la immigrantka

It seems more real when I'm not telling you about a tour, albeit less exotic sounding, but (I want to communicate), so, I'll move straight along with the less exotic and tell you the most interesting thing about which I care to type. Since the last post, I put together my first outfit made with secondhand pieces - let the eye rolling commence. heh. For those still reading, the Armenian collection has begun.

As it stands now, the roommate has 4 of the 5 closets in the house. This has remained so because they're huge Soviet beasts that for movement of require one desire hernial evidence each time a fitted shirt is worn, thus I manage my one like a tightly run ship, so to speak.

Clothes: I was given a lead in the third week to where I could find a good used-clothing store. Eight weeks later, I happened into a store I thought was it and stayed for just a couple of minutes, just long enough to watch these two girls having a riot jumping in and out of selections set aside by the elder who used terminator-level skills while inspecting the discount bin for THE goods, comrade.

I was looking for a "transition coat." Let me explain that this item is pretty necessary, let me emphasize - not incredibly, in these slIghtly chilly spring months outside of Texas, for those who're less familiar with northern climates. The roommate and I had a laugh about how if you're not wearing something to cover your outfit while outside you're examined intensely while passed, almost as though you had left your burka at home. Just one reason it's good to keep covered, hence my search for transitional wear; that, or also suffer the sweat that would inevitably accumulate under my winter coat during my rush to work, which is about a 5 min walk, 10 min metro, 5 min walk - not bad.

Clothes: Then it was pointed out to me that there was another 2ndhand shop just a couple stores away and then another! Really Fish Shop, the intersection on which they perch, should be called Get Your Clothing Here Shop [GYCH - a good fit as it rhymes with my 2nd favorite Armenian word, "inch," - pronounced EEnch meaning "what"]. A pleasant surprise. And surprise indeed! The store where I purchased two cardigans was giving out a present per sale. *slow motion jumping anime character clapping with squEEnched eyes - volume off*

The person I was with had this shnazy neon aqua sweater placed in his bag. The ladies answered his quizzical look with, "Padarak" [present in Russian] and cute smiles. They were more gracious with the sister. heh. I had the honor of picking from the clothes rack behind the register. When the cash drawer made that closing sound the 8-year old L3CLI3 rushed out from within, stopping with a screech simply to ask "Padarak?" "Kanyecnha," [of course] they replied and glided their magical hands over the rack for clarity with just as much grace as any professional hand model on QVC. Spasiba for the melon colored skirt!

Viva!

Fallen

This past week had a bit of "careful what you wish for" zest to it, due to the overlapping nature of all things good.

Primero, Euro-researchers strummed the strings of my immigration-obsessed self during a 3-day conference hosted by the European Council. So I, the person who has become the researched - a la one-way ticket, sat mouth agape listening to E.U. reps insisting Armenia pave their own way by learning from things gone wrong on the Western end while begging, simply through their presence, for as much conformity as possible. References to America were often preceded and followed by phrases noting anomalies, thus dismissed in a sense. I cringed when I heard "illegal." Counterparts and I found references to "stopping" migration interesting. Circular Migration - keep a look out for that one friends, it's the new do.

While this was taking place the professor came out for the field visit to land of the new - for the UT field office anyway. The roommate and I are the first to roost within these particular borders, making the visit that much more necessary, pick a perspective, any perspective. I had yet to take a walking tour provided by Envoy, so readily signed the three of us up along with a day trip to the Armenian Sea, Sevan Lake. Pre-tours, we had a welcome meal at a place that was decorated by theme of Russian Winter Land. Seriously, I'm sure an Ice Queen just popped her head in and blew a fine stream of her gloriousness into the top floor of Old Yerevan Restaurant (the link is included for your convenience, but I will say that there is no justice present and don't even Think that what I write is to any degree embellished). The host warned that we could go to the top floor where there would be music, but only mentioned the birthday party taking place once we stepped out of the elevator. I Did pause and try to turn back, but then remembered that her face was saying, "this is completely normal, who'd ever think about turning this opportunity down?" Thank goodness for the split second of brain power.

