountain or running a marathon, it would have more acceptable. But it happened after a tai chi class, that slow motion exercise you see 70 year old Chinese doing in the parks. After a week it returned to normal and then went out again. And then again. Having been blessed with good health most of my life, this was surely a challenge to my spirits.

I say this without any self-pity as the sidewalks of Arizona seem filled with people whose ailments are much more severe. In fact, the first couple months here were kind of shocking to notice how many people are out there in wheel chairs or even pushing a shopping cart with their oxygen tanks in it. I really don’t know if Arizona attracts more people who are the final stages of their lives or whether I had been insulated in my master-planned community in Sacramento. But whatever the reason, I am now much more aware of the harsh physical realities that many must deal with daily.

I used to think that if there were Life Lessons we came to learn, And I was sure mine were compassion and patience. Well, it looks like I am back in School, in more ways than one. The past couple months have truly been a crash course in life classes. Every day is a reminder that our bodies definitely have a limited shelf-life. When I was younger, I remember seeing senior citizens sitting in coffee shops comparing their ailments. That is not the way I want to write the final chapter. So I have chosen to bring these limitations into my meditation practice and see if I can use them to be more mindful through the day. They definitely provide an opening for patience and slowing down. Funny, I came back to America with the expectation that my ears would be pinned back with the speed of modern life. Instead, everything seems to have slowed way down. Whether signing up for Medicare, finding a new doctor in town, or just filing for reimbursement claims, you don’t have to worry about things going too fast.

And so I go forward in my new life in Phoenix, almost by necessity required to slow down to the speed of life. And with that comes a greater appreciation of the little things in my day. I work as a volunteer in a grade school where the vast majority of the families (about 95%) are Hispanic, and many are just getting by. I watch the families arrive in the morning, mostly mothers but some fathers walking hand-in-hand with their children to their classrooms. And I see the kindness and patience of the teachers and the social workers assisting their wide-eyed charges. Most families fall under Title 1 so the kids are given a free breakfast. I pass through the school cafeteria each morning to put my lunch in the teachers’ lounge. The place reminds me of a hive with all the baby bees eating and buzzing with their neighbors. It is more like an extended family than a school. All it takes is to look at the shining faces of the children, and my concern about my nagging back problem seems to dissolve. We may still be a month away from Christmas, but our cafeteria is already glowing with a thousand points of light from all the smiling faces.

Robert Frost concludes one of my favorite poems, Birches, with the lines:

That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

It has taken me a couple months to accept this experience of “coming back.” But as I hang on this thin branch wavering in my hand, I am slowly coming to accept the uncertainties that come with this journey that is my life. It is an illusion to expect it to be any other way. One could do worse than be a Swinger of Birches.

 “You see if you come to this country you must understand that here it is the 19th Century. These people, our people, have been left there by a combination of events.  The still have the strength for fighting and building.  The have a passion to clarify and create.  They are willing to sacrifice. Here, we are in our fathers’ time.” Although these lines came from a story about a Jewish soldier, they capture my experience of living in Armenia.  You can feel the imprint of the past, the spirit of the ancestors in all aspects of everyday life.  The first time I went into a grade school I expected to see a photo of a sports hero, like the middleweight boxer Arthur Abraham, or one of Djivan Gasparyan, the world famous duduk player.  Instead the walls were filled with photos of 19th century Armenian soldiers.   Even though there are no current wars, the role of the soldier is still highly regarded in the culture.  The enlistment of young men for the army is still mandatory and their arrival at the town square once a month is always an event of great social significance.  In fact, weddings seem to be the social event that exceeds the neighborhood party sending their boys off to the army.  The eyes of the mothers may be filled with sadness and doubt but the fathers are filled with pride as their sons begin their rite of passage into manhood.  For a female in Armenia, it is marriage.  An unmarried 30 year old is still called a “girl” but a married teenager is given the status of  “woman.” Looking at the past century of Armenia’s history, it is not hard to understand why the people cling so strongly to the traditions of their past.  Wars with their neighbors have taken many of their ancestors and much of their land, not to mention the collapse of the country’s economy just 20 years ago with the fall of the Soviet Union.  You see families over the weekends walking to the war memorials and fountains and can feel they are paying tribute to their history.  Similarly, many homes have a painting of Mount Ararat which is now on Turkey’s side of the border.  In many ways it symbolizes the soul of the Armenian culture where these longings and memories of the past are in fact stronger than the present realities. These traditions and beliefs obviously give strength to the Armenian identity, but it also tends to fix their vision on the past.  And while most citizens are looking at the past, the government is creating a version of the future that has little to do with the democratic process.  The past decades of a Socialist System has lulled many to sleep as to the importance of shaping their own society.   While the village life continues to follow 19th century values and traditions, the capital of Yerevan is desperately trying to become a hub of   21st century life.  But I am not sure if this experiment is very successful.  For these new offices and apartments being constructed are done at the expense of the city’s historical architecture.  It has little of the character of the villages.  Even the residents of Yerevan seem to be trying too hard at this modern “makeover” with their fashions and vehicles. Part of this disparity can be attributed to the huge divide in Armenia’s economy, where a very small minority of Oligarch families controls most of the wealth.  But it also seems a residual of the earlier Soviet life where appearances were passed off for realities.  So what happens in the present while the 19th and 21st  centuries movies are playing in different regions in Armenia?  Just what you would expect: the women of Armenia are carrying the families and the country forward.  While the men of the country continue to smoke their cigarettes in the town squares, give 10 minute toasts at the celebrations and argue about politics, the women continue to raise the children, cook the meals and clean up after all the celebrations.  This old-fashioned division of labor is obviously difficult for many of our Volunteers to watch. I could not help but be reminded of a poem we studied in my Sophomore English class back home.  I think most of the women in Armenia could relate to the experience written by a famous African poet, Gwendolyn Brooks. Kitchenette Building We are things of dry hours and the involuntary plan, Grayed in, and gray. “Dream” makes a giddy sound, not strong Like “rent,” “feeding a wife,” “satisfying a man.”   But could a dream send up through onion fumes Its white and violet, fight with fried potatoes And yesterday’s garbage ripening in the hall, Flutter, or sing an aria down these rooms   Even if we were willing to let it in, Had time to warm it, keep it very clean, Anticipate a message, let it begin?   We wonder. But not well! Not for a minute! Since Number Five is out of the bathroom now, We think of lukewarm water, hope to get in it.   The sad irony is that the females of the country are the ones who demonstrate more aptitude in the classroom.  Towards the end of middle school age, the boys seem to have slid to the back of the classroom with their buddies as the girls compete for academic achievement.  This will continue until their college life is completed when young women must deal with the limited career paths open to them.  Many of the ambitious young women I have met are resisting the family pressure to marry, realizing they will be trapped with domestic chores.  It is much more difficult for a young woman to find a man with an open-mind than for the men to find a good wife. Some will have to make the difficult choice to stay in the country they love so dearly or create a more fulfilling life for themselves abroad.  This and the continual corruption in hiring practices will continue to fuel Armenia's ongoing problem with migration.As I have observed these struggles over the past two years, I cannot help but be inspired by the determination of many of its people.  Seeing many of the older woman sweeping the streets and cleaning the buildings, I can only admire their resolve to  "keep on keeping on."  While I have never achieved much competence in the language, I will still carry back home with me a connection with many new friends.  As the Armenian proverb says: From heart to heart, there is a path. In conclusion, I just want to thank all of you who took the time to write back.  Your support carried me through many trying times.

Lately I have been reading and enjoying a book my sister sent me, Half-Broke Horses.   In it the author portrays her life growing up in the American Southwest during some difficult times in our country, the 30’s and 40’s.  One of her first experiences in a new town brought back vivid memories of my arrival in Armenia: I felt nature calling and asked Old Jake where I could find the facilities.  He pointed toward a little wooden shed in the north corner of the compound.  “It’s nothing fancy, just a one-holer,” he said.”No moons cut in the door to advertise it, either, ‘cause we all know what it is.”             Inside the outhouse, once you’d closed the door that didn’t have a moon, enough light came through the cracks in the wood so that you could see.  Spider webs dangled in the roof corners, a sack of lime sat on the dirt floor, and there was a scoop to sprinkle it into the hole to keep the flies down.  A distinctly malodorous aroma arose from the hole, and for a moment I missed my snazzy mail-order toilet with the shiny white porcelain bowl, the mahogany lid, and the nifty pull-chain flush.  As I sat down though, though, I realized you can get used to certain luxuries that start to think they’re necessities, but when you have to forgo them, you come to see that you don’t need them after all.  There was a big difference between needing things and wanting things – though a lot of people had trouble telling the two apart – and at the ranch, I could see, we’d have pretty much everything we’d need but precious little else.             Next to the seat was a stack of Sears, Roebuck catalogs, and I picked one up and leafed through it.  I came to a page advertising silk bodices and lacy chemises.  I won’t be ordering from the page, I thought, and when I was done with my business, that was the one I tore out and used.             Now, I would be less than truthful to say that I have fully adjusted to all such physical inconveniences.   In fact, I could probably name the location of all the public bathrooms in my town that are actually equipped with toilet seats.  There are five.  In fact, I still remember the exciting day when the city official on the 4th  floor of our office building gave me a key to the locked bathroom.  Not exactly the “key to the executive bathroom” but it sure felt like it.             But over the next two years, I discovered another “inconvenience” that was much more difficult to adjust to.  During our initial language training, I was a little surprised to be taught the phrase, hamar che, it is not convenient.  We were told if someone wanted us to stop and talk or to go drink coffee with them when we were busy, we could just use this phrase. What I did not understand at the time was how much this embodies the Armenian view of time.

Early on in my service at my Non Profit site, I would arrive at 9am for a meeting that the Director had arranged himself the day before.  He would then show up at 10:30 as if he were on time.  He would ask me where my Armenian tutor was.  I tried to explain that I pay her for an hour every morning to work with me and ……… she had gone home.  He usually had this startled look on his face, like “why?”  I guess he expected that I would pay her to just sit around and wait for him to arrive.  This became all too typical of meetings at my NGO.  Apparently in the Soviet system, the boss is not expected to be a “role model.”  This was one of the perks of being the boss, of having a title.  And once our meeting started with a half dozen staff members, it was not uncommon for a friend of his to knock on the door and walk in.  All of us would then be expected to just wait while their personal conversation took place over the next ten or fifteen minutes.                  This is not unique just to Armenia but also occurs in Turkey, as I mentioned in my blog about my trip to Istanbul.  My British acquaintance also struggled with this at meetings he conducted.  The members of his team would have two to three cell phones sitting in front of them on the meeting room table.  They were not in the least bit hesitant to take a personal call right in the middle of his managers’ meeting.  When I began to teach English in the school in my town last year, I discovered this was also an accepted part of the school culture. The grade school students, as in America, have mastered the art of “texting under their desks.”  But even more disturbing is the tendency of the teachers to pretend it’s not happening or even allow them to leave the classroom to answer a personal call.  I have asked several teachers I work with, why the principal of the school doesn’t just have a rule for all the students to “turn off their phones” when they come to school.  They look perplexed at the logic of my question.  Maybe they are afraid they might have to do the same.  Either way, the quality of education suffers.                          If Armenia is ever to compete in the business world, they will have to deal with this cultural value that still puts relationships (friends and family) above performance.  Now it is not hard to understand how this value evolved in a society where family support was a key to survival.  I had actually come across this phenomenon back in the late 60’s working at a Sioux Indian reservation in South Dakota.  Even though they lived at the poverty line, I was surprised to hear that no one had phones in their houses.  I should qualify that.  Nobody has a phone for more than a month.  For when their neighbors found out about it, the owners would soon have a $500 long distance bill the first month and have to discontinue service.   The concept of sharing obviously made sense during the times when the culture relied on hunting the buffalo.  If your family didn’t succeed in killing a buffalo one season, you would obviously rely on friends and family for food during the winter.  The practice made perfect sense during the era of buffalo hunting.  But while I was working there, it was surely an impediment for the families to adapt to the modern world. I imagine for those with casinos on their land, this is no longer a problem.

Recently a group of successful Armenian business people visited our town for a conference.  I was invited to have dinner with them afterwards where the topic of opening the border to Turkey was discussed.  I told them that many in our town were opposed to it out of fear that the Armenian businesses could not compete and would go out of business. I found their response very interesting.  They agreed that initially it would be a major problem to for the country to face.  But eventually they felt it would be a “wake up call” to current hiring practices in Armenia.   Employees who are hired because they are relatives or friends expect to keep their jobs not through performance but because of relationships.  The participants at the conference felt competing with Turkey would force many Armenian businesses to consider hiring the most qualified applicants instead.  This would be a huge shock to the culture where relatives and friends expect preferential treatment.   

The offshoot of the current hiring practices is already having a negative impact on Armenia’s migration issue. I recently met with one of the twenty-something Armenians that I tutor in English.  Her face told a story of recent disappointment.  She had already worked through two recent job problems but this looked new.   When I first arrived two years ago she was employed in a mid-level supervisory position with the Courts. But when financial crisis rolled into Armenia, she and many of her staff were laid off.  Rather than sitting around waiting to be rescued by a relative or friend, she began exploring other solutions.  She first started a small internet café in her area of the town.  After a while she realized there was not enough traffic to make it worthwhile.  Then she contacted one of the banks in Yerevan that were planning to open a branch here.  In itself, this was a level of initiative I seldom see among the many unemployed in our town. She was told that an accounting course would be offered in a month and that the bank would be hiring from those who completed it.  She not only took the course but completed it with the highest score of those attending.  When she arrived in my office that day, she had just had her job interview.  Having gotten a perfect score on the accounting exam, her hopes were high for the interview.  With her previous job experience and solid abilities to speak English, I was also hopeful for her.  But at the completion of the interview, they just said: “Don’t be disappointed but we won’t be hiring you.” 

 

It wasn’t a couple days later that I was talking with the Superintendent for the construction of the new bank.  We were having the usual conversation of what our children were doing.  When asked about his daughter’s job he replied that she was a secretary at the police department.  But he added proudly that she would soon be working at the new bank he was building.  I guess she was so talented she didn’t need to take the accounting courses.  My student is now talking about leaving the country.  This cultural value of “insider hiring” is commonplace in Armenia.  But from where I stand, it will not enable Armenia to compete in the world market and will also drive many of the talented youth to look to other countries to find their careers.  The universities in Yerevan may get the short-term benefit of collecting student tuitions but it will be the neighboring countries that receive the long-term benefit of an educated and talented workforce. 

 

As this summer approaches I am preparing to help run 3 Summer Camps in the region as I did last summer.  It is exciting for the teenagers to make new friends and for us counselors to see them learn some new skills in the area of teamwork and leadership.  This past month I have been working with the local schools to arrange times to make presentations, pass out applications and interview interested students.  One school is up in the hills a ways and has taken me two weeks to set up good time to visit. But after it was all arranged, my counterpart at my NGO whom I rely on for translations told I would need to re-schedule our meeting because it was “not convenient.”   When I tried to uncover the conflict on her schedule, it was something her sister asked her to help her with.  I could see that if she met with her sister an hour earlier both things could happen.  She finally admitted she would have to get up an hour earlier in the morning.  I don’t think her cultural conditioning allowed her to see how “inconvenient” it might be for me re-scheduling a meeting that took me two weeks to create.Should the border with Turkey open in the next year or two, I am afraid Armenians will be forced to do address these traditional values that no longer serve the Society.    Otherwise, I do not see how they will ever regain a semblance of the stature they like to recall in their long and proud history.  

