Armenia - Yerevan

 

Yerevan. It's an odd city that seems to be made up of lots of discrete bits and features but not joined up. And almost all of it relatively young, possibly the consequence of being a country with no natural riches in a strategically important location, to be fought over, invaded and conquered century after century. Although its a rare privilege to have heard both versions of history in less than two weeks "everybody knows that land is ours...".

One thing they have in common is the cult of the mother and a Soviet era statue overseeing the capital entitled "Mother of..." in Tbilisi she carried wine and a sword, here only weapons.
The grand - but unfinished - Cascades are the most Soviet thing imaginable. Layer after layer of white marble and fountains progressing down a steep hillside.














After a hot walking tour of the grand sights of the Opera House and Republic Square with its dancing fountains, we go to a part of the city I suspect few tourists see. Kond is the oldest part, a maze of cramped streets full of one and two story stone houses, some with tiled and some with corrugated metal roofs, high on the side of a hill, surrounded by modern buildings and Soviet era blocks. The guide doesn't know how long they will be there. My guess is that the area will be flattened within a few years and the oldest heart of the city buried under hotels and office blocks.








Brandy. I've not drunk it in several decades; there was an unfortunate teenage incident involving a bottle of it and a school lunch break. But the next stop on the tour was the Ararat brandy factory - or cognac as they would like to call it but can't as that's geographically protected, like champagne. It was fascinating and tasting session afterwards was a revelation. 7 year old "cognac" and dark chocolate is quite something, I firmly recommend it. Churchill was a fan of Ararat cognac; Stalin sent him bottles of it. After some months, Churchill commented that it didn't seem as good. An urgent enquiry was sent from Moscow for Ararat to explain themselves. It transpired that the master blender had committed some transgression and been exiled. Moscow immediately ordered his return and he escaped a dark fate.





Afterwards, lunch in a village garden, home of a local tv chef, with lessons on making a local sweet and pasta. Lunch was followed by several glasses of walnut liquor. The coach back to Yerevan was a little quieter than usual...





This evening a farewell group dinner and a walk to see the famous dancing fountains of Republic Square.










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