Peace Corps Winters

Winter in Armenia seriously blows. No really, it’s windy! Not only is it windy but its dark and cold and snowy and miserable. I never realize just how much I have the winter blues until spring starts and all of a sudden I just feel my spirits lift for no reason. All of a sudden I don’t hate everything around me, I don’t want to walk around with my ear phones permanently glued to my ears,  and I don’t feel the need to eat everything in sight just to have something to do!!

This winter was particularly difficult for me, and to be honest I have never felt more alone in my life. For all of you Eastern European future PCV’s out there let me try to paint a picture of winter life in the Peace Corps.

You wake up in the morning and no matter what time it is, it’s dark outside. Sometimes you flip on your light switch to help aid you in getting ready for work, but no light shines (a storm blew out the power). This also means that your heater most likely doesn’t work either. You get dressed in the dark, drink a cup of coffee to warm you up and go to work, in my case school. Walking is a challenge. Most of the walkways are covered in snow, which means it takes you longer to get to your destination, meaning more time in the freezing cold. If they are not covered in snow, they are covered in ice, which means you fall, over and over again you fall on your ass. Sometimes you are lucky and no one sees, but you live in a village where everyone is always watching you, meaning someone will see you. They laugh at you, hey, the first few times you laugh at yourself, it is funny after all, but after about 2 months of this, you stop laughing. You get to the bus station only to realize your bus has already left, bus drivers have no patience in the winter. So you either suck it up and walk to school in the snow, or if you happen to have extra money you take a taxi… no one has extra money in the winter, it costs too much to heat your tiny apartment that will never really seem warm at all anyways.  You get to school, none of your colleagues are in a good mood, its winter and they like you have no money. Typically there is a lot less conversation in the teacher’s lounge. People are crabby. At first snow is fun for the children and they indulge in snow fights; if you’re like me, you love the sound of the children laughing, but soon that sound turns into children coughing and blowing their nose. Everyone is sick and no one gives a damn when you too catch the cold going around. Your throat hurts your eyes and nose run pretty much for 4 months straight. Your hair is always a mess. You are not a local; you don’t have superhero powers to always stay neat and tidy. When you walk to work in the snow your hair gets wet and messy. Everyone gives you dirty looks of disapproval.  Your boots get muddy when the snow melts, once again every gives you a dirty look for having dirty boots. You ask them how they could possibly stay so clean, but they don’t share with you their secret ways; most of the time you are ashamed.  After classes you show up to your clubs with an awesome lesson plan that you spent all night creating, only to find out that everyone went home because it is too cold. After a few more of these experiences you cancel club all together and your organization labels you as a slacker.

After work you walk home. On the way home you stop at the local store to buy something to eat for dinner/ lunch. You think to yourself, tonight I am going to make something different, something delicious but as you walk around the store you realize that the produce stock hasn’t changed for months, cabbage, potatoes beets and sometimes if you’re lucky carrots. Looks like another night of borscht. You tell yourself its ok, because hey you actually kind of like borscht, and you could always make potatoes in one of the 50 different ways you’ve learned to prepare them since moving to your site.  But, after 2 months cabbage makes you gag and if you have to eat another potato you are going to cry. Not that I have ever hated potatoes but my body has learned to hate them after about the 15^th pound that I have gained since joining the Peace Corps. Finally you get home and realize that it is only 3:00, in an hour from now it will be dark. You prepare lunch, go to your favorite chair, or bed, and curl up under your blankets, as close to your heater as possible. You drink your third cup of tea for the day, begin to read a book and fall asleep. After your nap, you wake up turn on the lights as it is now pitch black, and watch an episode of some tv show that the community of PCV’s have downloaded and shared. You may not even like the show, but as soon as it’s finished you watch the next episode and the next, and the next, until it’s time to eat dinner. You warm up the soup that you made for lunch and eat as you watch another tv episode. If you are studious you decide it’s time to study for your GRE’s or to make lesson plans for the next day. If not you play around on facebook, as you watch yet another episode of some tv show that you hated but are now addicted to.  Finally at about 10 pm you decide that it is now an acceptable time to go to sleep, so you put your blankets over your heater to warm them up before crawling into bed, you get your favorite book and a night light (because once you get under those covers there is no way you are going to want to get out just to turn off the light) and you go to bed…..

