Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Sniper

I carry the black bag with all the equipment to a quiet, private room where no one will most likely disturb me. I unzip the bag and pull out the parts, one by one, laying them out before me. I carefully assemble the parts, making sure they fit tightly, yet taking car to not jam the fine pieces. Sometimes this process makes me feel like a sniper getting ready for a hit, then I plug the the machine into the power outlet, take out my breasts and am ready to pump. I've been pumping breastmilk at work for seven and half months. I am planing on stopping on July 5, 2012 when Lani turns 11 months. I hope to continue nursing her in the evenings and weekends when I am with her.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Fender Bender Kinshasa Style

As I was driving back to work from lunchtime nursing session a couple days ago, I noticed a car attempting to overtake me from the left as I was making a right turn into very slow moving traffic. The other car was clearly doing the wrong and illegal thing, so I just kept merging in as I was supposed to. I noticed the car behind me for the next two blocks until I arrived at a traffic circle with more slow moving traffic, where the driver attempted to pull off the same thing - overtake me on the left where the cars were stopping to give me the right of way.

I should have, but didn't assume that the driver of the other car would be stupid enough to go through with it as there was only limited space in the traffic circle, but sure enough as I moved into the circle, so did she, ramming her smallish SUV into my Ford Explorer, scratching my car and bumper and leaving her side mirror hanging on wires.

As employees of the U.S. Embassy in a volatile area, we are instructed to drive away from a scene of an accident if we are able to, or walk away if the vehicle is not operational and call the security office immediately. Forget that - dumbstruck and ticked off, I rolled down my window and noticed that the car was a right hand drive with a young Congolese woman, all made up with big earrings and dark sunglasses. She also rolled down her window and as calmly as I could without any exploitative I asked her what she was doing.

She proceeded to with a mocking American accent to parrot my words, then saying in French that I should go back to my own country to do this (drive according to the rules?), stepping on the gas, side swiping my car and scratching it even more whilst tearing off her mirror completely, she caught the mirror, put it into her car and drove off, flipping me off in the process. I noted her license plate number.

My car was fine, so I just continued to drive to the embassy and went straight to the security office to report the incident. I was not sure if the woman could have seen me drive out of our gate, but I was assured that there will be some extra vigilance around my house and our people will be on the lookout for the vehicle I described.

Besides feeling bitter about the fact that I was only doing what I was supposed to and I evidently became the target of the woman's road rage, the incident left me with an icky feeling of what the heck am I doing here when they don't want us here....

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

It's been a while....

Wow, my last post was some six years ago - what the heck happened since then? Just to recapitulate:

- got a job in Armenia, so stopped blogging
- got another job
- and another job
- and another job
- joined facebook, so that kind of took away from the desire to express myself further as well
- gained a lot of weight in Armenia
- got assigned to Kinshasa, DRC
- left Armenia
- spent an amazing home leave all over the continental U.S., Hawaii and American Samoa
- spent 10 months in DC studying French, got up to 2+ in speaking and 2 in reading level
- lost SOME weight (yay!!)
- arrived in the Congo
- waited for a job
- got a cool job as the Deputy Chief of Mission's Office Manager
- moved houses to be closer to the synagogue
- got pregnant (what????)
- prayed every day that baby doesn't come early - while in the Congo (I'd rather give birth on the Dulles Airport floor)
- left for DC to have the baby
- baby girl Lani was born on August 5, 2011
- we returned to the Congo beginning of November 2011 and I went back to work (kind of regret promising to go back before I had the baby, wold not have made the same decision again)
- breastfeeding when with baby and pumping at work
- joined pinterest and don't get it, figured I should just use the blog to post the things I like online along with daily observations....

So, let's see what we can do....

Thursday, December 28, 2006

Post Scripts

There are a few unresolved issues in my writings that are in need of a follow up for consistency sake. With a few spare moments on this awful cold and foggy day I give you:

Armenia Online (or – why does our Internet connection still suck)

From our contacts at Arminco (Armenia’s primary Internet service provider), we have found out the following: they suspect that the story of a damaged cable under the Black Sea is a red herring for the following reasons.

  1. The cable is over 1.5 meters thick with a steel casing. It would take more than a fishing trawler to do any serious damage.
  2. The cable is the main link for the entire Caucasus region, yet no other country appears to have experienced similar problems.
  3. If such an important cable had been damaged, one would think there would be reports from other sources in the region about such occurrence, yet nothing can be found searching the Internet to buttress Armentel’s claim.
  4. The damaged cable would have affected international telephone lines but that did not appear to have been the case.
  5. To conclude, the problem is something internal to Armentel, (problems with their router or failure to pay their bills) and they have concocted the broken cable story in order to give themselves breathing space to deal with the real problem. It is also suspected that their failure to fess up might have had something to do with their reluctance to have looked incompetent on the eve of the public tender for their shares.

Job Interview and Household Pets (or – you never know)

Klara’s owner
In my efforts to help Klara and her owner out of the pitiful situation in which they have found themselves, I helped the owner get a job as a housekeeper for an Embassy family. I advertised her availability and skills in the Embassy newsletter, and she was hired by a newly arrived family for a two-week trial period. This American family not only underpaid her severely (instead of the range between 5-10 thousand Armenian Dram a day which, according to a recent poll, is the Embassy standard, they paid her only 3000 Dram per day) but also after the two week trial period, they left her jobless again saying that they’ll call her back when their household effects shipment arrives. We shall see.