My first visit to India was 3 years ago as a member of our meditation group in Sacramento.  Like many first-time visitors, I was overwhelmed by the poverty, the garbage on the streets, the overcrowded conditions and still fell in love with the country. India has a way of offending all your standards for living and still gently reaching your heart.    One that first trip 3 years ago, our group had arranged to meet in Bangkok first and then together travel to India.  Coming from a country where 75% of Americans are Christian (was 85% in 1990), it was amazing to see images of Buddha everywhere.  One day we visited the famous Reclining Buddha, a gold-plated statue that stands 50' tall and 150' long.  Little did I realize that this would not be the case when we arrived in India, Buddha's birthplace.  For while 95% of the population in Thailand is Buddhist, 80% of the India's population are still Hindu with less than 1% Buddhist.  Much like Christ 2500 years later, Buddha's message was one of equality and compassion was not well-received by those in power who wanted to preserve the existing caste system in India.

DELHI              The first city I had chosen to visit this time was the historic city of Delhi and India’s 2nd largest city after Mumbai. I was a little restless when I arrived having inadvertently created a 20 hour layover in my layover at the Dubai airport from Armenia. This city in the Arab Emirates has undergone incredible construction in the past decade thanks to the world’s demand for oil. Yet I really didn’t have the funds or the desire to explore the Arabian version of Las Vegas.  I was amazed to see the amount of electronics equipment tourists carried with them that it even required a shrink wrap machine right in the airport. But I was content to take a short bus ride for much simpler fare: a sandwich, baseball cap and a cheap pair of sunglasses.  I was ready for India.               The first thing I noticed on my taxi ride from the Delhi airport was the flurry of construction projects as they prepare to host the upcoming Commonwealth Games in October.  The growth in the computer world has been good for India’s economy and like China at the Olympic Games wants to use this opportunity present a more modern face to the world.     

Where I had chosen to stay was the opposite of “modern” but was conveniently located next to Old Delhi and the train station that I would depart from in 5 days.  It did have the advantage of cheap hotels and the presence of many foreign tourists.  My arrival on my street was at first a little shocking as I re-entered the world of controlled chaos that is normal on the streets in India. The first day is like being in a 3-D movie theater, dodging and moving as all the sights and sounds attack your senses.  But once you have acclimated, you just take your part in this fast-flowing river and find yourself carried along with all the other amphibian life.  I lived off Main Bazaar Road which is like a narrow alley 100 yards long with storage units every 10 feet.  Of course you have to mix in several hundred tourists on foot, a couple dozen rickshaws, a handful of honking motorcycles and the occasional full-size taxi who decides to clog up the whole area with his vehicle. It was quite a change from the quiet country lanes I had been walking down in Armenia.   As I had discovered previously in my trip to Istanbul, I enjoy my time most when I can find a balance with sightseeing and just hanging out with the locals.  So the next morning I found a cozy Internet cafe two minutes from my hotel that offered delicious chai for 25 cents a cup and surfing for 50 cents an hour.  It was also a great place to run into fellow travelers from around the world. My days in Delhi were spent just chatting with the various store owners along my street as I slowly wandered out to the main drag for some adventure I had selected from Lonely Planet. My outings into greater Delhi took me to a shrine for Gandhi, the Railroad Museum and a couple historical temples and mosques.  The large bronze sculpture of Gandhi in front of his spinning loom was especially moving.  He and Mother Theresa had been my idols since my youth.  I also enjoyed looking at the development of the trains in India over the past 150 years.  What may have started as a practical way for Britain to manage a rather unwieldy colony has become such a vital link for people throughout India.  As I was to soon find out it in Gaya, waiting for trains has evolved into an extended social ritual as well.               During one of my outings in Delhi, I was in need of some relaxation between stops and found the Lotus Garden Park on the map.  Sitting in front of a lotus pond, it seemed like a perfect occasion for a brief meditation.  But after about 10 minutes I started to notice some vibrations from the other end of the park bench I was sitting on.  Assuming that it was someone reading a book I thought I would just continue.  Then I started to hear muffled whispers.  When I opened my eyes, I was surrounded by a handful of 9th grade boys, their eyes wide with curiosity.  Their desire to have a conversation was apparent.  Once the unofficial leader of the group had introduced himself, I began to ask him questions about his classmates.  Who was the best cricket player in the group?  The best dancer?  The fastest?  Each answer came with the person’s nickname and much laughter.  Before long our group had tripled in size as others on the same school trip joined in as their female classmates kept a respectful distance.  Their energy and interaction with each other was delightful to watch and I offered to take their photo before leaving.  Hesitantly the smaller group of young girls approached as well to have their photo taken.  Standing there in their school uniforms I could feel the energy for India’s bright future. My evenings in Delhi were usually spent along Main Bazaar Road near my hotel, having dinner or sitting around chatting with locals and tourists I had met.  One evening our little international group included two young men from Canada (who lived within an hour of each other but had never met before), a young man from France and a young store keeper from Nepal. They had all be traveling for at least 6 months and some for over a year. One of the Canadians had gotten his degree in Finance and then came to Mumbai to explore possible career options. But finding out his salary would be less than he could make at a McDonald's back home, he decided to start researching products he might import to Canada.  His current plan was to import prescription glasses which could be made in India for a 1/3 of the cost.   The other Canadian was just finishing up a year on the road make possible by the snow removal business he started during college and sold upon graduation.  His plan upon returning was to work with a friend who was opening a restaurant in a new snow-boarding resort in British Columbia.   The French student had started traveling after high school and recently finished a couple years stay in Barcelona. Now 26, he was pursuing a career in art and particularly creating sculptures. Our “ringleader” that had brought us together was a young storekeeper originally from Nepal. He had an infectious sense of humor and spent the evening at the end of the table drinking Coca Cola and translating the Indian songs that played in the pub.  The night went longer than I would have chosen but was filled with much interesting conversation.   I also spent a couple evening with was a group of young men from Kashmir.  Since the 15th century the Himalayan goats in their region have been famous for producing the wool used in cashmere sweaters and pashmina scarves. The photos my young friends showed me on their computers also portrayed a land of forests and mountain lakes.  But all this history and beauty has unfortunately been overshadowed of late by its border with Pakistan and the periodic incidents of violence.  Without the usual flow of tourists, these young merchants have been forced to bring their handcrafts and soft goods to Delhi for sale.  It was apparent how difficult it was to be away from their families and friends for extended periods of time.  As they tried to sell me on a mini-vacation on their families' houseboat, I sensed it was less for the profit than an excuse to return home for a week or so.  As Muslims, some of them are also subjected to verbal abuse from Hindu merchants in adjacent stalls. My personal take was that it had less to do with religious differences than business competition.    These men were much more confident and engaging with passing tourists and thus did more business than most of the reticent Hindi owners just standing in front their stalls waiting for business.               So after 5 days in Delhi, I boarded a 10pm train and headed out for my next destination:

BODHGAYA   This little city of 30,000 residents made a good next stop on my vacation for several reasons.  For one thing, Kolkata (as Calcutta is now spelled) was an 800 mile train ride away and Bodhgaya was close to a mid-point.  It was also now the site of a famous Mahabodi Temple built to honor the bodhi tree where the Buddha first “awoke.”  And since we had visited here 3 years ago on our Sacramento pilgrimage, I had a couple friends to re-visit.               After I checked into my hotel, I walked down probably the only street in the whole country that felt familiar. It was easy to find my friends since their businesses share the same hallway.  One has an Internet Café and the other carves Buddha statues from wood and stone.  The young internet owner was in the flush of success as this past winter had seen the most travelers to visit the city. He was the first one to have Wi-Fi in the city thanks to the generosity of one of our members from Sacramento upon returning.  In a country where power outages were common, he felt this gave him an advantage over his competitors. With a big smile he told me: I’m Number 1.   My other friend’s business seemed to be enjoying the additional foot traffic of tourists the internet brought as he had three apprentices working on carvings on the floor of the corridor.

As usual it was something unexpected that turned out to be the most memorable part of my brief stay here.  As I was having supper at an outside café that first evening, I met a bright young man who had started a new school. He was offering free education for underprivileged and handicapped children.  He invited me to see his school.  At 7:45am his motorcycle pulls up in front of my hotel and we were off for a very heartfelt excursion. The children were just lining up for morning prayer in front of the school when we arrived. Standing there in the little school uniforms, hands folded and eyes closed, they were a vision of sweetness. This was followed by a brief period of meditation in the classroom and then their regular lessons in Math and English. My friend and his wife both teach at the school and live there with their new child.  The behavior of the children mirrored the kindness and respect they were given by all their teachers.

The next morning I arrived early for my train departure at 9:40am.  As I mentioned at the beginning, I was to spend the next 7 hours waiting for the train.  The Indian families were obviously much wiser about the train schedules.  As they like to say: India great but everything late. Many families came prepared with tarps and blankets to spread out on the platform and enjoy their time together.  As the lunch hour approached, jars of food appeared, food was rolled up in bread and cucumbers were sliced and passed around.  Eventually the children got sleepy and were fanned by aunts and grandmas as they slept next to their parents.  And the train eventually arrived.  KOLKATA   My original plan to leave Bodhgaya in the morning was to avoid arriving in the dark for my first visit to India’s third largest city.  As they say, be careful of what you resist.  As a result of the 7 hour delay, our train pulled in about one in the morning.  A young Japanese tourist and I were happy just to find a flophouse 5 minutes from the station to await the next day’s sun.  In the morning I took a cab ride to the mid-range hotel I had picked out from my 2007 edition of Lonely Planet.  As the cab pulled away, I discovered that since the guidebook was printed, the hotel had been demolished and was currently being re-built.  Fortunately, an older man about my age showed up at my elbow and directed me to a nearby hotel.  My guide explained to me later that he had pulled tourists around for over 20 years on rickshaws and finally got too old for the work.  He obviously found it easier to pull tourists around now “standing up” to stores and hotels for a baksheesh (kickback) from the businesses. 

It’s funny how things turn out. The hotel he led me to had everything I needed: a fan,  private toilet, and best of all a cold shower.  It was a bargain at $7 a night and centrally located for everything I needed to do over the next week. Yet if I had followed my usual procedure of following Lonely Planet reviews I never would have selected the Capital Plaza Hotel.  In their  review for budget hotels in the Sutter Street area, it was the very last one and began with the phrase… As charming as a prison.  I could only laugh later that night when I finally ran across the review.   One of the main reasons I choose Kolkata as part of my trip was to visit one of the Houses for the Dying founded by Mother Theresa.  I tried to find out about volunteering over the Internet before coming but couldn’t find much information.  But the next day, one of local street guides told me that 3pm on Mondays is when the Missionaries of Charity meet with visitors seeking to volunteer. When I was arrived, I was surprised to find a room filled with at least 75 people and presentations in 3 different languages. A couple hours later I was signed up for Prem Dan, one of the facilities for men with mental or physical handicaps.

The next morning all the volunteers met at the Mother House at 7am for a light breakfast (a banana, slice of bread and chai) and then made our ½ hour walk to the facility.  Our work detail started with clothes washing and then hanging them out to dry on the ceiling.  We looked like a well-organized fire brigade as we passed the buckets of wet clothes along on their way up to the roof. I had forgotten how refreshing it can be on a hot morning to walk slowly under a clothesline of dripping clothes.  After that a couple of us would gather up our shaving kits and offer shaves to the men sitting around in the courtyard.  It didn’t take long to figure out that it wasn’t about the quality of the shave. It was just a wonderful opportunity to provide a little kindness and respect to men whose physical and mental problems had taken away so much of their dignity.  When finished I liked to take the towel and gently remove any water or shaving cream left on their faces.  As I held one man’s face in my hands, I could sense that it had been a while since anyone had held his face with any tenderness.   Later there was a meal for the men and we helped in whatever way was needed from carrying metal plates to those who couldn’t walk or even helping to feed them.  I remember seeing one young Japanese volunteer in his mid-twenties wearing a black shirt saying: Doesn’t Play Well with Others.  Ironically enough, he sat there for a half-hour patiently feeding this one man. I asked him later if he know what his shirt said.  He had bought it on a recent trip to California and had no idea what it meant.   

After the first day, the time working not only became easier but more meaningful from previous contact with the men.  They would be lined up sitting on benches in the morning and always had a way of recognizing our arrival.  For some it was that little waggle of the head so common in India and for others it was just a nod or look in the eye.  Some even extended hands on arms that were not fully functional.  It didn’t take long to realize that we were the ones being blessed by our daily interactions.  I can only hope to be as gracious should my life require me such dependence on others.              During the first orientation day, I happened to meet a mother and daughter who had just arrived from Seattle.  It was a very special trip for them both.  Nancy had adopted her daughter Katie from Kolkata almost 21 years earlier and this was their first trip back to her city of birth.   Since volunteers did not work on Thursday at Mother Theresa’s, they asked me if I would be interested to visit a business created to help get prostitutes off the streets: freeset (www.freesetglobal.com).   (If you have seen the documentary Born into Brothels, you know how this lifestyle becomes a economic necessity and then a trap for many women.) There were now 120 women working at freeset there making journals, bags, shirts and other handicrafts to be exported. All the profits went back to the women. I thought it would be great to visit this remarkable enterprise.

It wasn’t until they handed me a roller and a 5 gallon bucket of paint that it dawned on me that I had really signed up for another volunteer work project.  Oh, well I had nothing better to do with my day off!  So for the next several hours my new friends from Seattle and I sanded the cement walls and applied an undercoat in preparation for the next day’s painting.  Of course, the Old Navy shorts and polo shirt that I wore will never be the same with all the paint splatters.  Some day when they join my wardrobe of gardening clothes, I will remember with fondness my unplanned day as a painter.  

Looking back at my days of volunteer work in Kolkata, I can see there was something special that is lacking for me in Peace Corp work, except for the summer camps. Here there was a strong sense of community not present in my usual days in Armenia. Working shoulder to shoulder in service surely deepened my connection with my fellow volunteers. I will remember: the two ladies from Milan who I walked with to that first orientation; the rowdy group of Irish lads whose hearts were even larger than their voices; the shy Japanese student accepting the awkwardness of shaving others when he barely shaved himself; and the German couple who would return later to their advertising work in Munich.  The generosity with which all these people shared themselves, doing whatever was required was inspiring for me.

When I finally stood at the baggage carousel in Armenia, I realized the strap binding my back pack had been cut.  It wasn’t until that evening that I would discover that someone had stolen my camera and with it, all my photos from my week in Kolkata.  Fortunately for me, all the memories were already safely tucked away in heart.    

When I first came to Armenia almost two years ago many thing seemed surprisingly familiar.   Having grown up in the Midwest in the 50’s, I felt a little like Michael J. Fox in  Back to the Future.  But it was also very clear this was not a Hollywood movie and my role would have very little impact on anyone's future. My work site for the two years had many similarities to the city of my birth: tree-lined streets, hard-working neighbors and very traditional values.  And from my background reading before arrival, I knew I was about the experience my first winter in 30 years since moving to California.  My mind was not dancing with sugar plum fairies but more like six foot snowdrifts on frozen tundra with bone-chilling winds.  Fortunately my imagination was more intense than the weather which proved to be milder than my Midwest experience.  The only real challenges were the occasional times in winter when the pipes froze and you had to wait a day for water.