Are there variations to this??? Yes of course, some volunteers would add drinking half a bottle of vodka at night to keep warm. Some have site mates and watch movies with a site mate. Also some nights you skype before going to bed. But mostly this is my experience of an Eastern European winter. So as you can see it is very easy to think that you hate everything, including Peace Corps, your town, your host country, and even your dog really. It’s been a looooong hard winter, and I know that in actuality it is not quite over yet, but I am so thankful for these past three spring days we have had in spitak. I can’t wait for the summer! Soon I will never have to live through another winter again! 

Things you see while walking the streets of spitak 2

So a few weeks ago I published a picture blog of all the strange things I see while walking around town... here
This is basically a continuation of that blog as I have had a week of spring break and not too much to do, I have been taking mini one to two hour hiking trips with Sophie, just going places we have never gone before... Here are some pictures from today's trip which was mostly warm weather and tons of mud. At one point I was ankle deep in the stuff!!! I was so ashamed walking back into the city center covered in mud, everyone staring at me... oh wait, they always stare at me no matter what!!! Point in case, yesterday I was walking with Sophie and off to the side were three little old me. I hear one of them say, this girl speaks Armenian. and the other says che ha?! (No yes?) the third says no she doesn't, she doesn't speak it at all. The first one raises his voice now and says Yes she does. She speaks very clean and proper Yerevan Armenian, and she even knows Spitak slang.... I am walking with my head down trying not to let on that I understand but trying to hold back from laughing at the same time. I don't know why I don't just interject and say well actually I do speak Armenian, I guess part of me likes that people don't think I understand them and talk about me as if I am not around. The other part is once people find out I speak Armenian we have a good solid ten minute conversation before they say something I don't understand, and then they are disappointed in me. It is just funny to me that after all this time, people in the streets are still so curious about me.

Things you see while walking the streets of Spitak

Poor little dumpster dogs!
More to follow...

Driving along in a marshutka

Yesterday I had a dentist appointment in Yerevan. The day started normal enough, woke up at 8 in the morning so that I could leave by 9:10 and get to the marshutka by about 9 20, in order to have one of the only two acceptable seats I find on the marshutka; the window seats on the passenger side. If I don’t have one of these seats, the 2 hour drive to Yerevan is pretty much unbearable. It means I will have to sit smashed by a stranger who will either completely ignore me, if I am lucky, or play 20 questions with me. Most of the time I can get my favorite seat because I don’t mind sitting around waiting for the bus to leave, but on the occasions that I haven’t gotten my seat, I am unavoidable forced to sit next to some old man who thinks it’s funny that I am on the bus and decides to either talk my ear off, or talk about me to all the other passengers. So really this seat is essential to my traveling comfort; not that one can be all too comfortable driving in a van made for about 9 people, occupied by 18.
I am fortunate that I was able to get my favorite seat this time, as the marshutka filled up very early and yet even as the bus was full to the brim I wasn’t even shocked when the driver pulled over for an old man to get on board. At this time we had 19 people smashed together already. Even I had someone in a stool next to my lone seat. The old man took a stool from under my chair and put it practically on my feet. He didn’t have enough room to face forward and had to ride staring at the van door. It was uncomfortable to say the least. But even this has become normal to me and I managed to sleep most of the two hour drive.