Now to dip into the Spelling Bee in Sisian. Thank you for the invitation to judge (right from the mssw mouth). Feet were dragging at this point, but I was craving kiddo time. They just flutter ya know?! Flutter around with all of this purity you just want to ooze into as they speed past with words or feet. And I sure did want to die when they said "hah" instead of "h" or spelled "r-y-e" instead of "w-r-y." They could have only exceeded cute-factor-8 if they were about 80 years older wearing slippers while feeding ducks at a The pond. My last remnants of spark went into eye muscles as I strained with all my soul to be as encouraging or consoling as possible without jumping out of my seat to give bear hugs in an Amyx sort of way. heh. It was good.

Unfortunately, there was nothing left for the team of Peace Corps members celebrating a job well done at one of Sisian's 1.5 (according to Schwabathan) restaurants. heh! That was just as interesting as the first part of the day. If any of you have ever been around me drained, you're familiar with the night/day feel to it all. I got a couple of are-you-doing-okays and repetition of questions that just whizzed by my head like an 8th-grader to the assembly hall.

Thanks to a dear sweet soul I am having for dinner potato and egg tacos. If you reread that sentence I'm sorry I couldn't get to you sooner, don't do it! Tis true, the Flouriest of tortilla tacos. In. My. Armenian House. Also, thank you Guerreros for the creation.

How can I tell (you) everything in these bloglets

Screaming Old 97s on a Lovely Day

The picture to the left further evidences why it is I feel at home. Sure, women wear boots often, but it is the cut of leather of the men's shoe that accentuates length, displaying both courage as it leads and bravery as it inevitably crosses any line drawn. Behold, the pointed majesty a good many people on this side of the planet continue to regard with boundless appreciation. No surprise, when She's browsin' in the men's section.

1500 AMD to Artur the taxi driver who had the darndest time finding the apartment block 97. Those expansive apartment city-complexes in Texas must have spawned from Soviet era architects. I myself only recently became less intimidated by the idea of finding friends' places in the midst of carbon-copyville. (Back to taxi) No pedestrian was left undisturbed, but even they took pleasure in dodging what may be a lengthy discussion chock full with block coordinates.

I was straining to see the signs that read the block numbers coming every so often from his mouth. At some point I realized that on the corner of every building near the ground, arm height, a number was tagged (spray paint, canned paint, or scratched into the stone). Between high-rise corners he recounted a tale of unrequited internet love of a women set in Los Angeles.

This was my first official solo encounter with a wallet rapist of the taxi-kind. [Note that the term "rape" is necessary, not so much for the story, but rather to remind me and whom ever else may have forgotten that this happens every second to someone somewhere]. Fear not, I'm sure my hundreds of drams are going to the California Fund of A so that he can see this so-called boyfriend of Ms. City of Angels.

I should have known some fish was cookin' when he asked if I used taxis very often. My "no" was based in the fact that I didn't feel like adding to the mountain of cards (2) that other drivers had given with the hopes that I would be another one of their regulars. I also attribute my lack of focus to details to 1) distracting noise from the air audibly seeping from my brain (a leakage exacerbated by my cush American-student-in Armenia life); and 2) planning what witty and relevant Russian phrase to say next, which kept me from hearing his mental calculator tabulating the appropriate exorbitant rate.

All right, so he told me his price was "normalno" when I pulled away my regular-fair + tip amount. This act was accompanied by a hurt and surprised look on my face (a la Puss 'n' Boots). Had we not built good relations in these 10 minutes? Did I not put a content smile on my face when you turned back TWICE to tell me not to worry? Was my ear not properly tuned to your frustrations of taxi-driver life and your want to just leave?

My fight lasted a shorter amount of time than expected. "For whatever reason, he needs it more than I do," came into my head, a new comeback phrase acquired by exposure to my current roommate, which I believe is based in either hippie love, laziness, defeatism, or something cosmic, (won't ask). For me, at that moment, it was the first three.

It's true, I rarely question the prices at stores, or taxis for that matter. I prefer not to squabble over my slither of pie. AND I, unoriginally and conveniently turn into a western economist upon entering Consumerdom, thinking to myself in so many words, "these market rates are controlled purely by supply and demand and not by the whims of the multi-billion dollar playmates bored with their collections and unlimited power." Work damnit, your break's over! Thank you Social Work.

They know I'm coming from a mile away. Things to do #1957: Remember the pros of open-market environs that require one effectively use a haggling skill or two.

Let it be known, I successfully made it through my first winter-to-spring-transition sickness in a matter of 4 days. She's smilin'.

This lady stands in the shade of the museum to the Fortress Erebuni as pooch bathes.

Viva!