Probably the most difficult thing about my new country was the language with its own unique alphabet and sounds.  There are six letters that look like “n” in English and another half-dozen that are variations of our “u.”   And then there were the sounds of the words.  Six letter words that had five consonants are still difficult for me to pronounce.  I knew I was in trouble when I asked for an "onion" and he handed me a bottle of Fanta.   For many of the 20-something Volunteers recently out of college, it was just another challenge for their agile brains.  But for my 60-something year old brain, what I learned on Monday was not always there when I looked for it on Tuesday. The eleven weeks of PST (Pre-Service Training) are considered by many to be one of the real hurdles of our service, similar to boot camp in the Army.  When our four hours-a-day of language training was complete, I was greatly relieved and happy to be assigned to a work site.  My ability to speak the language was minimal but I also knew that communication between people is as much a matter of intention as it is vocabulary.              Fast-forwarding ahead to last weekend, I was assisting at a Youth Leadership Conference in Yerevan, the capital of Armenia.  During one of the breaks, a young Armenian college student whom I had worked with before asked me a rather direct question:  “What don’t you like about Armenia?”  Obviously noticing the shock on my face, she clarified that this is a question she often asks visitors to get a different perspective on her homeland which she has never been outside of.  I was still feeling a little cautious.  It’s like when a female friend asks you: “Do these pants make my butt look fat?”  It’s at this moment you understand the old adage that “caution is the better part of valor.”The next week I received an email from a young Armenian college student in California who had read my blog.  She posed hypothetical question: What would say to young college students in California who have never lived in Armenia?  So what follows is my attempt to answer both of these questions, based on the obvious limitations of my time in the country.             When I thought about my response I realized that there were several different aspects of Armenia one could discuss.  One is the cultural legacy that goes back many centuries.  There are the medieval churches that I have seen throughout my region as well as the poets, composers and musicians that I only know through the statues populating the capital and the parks of major cities. And of course there is the proud legacy of military leaders who have given their lives in the cause of Armenian independence.  It is their photos that tend to populate the walls of the schools and government buildings rather than any notable Armenians from the 20th century. Then there are the people of Armenia themselves.  Looking at the faces of the older members of society, you can easily see the difficulties they had to endure during the last 50 years.  One publication I read before coming to Armenia spoke of the widespread depression that affects the citizens.  After my first couple months in country, it seemed more accurate to describe it as a sense of resignation. In the 20th century alone, there were many tragic events from the Genocide of 1915, to the earthquake of 1988, and finally the economic collapse that resulted from the dissolution of the Soviet Union. These were circumstances beyond their control, their fate that they have been asked to endure.  The one bright spot seems to be their children.  While all societies take delight in their young, it seemed especially important for Armenians to usher in the next generation. 

Which leads me to my major concern for Armenia: What is the future of the coming generation?   Having worked with the young people of the country for the past two years, my major concern is for their future.  What opportunities will they have?  On my trips to the capital, one cannot help but notice the thousands of students who attend college there.   The same question always crosses my mind: Where are all these graduates going to find jobs?  Will they be happy as taxi drivers and sales clerks?  Do they really need a degree in International Business to run their family convenience store?  The only companies of any presence in the country seem to be the cell phone providers.  I was told that Armentel had a monopoly on the phone business until Viva Cell arrived. And now recently the French based corporation Orange has made it a three way fight for their share of the very lucrative cell phone revenues.  But even this thriving sector of the economy, I don't see any career opportunities but only a few salaries for the sales clerks at the retail outlets.

       

At my work site the fathers with technical skills in engineering or construction are often required to work in Moscow or other cities in Russia to find decent salaries.  Their children that I have spoken with see their fathers only during the Christmas season and some less often than that.  And in the meantime where is the economic activity in Armenia?  The most visible sector of the economy is the construction of new high rise office buildings and apartments in the capital.  One would like to believe that such activity is an indicator of an economic resurgence in Armenia but the reality that many of these buildings stand vacant would suggest otherwise.  An actual developer would need a return on his financial investment that a vacant building does not provide.  Some have suggested that these projects are often a convenient place to launder money from less than reputable businesses in Russia.  For Armenia to recover economically, much more is needed than for Yerevan to become a showcase of new buildings.  Unfortunately this reflects the former Soviet system that was more concerned about the appearances of success than the actual quality of life for their citizens.

The United States has made a concerted effort during the past eighteen years of Armenia independence to stimulate the economy with aid. Almost $2 billion has been invested here during that time, the highest per capita amount given to any of the 12 former soviet states. Some programs have specific targets, like the Millennium Challenge that is seeking to strengthen the agricultural economy by improving the water delivery system throughout the country.  This program has worked hard to establish a new level of transparency in the use of the funds in a former soviet system where corruption was a way of life. Other programs have attempted to improve the quality of life by funding a myriad of social programs.  These are always more difficult if the money has been well-spent.  In the United States, a welfare program was established during the Depression in the 30’s and then expanded during the 60’s. The goal of the program was to assist families in serious need to “get back on their feet.”   But finally during the mid 90’s it became necessary to re-evaluate if was actually working as a transition to future self-sufficiency.  For many it had actually become a way of life that encouraged greater dependency.  So it was re-designed around “Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity” that required job-training and eventual self-sufficiency.   I see a similar pattern in Armenia where thousands of people created NGO's (called Non-Profits in the US) so they could tap into this large revenue stream coming into the country.  And unfortunately many of these organizations have become more skilled in writing the grants than in creating social programs that are self-sustaining.  And this problem is not unique to Armenia.  Many aid programs around the world today from Africa to South America are being criticized for their failure to foster self-sufficiency.The final aspect of the Armenian society that concerns me is the educational system.  As a former high school teacher in the States, I am not naive as to the problems with our own educational system.  Yet the system that I have witnessed makes very little efforts made to develop the minds of the students.  As other volunteers in schools have noted, it is as if the information in the books is sacrosanct and the highest form of learning is memorization.  This must be a hold over from the Soviet days when loyal citizens were expected to adhere to the information provided by the State.  To solve the problems of the future, Armenia's future leaders will need to have the abilities to analyze and evaluate information and then develop creative solutions.  Today's educational system is not encouraging students to question and reflect on the material they are reading.  Instead their heads are being filled with information they have little interest in.  A Roman philosopher once said: “Education is not about filling a vessel but lighting a fire.”  The fire of interest and curiosity is surely not being lit.

And while today's youth puts in their time in today's classrooms, the Oligarchs tighten their grip on the Armenian economy that they took over when they purchased the State-run businesses eighteen years ago.  There is little that those of us who are volunteers can do about these harsh realities except provide today's youth with some new skills and experiences in Summer Camps and other trainings.  Armenians have demonstrated their ability to excel on the world stage in both sports and music as individuals.  But to create a society where opportunity and democracy are a reality, the country needs many more who have developed skills in the in the areas of leadership and teamwork.  One young man tried to explain to me that chess in Armenia was really a team sport because they rode together in a van.  For Armenians who have been fiercely independent for centuries, this might seem like teamwork.  But a much greater level of collaboration will be required to create a society where real opportunities are available for the next generation.

I was sitting in front of my laptop, listening to some music given me by a new Volunteer, and wondering how to start this month’s blog.  The song came on, “Slow down everyone, you’re moving too fast/ Frames can’t get you if you’re moving like that.”  It is not exactly a new bit of advice for Americans but one that seems to keep showing up.  Before I left for the Peace Corps the self-help shelves had plenty of titles like, Slowing Down to the Speed of Life.  And of course we can go back another century to the writings of Thoreau.  As he declared in his memoir of the two years alone at Walden Pond: “I went into the woods for I wished to live, deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life! To put to rout all that was not life, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”    And yet these romantic views of the “simple life” seem to leave something important out of the discussion.

And I think I found that missing piece this month in Armenia:  boredom.   It’s the ghost that chases many Americans to invest in their plasma televisions and other state-of-the-art entertainment devices.  And that art keeps changing so quickly.   I remember back in the 90’s that I had barely figured out what a Walkman was when it was already passé to own one.  And from what I read in the business news, the improvements in the iPads and iPhones just keep on coming.  Maybe before I pass, I will actually get to see a consumer version of Dick Tracy’s watch-phone.  But for right now, I am feeling more like Fearless Fosdick with some holes in my psyche.   I know part of my discomfort comes from the loss of my primary hobby in the States: gardening.   No matter how difficult my week had been as a teacher or a consultant, there wasn’t anything so bad that a weekend of “playing in the dirt” couldn’t fix.   I would disappear in my backyard Saturday morning and re-appear renewed sometime Sunday evening.  In fact, I can still hear my dog, Angel, barking to remind me that the sun was setting.  She was real clear when my gardening time was over and her walk was to start.  I tended to become involved in renovating some area of the backyard and just lose all track of time.  Life’s major problems disappeared as I searched for the best location for my little handful of seeds. 

My first year in Armenia, I did find myself collecting flower seeds out of habit during my afternoon walks.  The problem was I had no garden to plant them.  When I arrived in my current village last August, I did discover two sections by the fountain downtown that had nothing but foot high weeds.   It was my first introduction to the socialist system.   Government jobs here seemed to be more about titles, salaries, and status in the community but not necessarily responsibilities.  After a couple of weeks I was able to find out who was responsible for the garden that nobody was tending.  The assistant was supposed to be assuming the title since the boss left for a better job in Moscow.   After a week I was advised to wait a little bit since one of the judges in town was lobbying to have his nephew be given the position instead.   Unfortunately, all this makes perfect sense in a village where jobs are very scarce.  If you are not a taxi-driver, a teacher or own a mini-market, you better hope to have a relative with connections.

After a couple weeks the “dust settled” and I was able to arrange a meeting with the person who had inherited the title.  Our conversation was a little bit like a scene from a Woody Allen movie that humorously illustrates miscommunication.  Apparently the idea of a “volunteer” is still a strange concept in Armenia.  I kept offering my services to weed and cultivate a flower garden near the fountain and he kept asking how much salary I needed.  After three attempts to communicate that Peace Corps Volunteers get no salary, “voch pogh,” he finally seemed relieved and was happy to have me do his work.   I am sure Tom Sawyer would have been proud of me.             And so this past summer I enjoyed a couple nostalgic weekends of playing in the dirt.  Of course I did draw some strange looks from passer-bys, wondering why someone was working over the weekend.  But in the end, they probably just figured it had something to do with the fact that I was an American.  It would have been too hard to explain that I was having fun.  This May I will find out whether I planted the right type of seeds for the area or whether they even survived the Armenian winter.   However it turns out, it was a wonderful physical outlet and a place to direct some creative energy.

By this time the cooler weather had moved in and I returned to what has become my primary form of relaxation: reading.  Our Country Director here once commented that she never read more books during any two years of her life that when she was a Volunteer.  I know that is true for me.  I was surprised how much I started to enjoy reading books about history.  When you don’t have to memorize a bunch of dates (when was the Battle of Hastings, again?) and can work from your interests and experience, the whole thing seemed to change.  Seeing all the churches in Armenia from the 9th and 10th centuries, I started reading about the construction of cathedrals in the medieval ages.  This led me to biographies about Michelangelo and Galileo who both had their hands full dealing with the popes of their times.  Next thing I know I am wandering through the Dark Ages and all the wars fought over religion.  (Spending a little time with The Crusades can make the events of 9/11 and today’s terrorism a lot more understandable.)  By the time I got to the 20th century, I decided to check out the Darth Vader vs. Luke Skywalker saga of my childhood: Communism vs. Catholicism.  I had been plowing through this rather large book on the fall of the Soviet Empire when the book arrived on Pope John XXIII, one of my heroes from the 60’s.  Reading them both at the same time added an interesting perspective.  When I finished I wasn’t sure who had a more difficult job trying to change their particular organization.   Gorbachev had an impossible job trying to wrestle control away from the KGB and the old guard of the Communist Party.  But then again Pope John had to deal with the Cardinals and the Curia.  It was kind of a toss-up.  And in a couple decades who know what the books will say about Obama’s struggles with the titans of our economy: the insurance companies, pharmaceutical manufacturers, and the AMA.  He definitely has his work cut out for him. I guess that’s where the plasma TV’s come in, a good diversion from those painful realities going on in American society.             For the next couple months, I think my wide-screen TV is going to be the sidewalks and paths of my village where I can check out the Mother Nature Channel.  And as you can see from the photos, she’s put on a pretty good show lately.

 Last year I was like a tourist at the station with the train schedule in his hand.  I had been told that the Christmas Train arrived a little late in Armenia.  The Orthodox Church had settled on January 6th instead of December 25th. "Problem chica," no problem, as they say here.  I just needed to be a little patient and this special holiday would  arrive a little late.  As I waited during the two weeks prior to the Armenian Christmas, I did notice that the street decorations were a little sparse and the stores were missing that festive spirit.  I wrote it off to the financial crisis Armenia was still recovering from. But then January 6th arrived and nothing happened.  Christmas as I knew it never arrived.  And like most confused tourists, I walked away from the train station shaking my head.  As I later discovered the date is not the only thing that makes Christmas in Armenia different.  I was looking in the wrong place. The celebration here doesn't really show up in the stores, the streets, or even under a Christmas tree.   The Armenian Christmas takes place around the family table.  This year I was more prepared and had a wonderful time.  In fact, I even got a couple "warm-up" events as two of the young ladies I tutor had birthdays in December.  And birthdays are like a mini-Christmas where the mothers get to practice their skills at stacking plates of food.  It's not time to sit down to eat until the second tier of plates has been stacked on top of the first.  For like Christmas, it is the sharing of a wonderful meal and not the giving of presents that is central to the celebration. And when the eating has slowed down, someone usually turns the music system up as loud as possible and the dancing starts.  There is a real art to the hand movements for dancing in Armenia and one I don't expect to master anytime soon.   But there are plenty of home-made fruit juice, wine, bottled water and Coke to keep the dancers refreshed.  (For male celebrations you can also expect to find plenty of cognac and vodka.)

In America the holiday season gets started with Thanksgiving and is pretty much completed by New Years. Here, the season doesn't begin until January 1st, Nor Tari, and continues until January 11th.  Their world of work stops and everything is set aside for visiting friends and relatives.   This is not possible for some families that have been forced to relocate to Russia or Ukraine to find work. (One teen I visited hadn't seen his father for almost a year and a half.)  For others, it means driving to a nearby town or just to the other side of their village. This is also the time when your neighbors "drop in" at all hours.  What might drive an American hostess to distraction is considered an expected part of Armenian hospitality.  While we often prepare a rather large meal for Christmas Day, the Armenian families keep a banquet table ready with food for the whole week.  No visit would be complete without toasting your guests with at least one shot of vodka.  On New Year's Day one father "made the rounds" to his neighbors' homes and returned about an hour and a half later.  It would a fair assessment to say he was "rather toasted" when he returned!Having lived in Armenia for over a year now, I felt very much a part of the local network of relationships. I used part of the time to re-connect with some of the teens I worked with at camps last summer.  I was also invited to spend a couple days living with various families.  Remembering how much some of the children last year enjoyed the strange man with the white hair and beard, I chose not to shave for a couple months.  Although I wasn't wearing a red suit or riding in a sleigh, many kids still thought I might be "Dzmare Papek" or Winter Grandfather as they refer to Santa here. One family had these two little girls who decided it would be fun to comb out my beard.  Their mother was a little embarrassed by their behavior but I found it a small price to pay for my ride this year on the Christmas Train. Being 7,000 miles from home, it was pretty sweet to be taken care of by a couple of Angels. 

 

Last weekend a new Peace Corps Volunteers from another village stayed at my apartment. His sense of discouragement after the first four months in his village was truly déjà vu.   He came to Armenia to make a difference but the apparent lack of planning and specific goals at his worksite was making him crazy. For Americans with our focus on achievement and results, this country can be very frustrating.  I should know.  I spent the first six months of my service trying to get the two leading Tourism organizations in my village to work together.  I was not successful.  When my attitude about working in Armenia began to sour, I decided to put my efforts in other directions.

So during this past spring and summer, I re-directed my efforts toward a youth development program and filled in my time with tutoring young adults who hoped to use their English skills to create a better job and maybe even a better life.  I also helped my Armenian tutor who was preparing some high school seniors for their college entrance exam in English.