At about the half way point I really had to use the restroom, but I have never felt comfortable asking a driver to pull over for this, as I have never seen an Armenian do it. I sat; legs crossed hoping for some kind of miracle. God was in the mood to answer my prayers because the driver pulled over at a common rest stop and told us not to move he would only be 2 seconds. I saw my opportunity and made a run for it. I didn’t want to explain to anyone, as I only really know the little kid word for going pee and I already feel very silly when I speak Armenian. As I opened the door someone told me I shouldn’t leave. I just smiled and ran to the store. After about three minutes I was back and the whole marshutka was waiting for me. I squeezed back into my seat, noticing that the guy next to me took my short respite as an opportunity to spill over into my seat but at least they didn’t leave me!!
After having my teeth cleaned and checked for cavities; I had one, and having my eye glass prescription renewed, It was about 5pm, meaning I had about 30 minutes to make it to the bus station to catch my ride home. I sat outside the doctor’s office and did my best to flag down a cab, using my normal criteria that if it is not marked by a meter , I will not take it. However after about ten minutes of not being able to stop one, I had to settle for whoever would pull over. A black cab with a taxi sign on its roof but no number printed on the side finally stopped. I told him to take me to the bus station. He asked me if I was Russian and I said no. He told me I am very pretty like a Russian girl, the one sentence that really puts fear into me in this country. I didn’t respond. He asked me if he had offended me and I told him no, but I am not Russian I am an English teacher. Clearly stating that I was a professional and not there for any funny business… He asked me if I was Armenian and I said no. He asked if I lived with family and I told him my family was in the US. He asked me when I came to Armenia, if I liked it, how much money I make, how old I am. I tried to be as detached and cold as possible, giving him no reason to think I had any interest. He asked me if he could stop and get me a juice, I told him no. And then I did something I have never done here, I lied and told him I am married. He looked at me a long time in the mirror as if he didn’t believe me. He asked me if my husband was Armenian and I said yes. He asked me his name, his age, his profession, and how we met, and I answered all flawlessly. I thought I sounded pretty honest and convincing, without even the smallest hesitation. Then he asked me if I had children, and I stumbled. I paused and said no. He asked me when I got married and I said two years ago, and just by that he knew I was lying. Armenians usually have children right after they get married, though sometimes they do wait, but being 28, I am old and there was no way he was going to believe I was married and still didn’t have children. He immediately went back to flirting with me. He missed the turn in for the bus station. I told him he was wrong, and he said oh yes, I missed it I will turn around, but to me he took the longest possible way to get back to the turn. I was getting pretty nervous as he kept asking me questions and telling me how beautiful I was. I demanded that he let me out of the cab. He told me no. I told him I would call the police. He told me I misunderstood and sped up to let me out at the bus station. But even as I was getting out of his cab, my marshutka about to pull away, he asked me for my phone number!!! I couldn’t believe it!!! What nerve the guy had.
Unfortunately for me this meant my favorite seat on the marshutka was occupied. The money collector told me I’d have to sit up front with the driver. The men kind of laughed a little and I immediately put my head phones on to drowned them out, but one of my ear phones is blown out, which made it very difficult to not hear them talking about me. I don’t know why I don’t ever just tell people that I understand them and they should shut up, I guess it’s just easier for me to pretend that I don’t. No matter, after 15 minutes I was sound asleep anyways, waking up only as we were 20 minutes outside of my town, by my own little snore… Could anything be more embarrassing?? Well yes it can, my head was practically on the other passenger’s shoulder… The passenger asked if I was sick, I had been feeling sick but didn’t know why he would ask me until I reached up to touch my head, I clearly had a fever and my face was flushed and sweating!!! Ugh, just your average Peace Corps transportation story!!!