But this fall, my plan was to find a local K-12 where I could team teach some English classes to the upper grades.  My hopes were high as the director of my Non-Profit agreed to introduce me to his buddy who was the Principal of the one of the four schools in town.  I was excited to "be doing something" again, a favorite American pastime. And the students seemed enthused and excited to have a new face in the room, to do something besides rote memory.  But I wasn't sure that the Armenian teacher I worked with was as excited.  She seemed pretty set in her routine.  After a couple days of working at the new school, my NGO Director stuck his head in my office at our work place and said in a dead-panned voice: "Your teaching assignment is now complete.  The kids were too noisy."  He then walked away.  I was stunned not just by the rather cryptic method of communication but the fact that the "problem" had never even been discussed. Welcome to decisions in the Post-Soviet world.  I guess I should have been happy that I wasn't relocated to a labor camp in Siberia as I had read about in Soviet history.  At this point, my “relationship network" that is so central to village life came to my rescue.  My Armenian tutor called the Principal of another K-12 and two days later I was team-teaching English again.  This time I was fortunate to be matched with three teachers who enjoyed having help with their lesson plans.  But then the country’s fears around the Swine Flu stepped in. The Armenian Ministry of Health decided to close all the schools in the country for a month until mid-January. While there had been less than fifty cases in Armenia, they lacked the needed vaccinations to respond to a potential outbreak.  Disappointment again raised its ugly head and I was again back to Square One with just a couple tutoring classes.

So this morning seemed like a good time to regain my perspective for the holidays.  I had no place to go so I grabbed my camera and started off on a tour of my street. It was perfect that one of our two local busses would appear.  In my experience the bus drivers are the backbone of normal life for our village, especially in the coming weeks when the snow becomes an issue. In a country where “punctuality” is hard to find, one cannot but be impressed by their reliability.  Each of the drivers goes from one end of the village to the other all day long.  You "can set your watch" (if I still had one) by their arrival on the half-hour. And like two hands of a clock they tend to cross at the same place in the middle of town.  And then there is the community aspect of “taking the bus.”  The busses have seating for 20 passengers and yet every morning they arrive at my bus stop with 40 adults and students already packed in.   Even as an American, you can't help but feel like part of the community as you somehow become the 41st person wedged into the back of the bus. 

Once the bus had pulled away, I noticed a couple of my favorite people in the village: the ladies who sweep the curbs of the streets everyday with their traditional home-made brooms.  Somehow for me they represent the part of Armenia that just “keeps on keeping on.”   One was busy making little piles of dirt along the curb.  The other had stopped to chat with my barber in front of his shop.  It is not too hard to see the past two decades of struggle for independence in their faces. Later I would leave the sidewalks and take the back road path to my office.  There I would meet the men with their handful of cows, grazing off the weeds along the path.     

But this morning as I continued the walk along my street, I passed a handful of storefronts where residents sell a variety of fresh vegetables and fruits in front of their houses.  Some even have even built a little room in front and added a window for transactions so they could include a small sampling of packaged goods and ever present convenience items like cigarettes and phone cards. Our daily interactions are limited (by my language skills) but sweet.  It takes just a simple greeting or a friendly word to bring a smile to their faces.   Sometimes we might even share a reflection on the snow that we both know is coming soon.  But today our butcher had his axe out so I kept moving.

It’s a simple life they live and one I share with them on some level.  Their joys and hopes are simple and tightly bound up with their families.  Not much will happen this week despite the fact that this Friday is the 25th.  This week is one of preparation for the New Year, Nor Tari. The New Years is not about champagne and Times Square.  Rather the first 10 days of January are for visiting family and friends.  Almost nobody “goes to work” during that time.  As my loved ones are 7,000 miles away, I will be spending time with my Peace Corps family.  And along the way will surely enjoy some time with my local Bus Community.

Enjoy your holidays.......... and your Families!

Armenian Soap Operas

I have recently started teaching high school English again with a couple Armenian teachers. It is always challenging to try out new ways to catch their attention and make their time in the classroom somewhat interesting. Last week's lesson in their textbook was on the different types of television shows from news to nature shows to soap operas. I offered a prize to whoever could find out why they were called "soap" operas. I had read somewhere in the past that the manufacturers of soaps and other products for the home were the primary advertisers in an effort to reach the heavily female audience. Why I didn't realize until I "Googled" it last week was that "soap operas" started with radio shows back in the 30's. The amazing thing is that their popularity continues world wide with Latin America now leading the way with over 2 billion viewers annually

When I moved into my own apartment last year I never bothered to plug in my television as all the shows are either in Russian or Armenian. But from my first couple months living with a host family I did get a taste of the local soap operas popular in this country. We have those imported from Latin America that seem to have been made in the '90's or even the '80's. It is quite a cross-cultural experience for an American to watch a jealous rage between two hot-blooded Spaniards with the dialogue dubbed in Russian. . And of course there are the very popular Russian mafia soaps. These seem to be have been produced on a very limited budget judging from the limited number of sets used. You have the two mob rivals posturing on their cell phones with each other. The words escape me but their facial expressions say it all. Or there are the scenes where one of the mob bosses is giving an earful to one of his underlings who apparently misplaced a body or some money. I can usually figure out what was happening from the body language, especially when the boss slapped him in the face. These shows usually try to break up the boredom by occasionally throwing in a Jacuzzi scene with the rather corpulent head of the Mafiosa and his rather svelte girlfriend (in bathing suits, of course). But his enjoyment can be short-lived should his enemies offer her enough money to change sides. It is all rather mindless.

After moving out from my host family to my own apartment about this time last year, I soon discovered some local "soap operas" that weren't so mindless. My initial business assignment at my site was to help expand tourism efforts at in my town of 12,000. With little besides one company that bottles water, it would be a great boost to the local economy. And with our reputation, as I mentioned in an earlier blog, as being the Little Switzerland of Armenia, our area has a history of being a popular tourist destination during the Soviet period. I soon go to know the two staff members at a newly -opened Tourism Information Center.. They were in their mid-twenties and lucky for me spoke pretty good English. When I had a "bad hair day" at my NGO, I found myself stopping by just to have someone to talk with on my walk home. Fortunately, my two new friends didn't seem to know how much psychiatrists are paid for such "conversations" in America.

But it wasn't long before I discovered their problems were more serious than mine. Their office was functioning as a "show piece" for the headquarters in the capitol. They were given almost no support. There were even periods when their Internet services didn't operate for lack of payment and they could do nothing to generate contact with other tourism agencies. And as the tourism season wound down, all they could do was wait for the occasional young hikers to stumble through looking for a map. Soon the situation became worse as their salaries started to come a couple weeks then a month late. Contacts with the main office were fruitless as their boss was usually away at trade shows in Paris, Brussels, and even the US. She was apparently collecting tourism brochures, her branch office had come to a complete standstill .

Then this summer a "soap opera" showed up at my front door in the midst of a youth development project I was involved in. When we wrote a proposal to be one of the six Youth Bank sites in Armenia, I was attracted by two goals of the program. Train young adults in your town in leadership and teamwork and then manage a handful of local community improvement projects that each receive a small grant of $500 each. I was also impressed that all the project money would go out to the community and none went for the salaries of those managing the project. Quite frankly, that eliminated much of the competition as most NGO's apply for the salaries involved.

At first the program seemed to progress according to plan. We interviewed a couple dozen young adults (16-22) who applied and selected the best six. We then spent 3 days in the capitol with the Youth Bank teams from the other regions where they received training in how to evaluate community projects. They were taught to evaluate the proposals based on the “SMART” guidelines: Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Realistic, and Timely. If nothing else, this was an opportunity for them to be gain some skills in logic and analytical thinking. Most of what passes for education in Armenia schools is just rote memorization. I have a feeling this is a hold-over from the Soviet system. Good citizens did not question or analyze the information but just absorbed it as truth. Last year I tutored a very bright high school senior as she prepared for her college entrance exam in English. We would read a page in English and then she would ask to close the book and repeat it… from memory. But when we started to discuss the page, she had almost no idea what it meant. Her score on the English test we heard later was the 2nd highest in our city.

So after our training in Yerevan, our Youth Bank groups returned home and creating announcements for our region requesting applications for community projects. Using their "SMART" guidelines the group eliminated half of the 40 proposals and set up personal interviews for the rest. And finally, we had selected the best projects and were ready for the project implementation.

The projects we had selected were to be funded early summer and our youth would then get the experience of monitoring their implementation. Summer came and went. Then it was September and then October and we were given "reasons" instead of funds. The 5 community projects of $500 each were not going to seriously impact Armenia but the "ripple effect" on our group concerned me. I saw the real impact of Youth Bank as giving a talented group of young adults a practical experience where they had the opportunity to learn teamwork and leadership. Instead we had nothing to do. And this is when the soap opera started.

When I tried to meet with the Youth Leader who sponsored the project with me locally, he was busy much of the summer traveling to other countries for seminars on…………. "Youth Development Training." I guess it's always more exciting to read about the theory than actually implement it. Now I knew first hand what my friends at the Visitor Center went through. As if this wasn't enough of a problem, I started to get feedback from our youth that he was calling them on the phone and berating them for a poor performance and attendance. When the young lady with the strongest leadership potential in our group dropped out, I knew we had a serious morale problem. I started to become frustrated that my language skills prevented me bringing the group together and giving them the support they needed. I did have a couple one-on-one meetings where I attempted to encourage a few individuals.

Eventually, their leadership skills surfaced and our young people decided to take things in their own hands. They met on their own and decided they needed to call a meeting in the capital with the group funding our project. I guess they got an experience of leadership and teamwork but it surely wasn't the way I had envisioned it.

This type of "CYA" leadership where blame is passed down is surely not new to any of us who have worked in business, government or schools. Most of us have probably been on the "receiving end" of such politics before. Yet I find this especially difficult to watch for a couple reasons. We recruited these young adults to develop them not to discourage them. Secondly, good leaders in Armenia are in very short supply. Many of those in leadership positions were just those who survived the posturing and intrigue of Soviet politics. But that is huge topic that I think I will tackle in a future Blog: Soviet Ghosts in Armenia.

As I finish up this entry, the holiday celebration of Thanksgiving is just around the corner. But like December 25th, the 4th Thursday in November has no special meaning in Armenia. Peace Corps does create an opportunity for us to gather a week early for an "All-Vol Conference." While some training does take place, what most of us remember from last year was the camaraderie of fellow Volunteers and traditional American cooking, something we see little of for our two years. People used to call America The Land of Opportunity. This vision easily gets buried under the constant news barrage of Middle East wars, Health Care reform, and financial crisis. But now living in an under-developed area of the world, I can see one reality very clearly: our children are truly blessed with opportunities unknown to many around the world. And for that I give thanks. I hope your holiday is also a celebration.

When I left for Istanbul I was reading this wonderful book (written by a former Peace Corps Volunteer in '76) called Bright Sun, Hot Tea.  I chose my trip to Turkey partly because the $180 roundtrip fare on the bus fit my budget.  But also I hoped to store up some warm memories in my body for the upcoming 6 months of Armenian.  There were some doubts before our departure as the previous weekend 26 people drowned in Istanbul from a flash flood.   But my wallet was already committed with fare paid for in advance.  My Armenian tutor was concerned. Although half my age, she was acting like a good Armenian mother and asked me not to go.  I showed her the 5 Day Forecast: it didn't say “torrential downpour” but just “rain-rain-rain-overcast-rain.  So with some doubts tucked away in my back pack I climbed the steps for my 32 hour bus ride. 

 The long trip was also more bearable as we were lucky enough to have some fun people on the bus.  Their interactions made for good theater and the time passed more quickly.  When asked by one man now living in Moscow what I was doing in the country, I gave him my card that explains in Armenian what the goals of the Peace Corps. It usually satisfies the curiosity of the recipient. Instead it started a long debate about the role America played in his home country’s current financial crisis.  He was convinced that all the problems in Armenia were the result of our America's Cold War that had bankrupted Russia and led to the dissolution of the Soviet Empire. (Ronald Reagan would have smiled from his grave.)  Fortunately a couple young Armenian men behind me, that had just completed their military service and were returning to Bulgaria, disagreed with his rather sweeping generalization.  I am not sure what all was said as my command of the language is still rather basic.  But I could appreciate his point of view for Armenia has lost more than it has gained since the USSR collapsed in 1992.  The country's economy still has not recovered from the lost revenue and jobs when Russia's military factories closed.  And the benefits of increased freedoms are “still a work in progress” as Democracy stumbles into the future.  Hopefully in another 20 years the scales will balance out and folks will see what they gained in the process.  But for now, some older Armenians can only see the current reality of more unemployment and fewer drams in their pockets.  Less drams have a way of stirring up old dreams.... of the Communist Society, the New Society that never came.      By Sunday night we were pulling into Istanbul in a light drizzle.  The city was still rather subdued as there was another two days left in the religious holiday of Ramadan.  The next morning I awoke to a slight drizzle, a cup of hot tea, and my 64th birthday.  I was ready for a quiet relaxing day.  My traveling companions were in a very different mood as one of them was flying back to America the next day.  They had created a very aggressive tourist plan: See Everything in Istanbul in 1 Day!   Not exactly what I wanted to do on my birthday. I still had 10 days to see the sights.  I was going to take it slow.  I declined their offer to go along and ordered another hot tea.  As a result, my Istanbul vacation got off on the perfect note: doing nothing.  This actually set the tone for the rest of my vacation, where I seldom left the table in front of the Old City Hostel until the afternoon. (Later in the trip, another tourist asked my friend why she never took me with her in the morning. Her response was:  "Because he's worthless in the morning."  For me that was a compliment!)    My good fortune of having the right people around on this trip continued at The Old City Hostel.   Meeting two Brits that first day was wonderful and dispelled my fears that I would be engulfed in conversations that I understood little of like in Armenia.  Samantha, whose son worked at the hostel, was the very first person I met when I asked about the closest money exchange office.   She was kind enough to walk me there and over the next 10 days became my “traveling angel”.  Her ability to speak with the locals as well her sweet spirit was a wonderful birthday gift for my vacation in Turkey.  The other Brit who also showed up at the hostel was Colin.  He was a plant manager of a local factory and used the weekends at our hostel to de-compress.  His company had a very nice hotel on the factory grounds but he wisely chose to leave the work environment over his weekends.  Thanks to the long Ramadan weekend, Colin was around to show me his favorite bakery for breakfast.  Afterwards I would sometimes return to “my table” and other times tagged along on his explorations of undiscovered streets and sites in Istanbul.  His secret desire was to have lived in an earlier time when British sailors still explored the high seas and new lands.

 Whatever I did in the morning was always relaxed and accompanied by hot tea and new friends.  And so my morning routine slowly developed.  I would just sit and read about the experiences of my fellow Volunteer who came here 40 years earlier. (The Peace Corps presence in Turkey was discontinued after a number of years when the political climate was deemed too turbulent for Volunteer safety. The author ironically stayed on in the tourism business and became one of the leading authorities on Turkey when Lonely Planet was just getting started.)  On previous vacations when I was still working in Corporate America, I usually needed a swimming pool, a stack of detective novels and an occasional cold Mexican beer in order to sit still.  This time all I needed was "my table" in front of the hostel and an occasional tea from Ali the Tea Boy who literally ran by all day juggling a full tray of tea, which cost 1 Lira (about 70 cents). One morning I did get adventurous and walked 5 minutes down the street to one of the historic Turkish Baths.  At $35 it was my most extravagant purchase of the trip.  But my slow walk back to the hostel two hours later confirmed it had been an excellent decision .                          Sometime in the early afternoon,  my Peace Corps companion would return from her morning excursions. We would grab a sandwich for 3 Liras from a sidewalk vendor and head out to some new site she’d read about in her travel book.  Without her I am not sure if I ever would have made it to the Asia side of Istanbul.  One day we took the very modern tram facing our street (Turkey does understand how to attract tourists) down to the port and then walked across one of the bridges spanning Bosporus Straits.  Another time she had read about this little very old village of Fener that was a mix Greek and Turkish residents.  And it was only a 10 or 15 minute bus ride on the Asia side.  We went there and I felt like I had gone back in time a 100 years as I walked amidst a very traditional way of life.  It reminded me of an earlier trip to Crete with its winding hillside streets.  Vehicle traffic was almost non-existent and the grade school kids ruled the streets.  And when the call to prayer came, there was a sudden flow of men heading for the mosques with the religous hats  in hand.  I later learned that only Hajis could wear the hat, those that had completed the trip to Meccarequired of all practicing Muslims.

The evenings were very relaxed as well.  Sometimes Colin would take me to his favorite sisha bar which was populated not just by curious tourists but was a regular event for many locals as well. It was attractive not just to be part of Istanbul's city life but also it was a venue well-suited to my meager entertainment funds for the trip.  One evening a group of us spent an hour and a half there and the bill for the pipe, fruit-flavored tobacco and delicious hot tea came to only 5 Lira each, or $3 for the hour and a half.  That would put most American bar owners out of business.   My other connection with Colin was in the area of business.  Not only was he in charge of Business Development (my last position in the business world) but like my father he had started in his late teens as a pattern-maker.    I remember most people thinking my dad made dress patterns when I mentioned his profession.  Patterns, molds, castings are all part of the critical design phase for manufacturing any engines but are off the radar screen and seldom seen.  One might compare it to Intel's plant in Folsom.  We all rely on the quality and accuracy of those computer chips for our PC's and laptops but few of us have any idea how they are made.   My exposure to the pattern business came to a halt in the 70's when the American automobile makers suddenly had to deal with the more gas-efficient and less expensive competition from Japan.  The Big Three started cutting costs and many union shops like my fathers soon found themselves out of business. It was great talking to Colin was and learning how the pattern business was now operating in the 21st century.     We also had another common ground that was much more rooted in the present, as we both struggle as Westerners to share our experience with those from another culture.   His struggles to increase productivity in his plant were echoes of my past year in Armenia.  In both cultures social relationships are given top billing to the extent that efficiency often goes out the window. His business meetings with a dozen key personnel back in England were in sharp contrast to his current ones in Istanbul.  Here the participants would all sit with at least one cell phone turned on in front of them.  Nobody turned their phones off and thought nothing of taking personal calls during the meeting.  The meetings could drag on for 3 to 4 hours and he was still not sure anything had been accomplished.  If Colin had not already shaved his head, I just imagined that he would have pulled all his hair out by now in frustration.  But most of the time I just sat at the table in front of our hostel and enjoyed the camaraderie of the restaurant staff and the sun that showed up after a couple days.  It wasn't until the 3rd day that I realized it wasn't "my" table but "their" table as the hostel owner had given the restaurant the additional space in exchange for free meals.  Such was the connection with the two business owners who were both Kurdish.  It took me a couple Google searches to understand more about what the papers called "The Kurdish Question."  Apparently there was a treaty after the fall of the Ottoman Empire in 1922 that gave the Kurds their own land.  But they reneged on the treaty and instead split up the land with adjacent countries.  Apparently President of Turkey was rightly concerned about the fragile nature of his new Republic and feared ethnic divisiveness.  He even forbad the teaching of their language and books written in Kurdish.   His decision seemed a little harsh to me until I thought about the current chaos in Iraq where the Sunnis, Shiites and Kurds continue to split the country.   In addition to the friendship of the restaurant staff, I was able to enjoy meeting young visitors to our hostel who came every couple days.  Since there were 10 beds to a dorm room, it attracted young people who found the $17 a night (that included breakfast) fit their slender budget as it did mine.  I got to hear about life in Germany, Holland, Brazil, Portugal, and Sweden.  I got to travel around the world without ever leaving the "comforts of home" and the hot tea from Ali. Toward the end of the first week, when I gave him the 1Lira, he gave me a half Lira back.  I was confused and asked the hostel staff about it.  I guess he had one price for tourists and another for those who lived there.  The 35 cents really didn't mean much to my wallet but made me feel like I was now a member of the Old City family. For a fella who decided to spend his 64th birthday in a strange country, I felt I had received a wonderful gift.  And no doubt during the upcoming 6 months of Armenian winter, I will be returning to my photos and the warm memories of Istanbul.  I was a little embarrassed when I left that I still hadn't gone inside the Blue Mosque or the Cisterns which many said were the most impressive sights there.  So I guess I will just have to follow the example of my fellow Volunteer who saved almost $400 by flying home from there instead of Yerevan.  Next time I doubt if I will See Everything in Istanbul in One Day.  I had way too much fun being worthless.

PS If any of you ever pick Turkey as a travel destination, you will find much useful information at the website of the former Peace Corps Volunteer: 

As the saying goes, Life imitates art far more than art imitates Life. I happened to pick up a copy of The Grapes of Wrath the other day. It had been 40 years since I first read it and remember enjoying Steinbeck's descriptive language very much. I had never lived on a farm myself but his descriptions of the families moving from the Dust Bowl to California were very poignant. I can even remember copying down at the time some of the passages whose imagery were particularly striking.

About a week after I started reading the book again, I took a bus to celebrate with our newest group of Volunteers their official Swearing In, attended by the US Ambassador to Armenia. It was interesting to witness the ceremony again, this time without the flood of emotions as when you are up on the stage. Then we all trooped over to the same outdoor cafe as last year for the more "informal" but truly celebrative part of the graduation experience. After spending 11 weeks in another culture that included living with an Armenian family and having 4 hours of language classes a day, there is a certain release of energy after the completion of this first stage of your service. The communal sigh of relief was soon followed by numerous toasts and several hours of loud conversation.

As the afternoon wore on, the members of our class from last year started preparing the return journeys to our sites before dark. The new Volunteers didn't have to worry about that as they would be spending this final night in nearby villages where they trained. And the next day they would be transported by the Peace Corps with all their belongings to their new sites. That would be the official start to their two years of service in Armenia.

For us "old timers," we would need to fend for ourselves. Since there were no regular bus routes back to my site, I realized I had a couple options. I could take a one hour bus ride going west back to the capital and then connect with another bus traveling two hours east back to my site. I'm not sure if it was firm grasp of arithmetic or my old habits from the 60's kicking in, but I was soon found myself hitchhiking home ( not a practice recommended for our female volunteers.) I probably also have a naive trust in my Hitchhiking Karma, haven given innumerable rides to hitchhikers over the years.

My thumb wasn't out in the breeze but about 15 minutes when this very nice couple with their young daughter picked me up. While the Mercedes and BMW's went roaring by, it is usually a vehicle in rather weathered condition that stops for me. In Armenia it probably doesn’t hurt having white hair and beard as the culture still gives some deference to being a "papeek" (grandfather). I first discovered this on the local buses when young ladies would stand up a say: "nestea" (sit down). I was a little uncomfortable at first but have since realized it is better not to refuse a form of generosity that is a cultural norm.

After we had been on the road for about 20 minutes, I began to notice a little bit of shimmy in the car. Then the driver started to drive with his head out the window watching something. That signaled something more serious. After another 20 minutes we stopped next to a roadside food stand. Soon the food vendor was under the hood of the car with the driver. Since most Americans don’t even change their oil anymore, I felt a little useless in this roadside version of CarTalk. But soon they had agreed on a fix and noticed them ... chopping a 2 foot section of from a branch along side the road. That was enough to have me join the under-the-hood-conference. A bracket of one of the pulleys had worked its way loose and they decided to wedge the wood to hold it in place. When I realized that the next step was to hold the branch in place, I joined in the impromptu scavenger hunt along the side of the road. I felt like part of the team again when I found a piece of wire soon to become part of the solution. I heard the expression from American farming days about things being “held together with baling wire” but this was my first up-close experience.

The vibration disappeared for the rest of my ride home. When I got out I put some money in the driver’s hand claiming it was gas money. But I knew some kind of auto repair was coming his way the next day.

This “make do attitude” seems to prevail in Armenia as it obviously did with the farmers who held our country together with not just bailing wire but a large dose of grit and determination. As I opened my novel the next day, I couldn't help but feel Steinbeck was describing my trip:

Listen to the motor. Listen to the wheels. Listen with your ears and with your hands on the steering wheel; listen with the palm of your hand on the gear-shift lever; listen with your feet on the floor boards. Listen to the pounding old jalopy with all your senses, for a change of tone, a variation of rhythm may mean-- a week here? That rattle – that's tappets. Don't hurt a bit. Tappets can rattle til Jesus comes again without no harm. But that thudding as the car moves along – can't hear that – just kind of feel it. Maybe oil isn't getting someplace. Maybe a bearing's startin' to go. Jesus, if it's a bearing, what'll we do? Money's going fast.

It wasn’t long after the characters in the Grapes of Wrath got to California that they realized their fantasy of clean little cottages with white picket fences and juicy oranges hanging from all the trees was just that: a fantasy. Steinbeck ends the story shortly after their arrival in California and doesn’t fill in the details of how they survived. But he does suggest the emotional that was coming:

The decay spreads over the State, and the sweet smell is a great sorrow on the land. Men who have created new fruits in the world cannot create a system whereby their fruits may be eaten. And the failure hangs over the State like a great sorrow. And in the eyes of the people there is the failure; and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath. In the souls of the people, the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.

I often worry about how this country is going to move to the next stage of their economic growth, lacking both the resources and free enterprise system that made America’s growth possible. I guess I’ll just need to trust the grit and determination of the people. They have suffered much in the past couple centuries and don’t look like they are going to quit anytime soon.

Growing Pains Just came back over the weekend from another youth camp.  I saw some new parts of Armenia as the camp took place in the very northern part where you could actually see Georgia.  Although the geography was new, the heat was very  Sacramento-like and you could usually find the counselors under the nearest shady place.

This camp was a slightly different from the last one as the kids were a little younger (11-14) and as the name Green Camp suggests, it focused on increasing their understanding and respect for the environment.  The topics for the days ranged from the cyclical nature of "Water" to the "Pyramid of Life" to "Eco-Friendly Communities."  Some of the time was spent in the classrooms but the emphasis was on experiential learning through outdoor games and activities.   During the break time, the kids would drift into small circles to practice their volleyball skills or pair off with badminton rackets, a favorite of the girls in my town.  I even helped a handful of kids to get proficient at throwing a Frisbee…. straight.

As with the previous camp, the enthusiasm of the kids was delightful and kept our staff of 6 Peace Corps Volunteers and 6 Armenian Volunteers energized in spite of the heat.  When the activities of the camp concluded in the late afternoon, we only had a five minute walk from the school to the house of Volunteer who lives full-time in that village.  It wasn't long before the Americans were sitting in the shade, curled up with the current novels for the week, or taking a cat-nap on one of the many mattresses spread throughout the floor of the house…. and often completing the whole sequence!

Upon returning this past weekend to my regular site, I was excited to take my first hot shower in a week, re-discover the other modern conveniences of my bathroom and have my first good night's sleep in a week.  Not sure if it's just my age or the fact that I never did much camping as a kid, but sleeping on the floor/ ground leaves me tired the next morning.

Having experienced a "let-down" after the last Summer Camp, I thought this time I would keep an eye on my emotional state as I returned to a "semi-urban" setting.  It is hard to replicate the proximity to nature and the hospitality in a rural Armenian village.  On my morning walks to our Green Camp, I was often joined by the local turkeys out for their morning stroll.   And on the way back, it was easy to wind up in a neighbor's home.  The second evening there I was invited to the home of one of the neighbors I had met on one of my walks. First it was the traditional cup of Armenian coffee, then came plates of sliced peaches and sweets.  The visit was capped off by a spontaneous duduk concert by one of his nephews. (During our training a year ago, we had learned that the “duduk,” a reed instrument in the oboe family, was the pride and joy of Armenia.  The story goes that when James Cameron heard it for the first time, he knew he wanted it for the soundtrack for his new movie "Titanic.")  

Another time I walked two houses down to Mayor's residence to fill up a couple buckets of water and didn't come back for almost two hours.  The other Volunteers must have thought I got lost!   But my favorite moment in the evenings was when the neighborhood kids couldn't hold back their curiosity any longer and carefully stuck their heads in our gate.  It was a like re-run of Spanky and Our Gang with all the wide-eyed looks and bashful joy. 

All that being said, I was curious to observe my response to returning to my "semi-urban" setting, where I stay until August 2010.  What was it that led me to feel a let-down last time?  After all, I have made some good friendships and have often been the recipient of gracious hospitality here as well.  And besides, I had all the creature comforts of a comfortable bed and a hot shower.  What's not to like? 

It slowly occurred to me it had little to do with the people but really with the current  “growing pains” with the country's culture.  The values of consumerism are in full-swing and the guileless nature of village life will soon be a distant memory.  The comparison that comes to mind is with “teenagers” who confuse appearance with reality.  Having the latest songs on your cell phone or driving at high speeds seem to be goals that many residents in my town aspire to.  And when I travel to the capital the behavior is even more startling as the majority of the young women in Yerevan seem to be auditioning for Project Runway……… Hollywood Boulevard.   This seems especially strange in a society with very conservative and almost repressive sexual norms.   Any way you look at it, the cultural values and the behavior are not a good fit.

It would be much easier to accept if all the fancy cars and trendy fashions in the capital were the fruits of a healthy economy.   But there is no economy in Armenia to sustain this lifestyle, unless one of your relatives has a connection with the Russian Mafia.  At least in the rural areas, the villagers approach a self-sustaining life, growing much of their own food and bartering for additional services. They have no illusions about themselves and their lives are consistent with the values of the culture.  The same cannot be said for the residents in the larger urban areas like my town.  Many of the new generation have absorbed from TV and the movies their version of  The Good Life.  And their cell phones make them part of that.  Few seem to consider how such a lifestyle is “sustainable.”  With 30% unemployment, many look to their families to support them, some to the government, while others have become very skilled at writing grants to get their slice of foreign aid.  But this pattern of seeking the solution outside their own initiative has the tendency to point Armenia into  becoming a Welfare State.       I wonder if Karl Marx would see the irony of the situation.  It is no longer “religion” but cell phones and fast cars that have become the “opiate of the people.”  While I find this very difficult to watch, there are surely sectors of the government and select families that control Armenia’s wealth who do not.  For the result is that people are distracted from dealing with the stark realities of their country: that economic opportunity and democracy for the average citizen is but an illusion.    One can only hope that this will change in time.  It just won’t be any time soon.

In the meantime, we will continue to train the young people in their problem-solving, collaboration, and leadership skills.  They will surely need them for the steep climb up the mountain which is their future.

A Simple Twist of Fate

Yesterday I took a local min-bus to the Peace Corps office in Yerevan, Armenia’s capital. Part of my reason for the trip was to discuss a presentation we are making to the new volunteers on “Managing Stress.” My other reason was to pick up some more vitamins from the health office there as I have felt run down lately. On the bus ride in I could not help but think whether my recent fatigue was just a case of getting older or …. my own stress showing up. The Peace Corps doctor mentioned it was not uncommon to for Volunteers to go through a mid-service crisis. I wasn’t sure what it was but I did feel a let-down after working as a Camp Counsellor for a week. Interacting with 50 teenagers all day for a week was a pretty high energy event. Then I started to think about the hike I went on a couple days ago. My young Armenian guide had described it as a 3 hour hike but we got lost in the forest and had to bushwhack our way out through the overgrowth. It turned out to be a 9 hour adventure and I slept very well that night. So as the “marshutni” carried us toward the capital, I noticed my mind looking for answers, ruminating over “causes” and “effects” for being tired. Despite my daily meditation practice, I have discovered my mind is still habituated to figuring things out and looking for answers. So I just plugged in my earphones and laid back to listen to a bunch of old Bob Dylan songs, a gift from another volunteer leaving Armenia next week. Dylan's voice still had that scratchy sound I remembered from the 60’s but his lyrics seemed more interesting than I remembered. The next day I was to find my own “Simple Twist of Fate.” When I awoke this morning back at my regular work site, I was planning to take the 9:30 bus to work. My Armenian tutor had asked to move our daily language lesson back an hour so I was enjoying the extra time to read and reflect. When I looked at the time, I suddenly realized I had only a couple minutes before the bus would arrive. One can get rather casual when the bus stop is right in front of your apartment. But as I raced out of my building, I heard the familiar roar of the engine and saw the backside of the old red bus chugging down the street.