No title could fit this post

So there is a blog that I have needed to write for the past week but have been putting it off because I don’t know what the right thing to say is. But I do know that I have to tell the truth and I have to tell my story. I believe that it’s an important part of my journey and I believe it’s even more important for any future PCV’s out there to know that along with the good comes some bad.
So a short disclaimer that you must know before you read on. First of all I am absolutely fine, in every way possible. Secondly, what happened to me could happen anywhere in the world, and is more likely to happen in the US than where I am. There are freaks and jerks everywhere in the world and this post in no way reflects the Armenian people or my city.
So last Sunday morning, I woke up early and decided that I needed to get out of the house. I do not start teaching until September so I have had a lot of down time. I try to fill up my days as best as I can. I go running, I go to tutoring, I have tea and lunch with the family, and I read, read, read. But for a long time I have been wanting to go and take some pictures of these ruins that are on top of a hill at the end of the road I go running on. There are also tons of things to take pictures of a long the way. Plus I don’t tutor on Sundays, so I figured I could have a little adventure.
So I walked down the road and took pictures of anything interesting I saw. I took a picture of a house with a lot of sunflower in the yard. A little boy stood there and watched me, and then began to scream to his mother that an American something was taking pictures of the house. I took off fast, didn’t want to get in trouble. After about a 30-45 minute walk, I arrived at the perfect spot!
Green hills everywhere with little yellow and purple flowers and thistles. A small house encompassed by mountains on both sides, and behind it a little ways up a hill, ruins of some buildings that were damaged in the earthquake. I walked about 30 minutes off the main road to the first set of ruins where I stopped and took pictures that overlooked all of Spitak. It was beautiful, and I was proud of myself for getting out of the house and doing something. There was one more old building just above the first one, so I decided to go up there for another set of pictures to show everyone at home. While I was up there I debated going up on a full scale climb. I began to walk upwards, and I almost stepped into a huge spider web. Luckily I saw them before I stepped into it! I decided that these spiders were freaken huge and people back home needed to see them. As I knelt down to take the pictures, I had a horrible feeling that I should go home. I thought to myself, self you are being silly, they are just spiders, you are not afraid of spiders. And yet I felt very afraid for some reason. After trying repeatedly to get the picture and having it come out horrible, I gave up and felt a need to get home. I began to walk downward and I saw a man coming toward me. He began to yell at me but I didn’t understand what he was saying. My first thought was maybe I was somewhere I was not supposed to be and I needed to leave. So I told him I am leaving. He was still coming at me so I stopped and waited. Next I thought maybe he was the owner of the house I took a picture of and maybe he wanted to know why I took the picture.
He approached me. His face was dirty, and the sun damage to his skin made him appear older from far away than his actual 25 or 26 years. He began to speak to me. Chem Haska, I don’t understand, I said. He tried again. I repeated and asked if there was a problem. He said no. He asked me where I lived and I pointed to it below. He asked where I was from and I told him California. He asked how old I was so I told him 26. He asked If I was married and I told him no. Then he began to say something to me about work, or so I thought I heard. I told him I was a teacher but he only shook his head no. He said something about pictures. I told him I didn’t understand. I told him I don’t speak Armenian well. He kept talking and I told him I’m sorry I just don’t understand and I need to go home. He told me no. He said ari- and I said no I can’t. I began to feel very uncomfortable. He walked over to me and began walking with me and asked me if I wanted to come to his village. I said no I couldn't. He said he would take me. I told him my family was waiting for me. He began to talk to me very quickly, I didn't understand anything. I told him that and I told him I was leaving. He stood in front of me so I tried to walk around him. Then he grabbed my arms, near my shoulders. I thought maybe he was trying to get some point across to me, trying to tell me something that I didn't understand but he grabbed me hard and was hurting me so I pushed him and told him to go away. I took off running a bit, not really sure what was happening, so confused as to what this guy wanted. He came in front of me again and grabbed my breasts. He wouldn't let me go. I began to cry and I told him I am afraid in Armenian and that I wanted to go, but he wouldn't let me go. I screamed at him no and tried to get away, but he threw me to the floor. I remember nothing, just fear, just hurt, just panic. I began to scream at him in English at the top of my lungs. I screamed in a different way than I have ever heard myself before, never had I heard so much fear in my own voice. God please help me, please. So I began throwing my hands and hitting him. When I was free I took off running again as fast as I could. I didn’t look back this time until I was all the way down the hill and about a mile back down the road. I ran faster than I ever ran before, I could hear his footsteps trail me for a bit and then die away, yet I still ran. I couldn't stop, even when I knew I was safe. I just kept thinking who do I call, what do I do, what just happened? The person I wanted to call, I couldn’t, or I didn’t feel I could. So I ran until I couldn’t breathe. Hysterically in tears and out of breath I called my friend Greg. What I said to him, or how on earth he understood me will always be a mystery to both of us. I don’t really remember a world of the conversation to be honest. I think I went into shock. I couldn’t remember where I was. And then Peace Corps called me, and snapped me back into my senses and talked me through things. Thank God that Greg was there for me, that he is a friend that I can turn to, because I don’t think I would have found the courage to call the Peace Corps and get help without him.

In closing, I am fine now; mostly it feels like it was just a bad dream. The only residual from the attack is fear. I am defiantly more hesitant to go to the store alone or to be alone at all for that matter. Little things have been scaring me or causing me to have flashbacks, from a friend grabbing my arm to lead me across the street, to the power going out in the middle of the night and me having a meltdown over it. I have bad dreams, where I see the guys face, and his crooked teeth and his dirty hands. But I think all of this is natural and will go away with time.
All that being said I will be fine. The hardest part is not that it happened, that is hard in its own way but at least it’s over; it was that I had no one to go home to and hug and to tell me it would be all right. It’s hard not to have people in my town that I can turn to when something like this happens. I think the hardest part of my service here is going to be living in Spitak alone without other Americans. I am very lucky that PC allowed me to go see Ashley yesterday, it did me a world of good to get out of here for a bit and just hang out and kick her butt at scrabble. Just to have a hug and be told that everything would be fine, meant the world to me. I’ll say it again, I am so lucky to have made the friends I have made here. Greg and Ash have been amazing support for me, so please no one at home be worried. Love you all!