I had a half-hour before I was due at the office and I thought the walk might be kind of nostalgic, as I used to walk every morning when I first arrived here. But then in November I moved into my own flat further away from the downtown area. That plus my first winter in Armenia was all I needed to adopt the bus as my new best friend. Since then I had reversed my pattern and walked home after work, enjoying the time for some physical exercise and a chance to unwind from the day. Now the missed bus seemed like a good opportunity to "change things up" as I was feeling a little down, in somewhat of a rut. I had called an old friend in San Diego that morning but just got the computerized voice message. When I called my daughter after that, she was also not available but at least I got to listen to her voice on the message. Surprising how little things can make a difference when you feel a little empty.Well, my walk to work today was the perfect medicine. I think part of my struggle was a sense that I wasn't doing enough. School was out for the summer so I wouldn’t see some of my students for a couple months. I missed the interaction with the five teachers at the Art School taking Introductory English class as well as college kids from the Business English class. Riding the bus to work and then sitting in my office for most of the day had begun to feel rather isolating..... and boring. But it wasn’t long into my walk to work that I re-discovered my simple connection with the folks in our city. The first person coming down the sidewalk was a young man in his 20's who crafts souvenir pieces at a local gallery. Just his smile and a handshake was enough to lift my spirits. Then an older Russian man with twinkling eyes and a St. Nicholas beard greeted me from the other side of the street. I see him several times a week out sweeping the streets with a primitive broom and we always greet each other, although neither can speak the other's language. And there were the occasional strangers whose dour faces quickly became lighter with a simple "Barev dzez," the common Armenian greeting. By the time I reached the local tourist information center and the two young people that speak very good English, I felt the cloud over my head had blown away. It was liberating to let go of my illusion that my value depended on something I did for the people in Armenia. I was actually the one in need and the gift of simply connecting with them was a wonderful way to start my morning. Or as Dylan would say, they dropped “a coin into the cup and of a blind man at the gate and forgot about a simple twist of fate.”

Sometimes we all imagine how things might have been. I thought about joining the Peace Corps 40 some years ago when in college. I used to tell myself it was because I studied classical languages in high school and had no experience with spoken languages. But I think during the past 10 days working at a Youth Camp in a remote village I re-discovered the real reason. I imagine I knew I was not ready for those assignments in the early 60's to the remote areas of Africa and South America. I was ok with having just one lukewarm "bucket shower" while at the Youth Camp. But after ten days of using the outhouse with its wonderful fragrance and logistics, I was ready for my apartment. I was delighted actually to return to …. a shower and a toilet seat.

But despite that, the whole Youth Camp event was quite wonderful. There were 50 teens from 14-16 years old that were full of energy and joy. Some of us like me were teachers for three 50 minute classes a day (Leadership, Project Planning and Theater) and the other half of the staff functioned asTeam Leaders, motivating and coaching their groups of 10 in preparation for various cheers and competitive challenges. For many of them it might have been the first experience of working as a team. One could see the resulting growth in confidence and maturity. And having functioned as The Lone Ranger for most of the past year, I was also delighted for the interaction and support of teammates

The week overall was a good blend of learning and fun. The goal was to help them acquire some new life skills and to improve their English speaking along the way. But the journey was filled with much laughter and friendly competition. At the completion of every day, the kids were told the theme for the coming day. And the next morning the judges were ready to award the prize to the team who showed the most creativity for "Crazy Hat" or "Crazy Hair" day. Classes and lunch took up the late morning and early afternoon and by 2pm they were back in their teams preparing for the new Team Challenge for the day. Most of the kids were sorry to see the camp end but for me and several of the other counselors, we were "running out of gas." Riding home on the bus to my usual worksite, I couldn't help but remember that my best memories of my youth were those spent at summer camps. Funny how that works out. Now I go back to tutoring English for the month of July and hopefully will have a chance to help out as a counselor at a "Green Camp" in August in another part of Armenia that I haven't visited yet. I imagine I should get my hot showers in before I leave as the joys of modern plumbing will most likely be absent again. Yet when I look at my photos and see the joy on the kids' faces, I am reminded what is really important.

Dear New Volunteers to Armenia: In February of last year I was waiting for Amazon to deliver several books written by former Peace Corps volunteers who served in Africa. This was to the site of my two years of service according to the letter I received in mid-January. The books arrived and I devoured them quickly, anxious to discover what my new life would be like. Then in the middle of April I received another letter from the Peace Corps informing me that I was really going to Armenia. I think the Universe was hinting that this was not to be a journey of the head but one of the heart. Yet I still spend the first couple months in Armenia trying to figure it all out. My brain was working overtime sort it all out. First there was this new language with the very strange alphabet. Then this was this confusing culture that was a strange mix of medieval culture and modern technology. There were satellite dishes everywhere you looked and yet you couldn’t find a clean public toilet. During the day one could witness the high unemployment rate as men stood around cars with their friends smoking. And yet in the evening, one might be invited to a lavish banquet where heaping plates of food and lengthy vodka toasts continued until late in the evening. During the weekends I enjoyed taking long walks to enjoy the lush natural surroundings and would always come upon piles of garbage strewn along the roadside. There were cows walking amidst the roads with cars and yet I saw more grade school children using cell phones than in California. Of course, I figured this would all sort itself out after our Pre-Service Training was completed in mid-August and we were finally be assigned to the cities where we would work for the next two years. I was still hopeful that my years of experience in business would guide me in assisting their efforts in tourism. Instead it was the Al-Anon Serenity Prayer that proved to be my guide: God grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the Courage to change the things I can’t and the Wisdom to know the difference. As we approached the Christmas holidays, I began to doubt if I was my efforts at my NGO (or “Non-Profits” as they say in the States) were of any value.Over the holidays I approached last year’s group of Volunteers seeking some insight into my confusion. Some seemed oblivious to the problem and many others voiced frustrations similar to mine. While all the Volunteers worked in one of four programs, many felt were just “putting band-aids” on very serious problems. Some like me worked in Community/ Business Development and others worked in Teaching English, Health or Environmental Education. The Health Volunteers I met seemed frustrated just to find a time slot in their assigned schools which had no real health curriculum. But wasn’t this a country whose smoking population had the highest percentage in all of Europe? If the Armenian government would implement a non-smoking program for teenagers, we could serve as trainers and educators throughout the country. I saw the same lack of effectiveness with the Environmental Volunteers. We organized village “Clean-up Days” or “Green Camps” but the mindset of the citizens in general seemed the same. Nobody seemed to think twice about tossing plastic bottles or vodka bottles in the rivers and their empty cigarette packages in the streets. The situation wasn’t too different than I saw in India during my trip there in 2007, where the country couldn’t keep up with the growth of disposable consumer products.

The Community / Business Development sector where I worked had its own issues. Most of us were assigned to NGO’s where the primary focus was to obtain grant funding. The drawback here was that the focus was on the outside with little consideration of how poorly the organization functioned. I couldn’t help but think of the oft-quoted definition of insanity: Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. It seemed easier just to write another proposal than develop a more effective organization. Amidst all this I clung desperately to my basic mantra: “It’s better to light a candle than curse the darkness.” But I could feel I was getting very low on candles. Fortunately a shift occurred during one of our conferences. Our packet of information included some articles written “pro”: and “con” regarding the effectiveness of today’s Peace Corps. One writer said that most of the criticism of the Peace Corps is the result of evaluating our efforts in terms of being a “Development” program. He went on to say that the Peace Corps’ original mission was to function as a people-to-people program with a development component. At first this distinction just seemed liked semantics. Then I began to reflect on those folks in my life who had made a significant contribution to me. In truth, they didn’t really change the circumstances of my life. And many probably never knew the impact they made. But they all gave me something I needed at the time: encouragement, friendship, hope or just some new skill. I now realize that when I complete my service in August of 2010, Armenia’s problems with unemployment, the environment and health won’t be any different. Yet all I can hope is that a handful of young people will be stronger and more confident to meet the challenges of their lives. And I do know I will take back to the States with me the many gifts of their friendship I have received.

Although The Pyramids are one of the 7 Wonders of the World, I honestly can't see myself flying 7,000 miles from California to see them.  But one of the perks of the Peace Corps I am discovering is proximity to places you normally would not visit.  So after 6 months of winter in Armenia, the warm weather in Egypt sounded pretty good.  Sunshine, historical sites and a round trip airfare of 450 euros made an attractive package.  (Our fare did require a 4 hour layover in Moscow but since we have more time than money in the Peace Corps, that was not a problem.)    So the first weekend in April my friend and I boarded a plane in Yerevan for Cairo.

 Before we left, I tried to recall any first-hand experience with the Egyptian culture but could only remember one classmate from years ago.  We were both in graduate school in anthropology but surprisingly enough I don't remember any conversations about the culture in her country. What I did know was that it was going to be very different from Armenia.  I am currently living in a very rural area of a Christian country whose entire population is under 3 million people.  And Cairowas not only in a Muslim country but had a population of more than 19 million people.  Kind of like going from Rio Vista to New York City.

C

To expand my appreciation for upcoming sights in Egypt, I spent some time reading up on their culture and history.  I tried to imagine what it would be like for the current residents in Cairo whose country was now a tourist destination after having been dominant political power 3000 years ago.  It's kind of like imagining tourists from China coming to the United States in the year 5000.  Will we still be a World Power or a tourist destination for those wanting to visit the Grand Canyon and the Mississippi River?  Time will tell.  You can't read about Egypt's history without noticing the cycles of history larger than  the 300 years of American History.  When Egypt's power began to dwindle some 1100 years before the birth of Christ, there began a rotation of conquering nations beginning with Persia.  These seemed to continue in roughly 300 year cycles where Alexander the Great, the Romans, the Ottoman Empire and finally even Napoleon for a brief period at the end of the 18th Century conquered Egypt.  By middle of the 19th century it was less Egypt's fertile soil but more the newly constructed Suez Canal that attracted the attention of France and England.  It wasn't until the middle of the 20th century that Egypt like India was able to gain their independence from Britain's control.

 During our 5 days in Cairo, we did the usual tourist things like visiting the pyramids in nearby Giza and taking a brief evening sail on the Nile.  But other than these two outings, I enjoyed having my two feet be my "travel guides."  We just wandered around parts of the city and seeing what we could discover.  Sometimes what we would discover is that we were lost.   But after 8 months in Armenia, I was kind of immune to that experience.  We stayed in a small hotel ( $19 for a double room with a nice breakfast) that was oddly enough located in an area of town that seemed to specialize in industrial products.  So whenever we got lost we'd just follow the trail of   storefronts with pumps, generators and electrical items and we would soon find our bearings.  The shopping in Cairo was obviously set up to accommodate foot traffic and not cars.  You'd seen stores with wallets, and then briefcases and pretty soon it was luggage.  The same was true with ladies' clothes where as you can see in the photos, the store selling contemporary fashions were adjacent to those with the traditional burquas.But there were plenty of cars, many of them taxis with the identical black and yellow colors hand-painted on their doors and side panels.  Crossing the street with four lanes of one way traffic did take a little getting used to.  But after a couple days you found yourself like the rest of the pedestrians in Cairo, walking across the street one lane at a time, letting the cars whiz by on both sides of you, like an amateur matador. Fortunately, there seemed to be a symbiotic relationship with the pedestrians and drivers I have never seen anywhere else. I wouldn't try it in New York City for sure.  But like NYC, the compact urban setting with all its high energy activity just added charm to the small places where the locals ate.  Around the corner from our hotel was a small cafe selling fresh-squeezed orange juice in tall mugs for 50 cents. You could find a father and son cooking up a storm at the end of the alley, with fresh beef and chicken smoking on the grill for your falafels.  And of course, every block seemed to feature at least one café where the locals smoked their water pipes for hours at a time while they drank tea and discussed politics.

Then at night the whole scene changed as the lights in the storefronts turned on and the sidewalks filled up with shoppers, many of them women checking out the latest fashions.  Living in an Armenian city where they "roll up the sidewalks after 6pm" it was fun to walk around in the midst of all the activity.  The Egyptian people as a whole were very congenial and most of the men seemed to have been given the same script: Welcome to Egypt was said to us innumerable times with a very gracious smile.  When they find out I lived in California, a surprising number of men felt "Hi-Ho Silver" was the appropriate response.  I can't imagine they watched the same Lone Ranger TV shows I did in the 50's but oh, well.  Somehow the people all realized the importance of tourism in the Egyptian economy and acted as good-will ambassadors.  At $6 Billion a year, tourism even surpasses oil and gas as the leading contributor to the national GNP.

  The one thing I was most curious about was how it would be living in an Islamic culture.  The Lonely Planet book on Egypt even talked about not staying at certain hotels in Old Cairo unless you wanted to wake up at the break of dawn to the sound of the loudspeaker calling you to face Mecca.  As it turned out there was the whole range of responses to the 5 daily announcements for prayer.  If you were near a mosque you would see and hear groups bowing down for prayer.   There were even times in a store or the airport where I witnessed people kneeling and praying.  And then there were those who never missed a puff on their water pipe or whatever else they were doing.  The only thing that was surprising was the number of men whose foreheads had a black spot in the center.  Having been raised in a Christian culture, it first reminded me of Ash Wednesday.  Then I realized that these were permanent marks from years of putting their foreheads down on their prayer rugs.  I don't know if this was true of the women as well for you seldom saw their foreheads.  Some women wore the traditional black burquas as you see in movies with a small slit for their eyes.  While many of the younger women covered the tops of their heads with scarves of many colors that also served as a fashion accessory.

Overall, I had only one bad experience inEgypt and could have avoided it had I been more cautious.  I had heard before our trip that "it's cheap to get on the camels but expensive to get off."  And sure enough I crossed paths with a couple of hustlers on camels at the pyraminds in Giza and wound up spending $30 I hadn't planned on. When they approached us to have our photos taken on their camels, my Peace Corps friend took off as he found all the vendors and dealers a little overwhelming. Having spent a couple years in sales myself, I assumed I could dance around the problem and suggested they take my photo "in front of the camel."  While I was standing there, one they came up behind me and lifted me on the camel.  And of course, their well-trained animal stood up immediately.  You can normally negotiate a reasonable price for a camel ride but not when you're stranded 8 feet in the air.   Chalk another up to experience.   (And yes, he is checking his cell phone on the camel.)

 For the last 3 days we journeyed a couple hours north to the City of Alexandriawhich was a wonderful change of pace from Cairo.  In addition to the usual number of taxis, there were several dozen horse carts for visitors who wanted a leisurely stroll down the crescent shaped boardwalk facing the harbor.  It was great just to sit in front of a large body of water again and watch the waves.  It may have been the Medditeranean Sea instead of the Pacific Ocean but it had the same calming effect on my spirit.

The 24 hours of Planes, Trains and Automobiles going back to Armenia was a little tiring but overall our trip to Egypt was an excellent break from 6 months of winter.

A Good Investment

Having left for my Peace Corps service June 1st, I only saw the early signs of the financial crisis that is apparently in full swing in The States. And yet every week someone here in Armenia asks me about the "financial crisis" in America. I saw last week on the internet that housing values in California have fallen 40%. For me these times just confirm what is always the best investment one can make: the youth of our country.

The young adults in my village may speak a different language and have different fashions than the American kids but actually seem to have a lot in common. They are energetic, curious and would like to have more say about their future. They are pointed down the path of education and promised rewards when it is completed. In the meantime, they are seldom invited to participate in the workings of their community. The result in both countries is similar as they attempt to create their own community networks over the internet and amuse themselves with computer games and cell phones. Instead of "MySpace" it's a Russian online program called "ClassMates." Lacking the money for expensive iPods, it is a common site to see one teenager holding 2 cell phones so they can share music through Bluetooth software. And while home computers are somewhat of a rarity, it is not uncommon to see students at their school computer labs playing "Vice City." So much for my idea of not seeing violent computer games for a couple years!

So several months ago when I heard about a Youth Bank program, I was interested to learn more. I liked what I heard and applied for the grant with a local youth NGO in our city. We were successful and then conducted interviews to select those young people who seemed to possess the desire and enthusiasm to make a contribution to our community. We selected 4 girls and 2 boys. ( I've had to get used to the fact that an unmarried 30 year-old is still a "boy" or "girl" but an 18 year-old who marries is not.) We had to find a replacement for one of our two guys as military service is mandatory for all 20 year old males.

Two weeks ago we took our group to Yerevan for 3 days of training in the world of "grant-making." American tax dollars are still a primary source of "seed money" for social change through organizations like US AID which funds this program through Eurasia Partnership Foundation. As you know the major drawback of such programs is that it can become like welfare, a crutch that some people become dependent on. There are countless numbers of NGO's (what we call Non-Profit businesses) that seem to exist solely for the purpose of getting salaries for the applicants.

What I liked about the Youth Bank Project from the beginning was that there we NO salaries. The grant funds were only $2,500 and all of that money was to be put back into the community via $500 projects. Our 3 day training was to help our youth through various role-playing activities how to decide what is a good project worth funding.

Our group met yesterday and began the process of designing a questionnaire to find out what our the main problems to address in our community. When they have finished their community interviews, they will design a poster requesting applicants and sometime in May will start interviewing those who have applied. I spoke with the leaders of a Youth Bank in another city who said they had about 20-25 applications to review before selecting the best for interviews. Whatever comes of all this, I can't help but feel our young people will benefit much personally. They will not only gain some financial understanding as they monitor the projects they fund but they will also become more engaged with the social issues of their own communities. Seems to me to be a good return for the $2,500 of tax invested. And then next year, they will be required to take it to the next level and raise the money themselves in the community. As was printed on the back of the shirts of our Youth Bank trainers: real problems, real money, real change.

This project had its origin in Northern Ireland so I got to enjoy the company of 3 people from Belfast during our time in the capital. I also benefited from the fact that our trainers spoke almost no Armenian so three translators were working all the time in each of the groups. And from the young people from our city, it was a great opportunity to make connections with their peers from other regions of Armenia as they mixed the groups for the first 2 days of the training. As the sessions went from 9 in the morning until 9 at night, the coffee breaks were very active social times.

As the program was winding down the final day I wound up chatting with one of the local cameraman filming the event. Having been raised himself during the Soviet era, he had a wonderful perspective on all the meetings and discussions the young people were engaged in. He told me that most of his generation of Armenians lacked the skills for collaboration, something I have greatly struggled with to help grow the tourism industry at my site. He commented to me that watching the young people working together was for him like "pushing back the invisible wall to progress in Armenia." I'd have to say that was a "good investment."

     So a couple days after I posted my last blog, I moved into my own apartment.  The Peace Corps requires that you live with an Armenian family for the first 4 months in your new site which is a good idea.  You have an opportunity to continue to work on your new-found language skills as well as being immersed in the Armenian culture and customs ( like the custom of visiting families during the first week of January I mentioned in my last blog.)  You also are more quickly assimilated and accepted into your village through the relatives, neighbors, and friends of your host family.  I had a little taste of that growing up in Indiana where both my mother and my father both had two siblings in our town.  This experience of clan and "extended family" is even more intense in a small city of about 15.000 residents (I think South Bend was about 100,000 at the time.)   Nobody bothers to make distinctions between ”first" and "second" cousins.  One of the young men I work with lives with his grandmother and his mother's brother's family who have a small baby.  The first time he talked about his "little brother" I was confused.  Since everybody seems related somehow, it makes sense to not spend time sorting it out.      So today when I awoke, I discovered a lovely gentle snow falling.  Much like when I lived in Denver, the snow in our city will fall and then be gone in a week.  (This is not the case for some of my fellow volunteers who get "the real Midwest experience of winter" that I was anticipating.)  Since it was Sunday, I figured it would be a good time to take my camera with me when I went to the little grocery store........right across across the street.  As you can see in the photo, I also have a bus stop right outside my place.  The couple days when it did get very cold or when I don’t have time for the 30 minute walk to work, I am very grateful for the location. All bus trips are 70 drams, or 25 cents.   It was also great last Saturday when I needed to carry my laptop to work so I could finish up my Turbo-Tax program online.  ( One can have Internet in the house for $30 @ month but I just can't justify spending over 10% of my salary for that.   Saving money for a trip to Cairo makes a lot more sense!)

 

These photos will hopefully give you a sense of a "flat" in Armenia.  As I understand it, Russia built these apartment buildings as part of the  socialist program.  When the USSR collapsed in '92, they were sold as individual units.  I remember when I was looking for a place back in November thinking I could just ask the "Apartment Managers" about vacancies.  I was a little confused when we stopped at the nearby stores to ask about "vacancies."  This is where that "family network" comes in.  Somehow we heard through a contact at the local gas company that somebody's sister had moved to the capital of Yerevan to work.  I would have never found this place on my own.  My rent is $80 a month and I pay for water and gas.  I am still waiting to find out what the utilities will be for last month.  They gave me my first month's rent free for installing a new toilet, which cost me about the same.

             My apartment building is almost identical to every other one you see in our city.  I live on the second floor and have a little open air balcony outside the kitchen.  When spring arrives, I am looking forward to my weekend cup of coffee looking out at the surrounding forests and mountains.  ( Our city used to be promoted in tourist literature as "Little Switzerland".)  As you can see from the photo of my kitchen, the balcony also "doubles as a clothes dryer." I used to chuckle when I'd see clothes on the line in winter.  And now.......I'm doing it!  *;o   Since sometimes it takes 3 or 4 days for clothes to dry, I asked Meghan to make a trip to WalMart for some more "skivvies."  I am getting pretty good at wringing the last drop of water out of my clothes before hanging them up.  Hanging them up with the old wooden clothes pins has been a little bit of déjà vu from my childhood in Indiana.              One of my earliest California memories of Armenia was hearing that the people don't bother to plug in their refrigerators in winter……as the kitchens are cold enough.  It's true.  I haven't plugged in my refrigerator yet so I don't even know if it works but my balcony is plenty cold to serve as "cold storage."  It's surprising how soon one adapts.  I actually look forward at the end of work each day of "coming home" to my little place.  I open up my copy of "A Year in the Maine Woods" and feel right at home.  I was originally disappointed that I was not assigned to Africa as the Peace Corps originally indicated.  But now in many ways Armenia seems like the best location for my two years of service.  It surely challenges every assumption I brought with me about how life is "supposed to be."                              

When you don't know the bus routes and have limited language skills, traveling in a new country can be a real adventure. I can still remember my first solo trip to the capital of Yerevan. Getting there was easy. The return trip was another matter. I was told that I could catch the bus back to my city at the bus station on "Abovian." How difficult could that be? After one of the locals showed me which bus to get on, I felt like it was "mission accomplished." Mission Impossible turned out to be a more apt description. Twenty minutes later I found myself leaving the city with

the bus approaching a fork in the midle of the road. One arrow pointed left to my city and the other pointed right to another city called . . . Abovian. Тhis 19th century Armenian writer was famous enough to have both a street and his home village named after him. Fortunately the bus driver was kind enough to stop the bus in the middle of nowhere and flag down a bus going in the opposite direction for me. It was not to be the last time that the kindness of locals rescued me from my errant wanderings.

So here I was five months later, preparing for my big adventure to the capital for a New Year's Eve rendezvous with my fellow Volunteers. I had been warned that it was a limited bus schedule for New Year's Day so ...."Good luck, getting back." And it was imperative that I return the next morning at the request of my host family. While Americans are just winding down their holidays on January 1st, the Armenians are just "winding up." I had been told that all the businesses close down for at least the first week of January to accommodate the tradition of family visits. During that week apparently everyone is expected to have a buffet ready on the dining room for at least two dozen visitors who might drop in. ( Apparently, cell phones have been a blessing since families get a little warning now!) This time it was no problem for this seasoned veteran of bus travel as I successfully located the only bus leaving for my city that day.Such was the prologue to my first Christmas in Armenia. It is now January 10th and I am sitting here trying to remember what exactly happened that first week of January. One thing I know is that I was actually glad to go back to work on the 8th just to have some relief from all the eating and drinking. My expectation was for a simpler, quieter holiday. I was relieved to be spared all the pre-Christmas sales in November, the December mailbox filled with Wal-Mart flyers, and the never-ending schedule of college bowl games. Here in Armenia I thought it would be wonderful to see what it was like to, as the slogan goes, put the Christ back in Christmas. The Peace Corps had stressed during our training the importance of 301AD when Armenia had become first Christian State in the history of the world. I would just have be patient and wait for January 6th, the date the Eastern Churches had chosen for Christmas.

So during all these family feasts, I waited. And January 6th came and went with no religious festivities. It was just another day of family visits. I had this feeling like I had missed the bus again. Guess it takes a while to learn the bus routes in another culture. At least next year I won't have to be disappointed by false expectations. I can just enjoy it enjoy the Christmas season in Armenia for just what it is: a celebration of family ties.

Upon our arrival in Armenia last June, we were led into an auditorium where we were loudly welcomed by 40 other second year Volunteers.   Well, a couple days ago another 1st year volunteer mentioned that in another 6 months we are going to be up on that stage as the "Newbies" come in.  Seems strange as most of us feel like "newbies" still.   So I guess this is a good time to reflect on the past 6 months in-country.

Odd as it seems, probably the most important book I have read since my arrival is a murder mystery, Child 44.  Set in Russia during the 1950's (when I was adjusting to the wooden rulers of the Catholic nuns at Holy Cross grade school), it gives a very poignant portrayal of just how unsettling life in the Soviet world could be.  In a world where fear predominated, keeping information to oneself and hiding problems was important for ones safety.  Well, the Soviet Union may have crumbled in the late 90's but they surely left their cultural heritage behind.        (Probably not too different from the Puritan influence in America, although we seem to have outgrown it of late *;o).

By reading that novel, I have finally been able to come to grips with the what show up for my American eyes as a totally dysfunctional business culture where information is closely held and collaboration is reserved for family functions.  And above all, "walk around the elephant in the middle of the room." ( Not that Corporate America doesn't have a smidgen of that, too.)  The operative mode is to "circle the wagons" and wait for the next grant of American funding to continue paying salaries.  

After 6 months in the country and 3 months at my work site, I think I have finally realized that this is "what is"  and my efforts are not really going to change it.  When we came to our work sites,  we were assigned to one of four sectors: language, environment, health or business.  Our sector is actually called "CBD" or Community/ Business Development.  So I believe my next year and a half is going to be "CD," letting the "B" takes its own course.

The photos above are a good example of Community Development.  One of the second year volunteers has directed a lot of her efforts to supporting a Harvest Festival where the local residents of nearby villages could gather and celebrate.  There is even some friendly competition for the best presentations and food preparation.  As you can see, the children also have a great time dressing up, dancing and singing.

  I have recently become acquainted with both an art school for youngsters as well as an art  academy for older students and am hoping next year to help promote their work.  The current leaders of my city are the products of the Soviet times but the young people will be Armenia's future.  Whatever I can do to enhance their hope and confidence are seeds for the future.   I think I just found my New Garden for the next couple years.

 

This past weekend I attended a planning session for a youth camp to be held next summer.  About 3 hours to the northeast of my site and adjacent to Armenia's border with Turkey is the City of Gyumri.   Twenty years ago next month, the whole area suffered a devastating earthquake from which both the buildings and the city's economy are still recovering.    Having a population of approximately 120,000, Gyumri is the second largest city in Armenia.  At one time the population was twice that size.  As we approached the outskirts of the city on a local "marshutni" (a mini-bus built for 12 that often carries 20 people), several vivid reminders of its history appeared: a very large cemetery and a number of abandoned industrial buildings from the Soviet period.    But once we arrived at the bus station, the mood quickly changed.  As I walked the two blocks to the Square, I was suddenly engulfed in a hub of commerce, with tables and kiosks lining both sides of the street.   The vendors on that first block were well aware that winter was just a couple weeks away.  They displayed a vast array of products from sheet metal stove pipes for furnaces to woolen socks and fur-lined boots.  (At 5,000 dram or $15, the boots were more affordable than I expected.)  As I moved along to the next block, the more popular Armenian wares appeared: cell phones, woman's fashions and cigarettes.  In addition to their commercial value it was apparent that these two blocks also filled a vital social function for the city's residents.  But not being much of a shopper myself, I was rather relieved to reach the end of the gauntlet and into Freedom Square, appropriately named for my feelings at the time.  While I waited for fellow Volunteer's bus to arrive, I enjoyed exploring the city streets which offered quite a variety of architectural styles.  As the photos indicate there were many examples of classic 19th Century architecture as well as stark reminders of December 7th, 1988.   My attention was also drawn to one older building whose face was covered with electrical panels. I couldn't decide if this was really some kind of neighborhood transfer station for electricity or the wires were needed to keep the structure standing.

As I was leaving Gyumri Sunday afternoon, I had this strange sense that something was missing in the city.  It finally dawned on me.  What was missing was The 20th Century.  Their medieval churches had a new neighbor: the electronics chain I have seen before in Armenia: ZigZag. And the statues in the square honoring their ancient heroes had a new backdrop: Samsung.  Yes, the 21st Century featuring a wide array of electronic toys had now arrived in Gyumri.

Yet there seemed to be no bridge from the 20th Century.  All the city had to show for that period was the effects of the devastating earthquake of 1988 and the industrial collapse of the USSR in the early 90's.   Even with all the humanitarian aid that came to the area after the earthquake to rebuild structures, it is obviously going to take a lot longer to rebuild the economy.  Hopefully the future will bring a resolution of their conflict with Turkey and provide an open border to stimulate trade.

( I tried to include this photo on my last blog posting but I am still have not mastered the Blog Tools. )

This was our view of our city and the surrounding hills once we completed our hike. It is really beautiful country. The monument seen rising in the distance was built to commemorate 50 years of Armenia belonging to the Soviet Union.

So last weekend was the perfect day for a Fall Hike. The sun was out just enough to filter through the trees and highlight the brown leaves on the ground. But fortunately for those of us who do not have access to Gold's Gym, it was not so hot as to further challenge our conditioning.

I will definitely need to post these photos on my Screen Saver once we start into the next season Mother Nature has to offer, which is coming soon they tell me. Not having seen a real winter for 30 years, I will need a "light at the end of the tunnel" .......a tunnel that is supposed to be 5 months long.

My daughter Meghan recently mailed a half-dozen books my way, a birthday present that will provide enjoyment for many winter nights. I have been told it's not the temperature alone is really the problem. (For I do recall my winters in Indiana, Wisconsin and Minnesota.) Rather it is the absence or limited presence of central heating I am told presents the biggest challenge. In the Midwest there was something wonderful about a fireplace and warming up after a chilly day. While I know it is foolish to "borrow trouble from the future," I heard too many stories from last year's Volunteers that the chill didn't leave their bones for months at a time. I am beginning to understand why some Volunteers found Egypt a wonderful place to visit in ......February or March!

Sometimes in reading the replies from friends to my Blog site, I get the impression that only the Romantic side of my journey is coming through. There is much that is problematic and difficult here but I guess I feel it does little good to dwell on it. But when I was walking home one day this week, I was struck by the stark contrasts in this country: I could stand IN ONE PLACE and get such different pictures! As I stood at the bottom of my street (which in my Midwest childhood, we might call an alley) and looked UP the street and then BACK DOWN the sidewalk from which I had just walked. The visual contrast was so startling that I decided to take photos of it. When a group of us were traveling in India about this same time last year, we met with a similar experience: the striking beauty and the stark realities of the 3rd World. For those of us who were old enough to remember the Leonard Cohen song from the 70's, Suzanne, these lyrics came to mind.............and she shows you where to look among the garbage and the flowers. I guess that is a choice we get to make every day but sometimes that choice is just more obvious.

It wasn't but a couple days after I posted the photos of my masonry friends finishing the top of the wall lining the river that a huge storm hit the area.  All the dirt they had piled up for their work unfortunately diverted the water coming down the road behind the wall.....and that whole section of the wall tipped over into the river.  Like true construction people, they were back at it the next day, pulling the old wall out of the river and starting over.  

I don't supposed William Faulkner is required reading in Armenian schools but the people surely embody one of his reflections on man:  I believe that man will not merely endure.  He will prevail.  He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance.  After 600 years of being ruled by other conquering nations,  one outstanding aspect of Armenia's national character is endurance.  I have a feeling that over the next couple years Americans will have the opportunity, if that's the right word, to grow in this attribute as well.

When I watched the workers slowly re-build the fallen river wall day-by-day, I was reminded of my earlier visit to a local Medieval monastery.  Talk about patience.....I don't know if my photo will show it but these particular building blocks are numbered from 1 to 16 as they work to stablize the foundation of this 12th Century structure.   You can also see the photos of the worker as he moves the blocks....one-at-a-time on a wooden skid back to their original location. 

In addition to the structural work, the construction project involved upgrading the infrastructure leading up the hill to the monastery so that tourists had better access: paved road, electricity, and gas/water lines.  Even more amazing to me was the billboard highlighting this million dollar project, indicating that the funding was sponsored by the Ruler of Sharjah, a member of the Arab Emirates.  In a time of so  much religious and ethnic conflict, I could not help but find hope in an Islamic leader helping to preserve a Christian monastery.

It was a sunny day a couple weeks ago and I felt ambitious... so I decided to explore the surrounding hills.  You can get some sense of how the village is laid out and the road leading into town.  If you look closely at the bottom of the other picture, you can see the top of a metal statue honoring the Armenian soldiers who died fighting against Germany in WWII.  I am hoping that we have one more good hiking day left on the calendar as 6 of us are going out together on a hike in the forest.  We have been in the Off/On rainy mode the past couple weeks so I am hoping Mother Nature smiles on us.  And if it rains, I am sure we will have a different kind of adventure.  I hired a young man who worked as a guide this summer to take us around as the trails are not well-marked.  One of my "Tourist Business" goals over the next 2 years is to create some hiking maps that we can hand out to tourists.  I have talked to several tourists who came to see the natural beauty of this area and left early frustrated that they could not locate the hiking trails.  With the challenges of today's Post-Soviet economy, we really can't afford to have those tourist dollars leave early.  Getting the trails marked and then finding the funds to print the maps should keep me busy for a while!

So it's not that there are not cars in Armenia, it's just the Peace Corps Volunteers are not allowed to drive one. And considering I can walk from one end of my town to the other in a hour, I really don't miss it. In fact, I think my "ticker" probably thinks it is a good thing that I have a 1/2 hour walk to work every morning. ( We'll see what "the report" is from my toes and fingers when winter arrives shortly. *;o)

So this is my view as I "round the bend" coming into the downtown where the blue tarps are covering some much appreciated Redevelopment. I hear this building is to house the first downtown cafe as there is currently no place to even have a cup of coffee. After a Starbuck's on every corner in the States, this is the other extreme. I envision several more coffee houses and cafes appearing in the downtown next year as the city offices, major supermarket, library and school are all located here. (My office is on the top floor of a 5 story building......so no Stairmaster needed when I get home.)

The other two photos taken on my walk home from work are of the new outdoor amphitheatre under construction and the wall along the river which was getting some much needed aesthetic repairs to the top surface. After spending the past 30 years in the construction business, it seems natural to stop and talk with the construction workers. The next day coming home I was invited to an impromptu picnic by them of sausage, bread and cheese. I guess I need to take more people's pictures! Seriously, the country is famous for its hospitality ............to family and strangers alike.

Earlier this month, Armenia had a soccer game in the capital of Yerevan with their western neighbor and sports rival, Turkey. Although we lost the game 2-0, hopefully some good was done in re-establishing better relations as the President of Turkey was in attendance. Re-opening the border to the west could go a long way to assisting economic recovery and providing access to the ports of the Black Sea.

The next day as I was walking to the bus stop, I discovered something else that Armenia takes great pride in besides their athletes: their artists and cultural heroes.  The two creations of metal and stone in a downtown park were fitting tributes to their respect for the arts in Armenia.

I had to include this photo as part of my final days living in the tiny village of Karenis. I walked by this water trough everyday on the way to school in the morning and on the way home, my head filled to the brim with new words. Now when I think of the village, it is the ever-present image of water that comes to mind, rivulets, and streams guided downhill along roads and eventually guided into the orchards that fed all the families. One day as I was finishing a travel memoir about Armenia ("The Crossing Place"), I came across a description that seemed to add another dimension to the water trough I passed every day. These springs were a part of every Armenian journey. I had been on buses which had stopped simply so that people could visit a certain spring, filling up like litrurgants to take water. Many of the churches were built near water, no doubt replacing earlier sites of worship. Water held a peculiar significance for Armenians. Here the water was channelled into a pipe which pushed through a large stone. At the foot of the stone was a trough and the water slopped constantly over the rim of the trough to drain away down a gully. After two months Armenia, I could feel just what he was describing.

During my last couple days of my stay in Karenis, I could sense those things I would miss the most: the sweetness of the people and the land. The "tateek" in my family was in her early 80's but as you can see even in this photo, never lost the sparkle in her eye. And she had a world of patience for the goofy "Americatzi" who tended to put on the hats the women wore in the orchards. I sure came to appreciate the value of humor to relieve the stress of having no idea what you are doing for days at a time.

A friend emailed me recently that I must be in a busy period since I had not "posted" anything to the blog in a month.....Yes, the past month has been a whirl! But after 11 weeks of wandering around a village where most things were "unfamiliar," we finally had a couple familiar events: Graduation. As part of our "community development work" four of us created a local "Youth Group" before leaving on August 15th for our new " work sites" where we will be for the next two years. I believe it was a learning experience for the teens and us. They learned something about the power of working together and making a difference in their own future. (It is not too hard to imagine how difficult it can be to keep "hope" or a "dream" considering the past 600 years in their country.) And on the Peace Corps side, the Volunteers learned to "trust the process," as there were times we were losing hope ourselves....that the group would make it! We also created (surprise, surprise... *;o) a new flower garden along the walk of their school. Or should I say we did some serious weeding, brought in new soil and put in a couple dozen iris to get started. I am going back to the village at the end of October for a "family birthday" and plan to finish the job, sprinkling in lots of wildflower seeds that I have been randomly collecting as I walked the roads for the past 2 months. Hopefully, some of the seeds will survive the winter and become flowers in the Spring. Hope Springs Eternal, as they say. The other focus for the past month was the Final Language Exam. While some of the adept language learners achieved their "advanced" and "intermediate" rankings, yours truly was more than happy to be annointed as a......."novice." At least I am one step up from the hand signs that got me through my first couple weeks in the country! The graduation photo is of our village along with our two language teachers. In the back row on the far left is Lee Lacey, the Country Director for Armenia. After graduation, it felt just like another day of work in Sacramento.....as I went home put on my "grubbies" and shoveled dirt into the school garden, as we were leaving the nex day. I was pleased and relieved to have a couple of the local teens show up on their own to help finish the job with me. It felt like they were starting to take ownership of the project.

I am not usually a big fan of cemeteries....not really a mystery for someone in his 60's. But when I was walking around in my future "permanent site" of Dilijan last week, I stumbled upon these grave stones. I felt a strange connection with the lives of the peoples whose faces I saw. That evening as I read another chapter on my book on Armenian history, I came across the following quote. It seemed to confirm the feeling I had that these were special places. "And perhaps for the Armenians, whose history has been no more than a continuous quest for order, a struggle against an unimaginable chaos, these marshalled plots are cherished more than most. To own a grave is to own land." For people whose history has been over 600 years of being forced from their lands, I am sure the relatives of the deceased found much joy in providing their loved ones at last a piece of Armenia to call their own.

So, this past weekend I decided to walk the streets of the nearby village and see what the locals do. As you can see the men have an outside gathering place for cards and chess. It was fun just to hang out and watch the games! The "tateek" with the soccer ball ( or "football" in Armenia) is not really the goalie in a Senior Citizen League. Rather she is the sweet grandmother of my Host Family who was helping to unload the car after a trip to the river..........and I couldn't resist taking her photo!

This was a group photo after we put on the July 4th party for our "Host Families" in the village. We are all in the sector called "CBD" (Community & Business Development) and will be all moving to different villages on August 15th. The intensive language part of training will be over but I am sure we will all be working with tutors as 10 weeks has hardly given us mastery of the language.

This is the first year that the Peace Corps has done language training in our particular village. So when the 4th of July came around, it seemed like a good time to provide some American food dishes for our Host Families as well as share a little of our American traditions. One photo shows the young people in the village lining up to have their sparklers lit. Another shows a "brainstorming session" in a school classroom with some of the young adults (18-25). It was a community development exercise to help them identify what they would like to create in their village. The photo shows the guys and the gals in the group comparing the differences on their lists. Yes, the worlds of "Mars and Venus" exist even in Armenia. The first photo is of my Host Mom showing me something my own mother had talked about from her early days on a farm in northern Indiana: how to make butter. All the dairy products my host family puts on the table from butter to yogurt to cheese are wonderfully fresh.

So these are some photos from our trip to the nearby river for a birthday barbeque. On the walk down to the ravine, we stopped in a very old chapel that some still visit and light candles. I was struck by the view of the surrounding cliffs that the hole in the wall provided. Once we arrived at the picnic site, we took some time to relax on the stone picnic tables, where my Host Mom practiced her kebob techniques....on her husband! There were some other families there as well enjoying their time cooling off in the water. I am slowly dusting off my former Midwest skills at playing cards and we played a little "Hearts" with the family members. Something tells me that I will need them during the November to April period of winter.

Last weekend I got to join my Host Father's brother as he took his son back from a home visit to the army base for his second year of service. We stopped for some fresh produce for the meal that was coming up at the end of our journey. I could not resist the photo of the laundry hanging across the Main Street when we stopped. In the small villages everybody knows everybody's business anyhow, so I guess having a rip in your BVD's is not a big deal...........for it is public information on the clothes line!! About halfway into our journey, we saw a horse tethered along the highway so we joined him for a group photo. The country was beautiful, verdant hills and clouds dotting the background. Two days later I found out this is the area, Dilijan, that I will be assigned to after August 15th for my 2 years of service. I felt like I was at the location for the "Sound of Music" although something tells me my perception might change when we are into our 5th month of winter!! (Will find out if my REI purchases live up to their pricing.)

We are putting on a 4th of July party for our Host Families ( no cooking for them for a change...) and then we visit our future sites from July 9th through the 14th. Dilijan is known as a tourist site for visitors from neighboring countries and I will be working in the Dillnet Business Promotion Center that works to expand the influx of the tourist dollar. This is not an industry I have any experience in so I hope I can make a contribution in some way. I am looking to my upcoming visit to the area and seeing the forests and nature preserve they are known for.

Hope your 4th of July......is filled with light and joy.

The best part of our 2 hour trip to the army base was sharing in the close knit family bonds. When we got to the base we picked up the nephew who was still on base and brought him over to another relative's home for the favorite event on the Armenian social calendar: Hooravats......the barbeque. The fact that it was raining did not dampen the spirits at all as we found cover ......and the cooking began!! Before we left from the family home, the "papeek" from upstairs came down to say hello and invited me up to his flat. I enjoyed the traditional cup of coffee and the joy that radiated from his 5 grandchildren. The fact that he had lost full use of one leg and he had use his crutch up the two flights seemed to matter little compared to the joy of sharing his family and providing a guest the favorite gift in Armenia: "hospitality."

Today we just returned from a quick trip to the capital, Yeravan, the only city with over 1M people. We have a city of 30,000 (Cherentsavan) that we come to once a week to meet with the other Volunteers who are in the other 5 villages besides ours. I took this picture of another village across the ravine from my bedroom window. Our village, Karenis, has 1130 people.......well, really 1138 since we came to town. Wonderful folks and a very "life-friendly" pace of life. The only time I saw anyone hurrying was my House Mom trying to get the pigs back in the pen. Armenia has survived centuries of oppression and the family bonds and cultural pride are the backbone of the country. When my struggles with the language start to shrink my world, a couple minutes of looking out my window put things back in perspective quickly. I am soaking up all this wonderful scenery and weather as we have all heard the stories of 6 months of winter that are in our future.

Although life is very traditional, it is still full of spontaneous events. I went for a walk the other day down the street and saw a 3rd grade boy I knew carrying his soccer ball. I asked him in my faltering Armenian whether "he was any good." The ball is being kicked my way a minute later. Then another boy appeared, the another, slowly some of the young girls also joined our rather impromptu event. When the numbers good too crowded for soccer, we formed a circle and switched to volleyball passing......how long can we keep it going. When someone goofed and the ball rolled a couple blocks down the street, we all chanted "Esh".....and laughed!! Donkey is Armenian is "esh" but it was all good-natured teasing. I returned a couple days later......and we re-created our game. I think the local kids don't know what to do with a "papeek" playing game in the streets. Since I don't have my garden to work in anymore, they better get used to it!! I need the exercise and thoroughly enjoy the kids' energy.

This is the rest of my very wonderful Host Family that I will live with until August 15th when we get our 2 year assignment. Like my family of origin in Indiana....... cousins, aunts/uncles, and grandparents abound. The extended family is central. This photo shows the younger daughter, Emma, who is 20 working with her "tateek" (grandma) sorting greens for dinner which are on the table for every meal. The youngest member of the family, Vache ( probably mispelled it) is 18 and attends University an hour away in the capital (Yeravan). He is my English interpreter when I get stuck....more often than I would like. The mother, Gohars, is here holding one of the cousins that came to visit. Children immediately become the center of attention.

Last week 3 of us stopped by to visit another PCV at her host family. This is the father of the home. We learned something about Armenian hospitality that day as our 15 minute visit became several hours as the bread, cheese, yogurt, chicken, and beverages magically kept appearing on the table in front of us. It can cause some "cultural challenges" for keeping time commitments as I discovered two days later. My "mother" expect me home in 15 minutes when we passed by this home again. They invited us to come in again. The obvious fact that there is no "short visit" as a guest to an Armenian home forced me to politely say "No." It felt rather rude not to go in...........after their generous hospitality a couple days earlier. But I decided it was better than having my "Mom" shake her finger at me (again) with the words "A Mot"........or "shame on you." But even the scoldings feel like love.

The Peace Corps volunteers will be working in different "sectors" of the country when we begin our 2 year assignment on August 14th (after we pass our language exams). The four sectors are: Health, Environment, English Language, and CBD or "Community and Business Development." My fellow PCV's (an acronym I will probably succumb to using like everyone else......) in this photo are all "CBD." We will all be assigned to different cities in Armenia in August. Hopefully the bonds over the next couple months will allow us to support each other as we "discover the our limits" in helping the business community in our various cities. It will be great to be only a local call away from someone who is facing similar challenges. I imagine we will also make monthly visits as needed to each other's villages.