My job
I felt awful after my last job interview. I was sure I had screwed up beyond bad and surely another candidate would be hired. Despite that I am not sure to this day whether there even had been any other candidates for that job, nevertheless, I was selected. I started working as a roving admin assistant for the US Agency for International Development on a six month contract. They have several ladies on maternity leave and various sections need administrative support. Currently I am in the Economic Restructuring and Energy Office and will be moving on to the Program Office mid-February.

This organization, which although on the same compound as the US Embassy and sharing most of its services has a completely different philosophy, attitude and atmosphere than I have experienced working for the US Department of State (US Embassy). The Americans who work here are not as uptight as the USDoS folk, are more relaxed in their dress code, work hours and generally are not as stuck up and full of themselves as the USDoS people. The local staff have more power and a stronger voice than local Embassy workers.

It is not my ideal job, but for the following reasons I’ll suck it up: I get paid a very sweet salary based on my previous government employment, I am learning a lot about the functioning of this organization, which may lead to a more interesting position in the future and above all, I don’t sit at home anymore.

Not only was I hired for the USAID position, I was appointed as a pricing agent for ORC International, a global Human Resources firm. As part of their extensive portfolio they provide information about living overseas to large international corporations in case they wish to send their representatives to live and work in foreign countries. The information provided includes the cost of living situation on the basis of which the corporations can adjust their workers’ salaries. To do this type of research, ORC International needs a local expatriate to conduct pricing surveys in local outlets twice a year.

I am familiar with conducting this type of research as I have completed similar surveys for the US Embassies in Bratislava and Banjul. ORC International’s compensation for my work will allow me to invest in a medium sized carpet, twice a year. I was hired for a three year period of our appointment in Armenia and that should leave me with six of these artifacts to complement our collection of African art. That is such a snotty sentence – I love it.

The bird (trauma)
Our bird is beautiful, clever, with a dynamic personality and a brilliant singer. He got used to his new surroundings very quickly, enjoys them and savors all the yummy snacks he is offered daily for vitamin intake and to which he hadn’t been previously accustomed. Among his favorites are apples, bananas, corn, cucumbers and lettuce that complement his seed diet.

Not to forget, after lengthy discussions during which we came up with some ridiculous bird names we agreed on Fliegel, which seemed cute, original and appropriate as it means “wing” in Yiddish.

My canary care books finally arrived and I had learned that as part of the proper care of our pet we have to trim his talons when they grow too long to prevent injury. The procedure was described as very simple and we set on to the task last Saturday night. We did well with the first foot but as it came to the second nail on the second foot, the bird twitched and we scraped his skin. A tiny nick on a small creature can be very dangerous. Blood trickled out of the cut and we quickly applied flour which was to help coagulate the blood and stop the bleeding. It did. We put the bird back into his cage only to see him start pecking at the injury and making it bleed again. We called the vet.

Luckily he arrived within a half hour and treated the cut with ash from burned cotton wool which is not only a coagulant and antiseptic but it also tastes bad and the bird wouldn’t peck at it. The vet advised that we should keep the baby bird in a “hospital” box as it was undesirable for him to perch, and the box laid with a soft cotton T-shirt provided an ideal environment for recuperation. For the next few days, the whole talon turned black, not from the ashes but from the clotted blood, but every day a bit of it regains its original healthy pink color. The bird is out the box, back in the cage, still uses only one foot to perch which should be remedied by physical therapy that we’ll start this weekend. We know that he is feeling better because he started singing again and seems to be as chipper as before this avoidable accident.

We felt very guilty about causing unnecessary pain to the baby (the vet told us he is no more than four months old) and made ourselves feel better by buying him a new bigger cage in a local pet store and a bunch of toys, perches of different materials and shapes and treats on Amazon.com. Our guilt trip totaled $200.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Job Interview and Household Pets

How's that for a good title? I shall start with the latter. Pretty simple: Dan suffers from severe allergies and asthma. An overwhelming majority of anything with fur is potentially lethal. I am a passionate dog lover (although I hate tiny dogs), have had dogs my entire life, in fact my latest Schnauzer, Ajka still lives with my mom in Slovakia. I had to give her up for my husband. We've toyed with the idea of getting a hypo-allergenic dog, but somehow that idea died away.


Ajka (bad hair day) in winter, without her Schnauzer style hair cut.

A month before our departure for Armenia there was an ad in the Yerevan US Embassy's newsletter which we'd been reading for the whole past year to familiarize ourselves with what's going on at Post. It was an ad (complete with picture) for a dog named Klara that needed to be adopted. I immediately fell in love with the dog as it was quite cute and fluffy and had persuaded Dan to meet her and see if her dander would prompt an allergic reaction in him.

FOSTER FAMILY NEEDED: Klara needs a home. She is two, smart, sweet and lovable. If interested contact Naira on ...

Indeed, after two months in Armenia and having been in touch with Klara's owner, we went to visit her. It's hard for me to tell who was in a more wretched state. The owner's apartment had dirt (not dirty) floors. There was an awful lot of dust and dog hair, piles of clothing, although neatly folded, on the floor, chairs, table and a couch. The dog was dirty, untrained, not used to people and therefore overly excited. She was as cute as in the picture, but since she was so unkempt and in such an environment, Dan started sneezing and his eyes started itching within five minutes. We left the apartment and schmoozed with the owner for a while before going back home. She told us she never had a dog before and she only got Klara to keep rats away from her ground floor apartment.


Bonding with Klara.

Even though I really wanted to rescue Klara as well as her owner from their situation, common sense prevailed and we told Klara's owner we could not take the dog.

Two days before going to Israel for Sukkot we'd been sitting in the living room, the pleasant weather allowing us to have the balcony door wide open, when we heard a squeaking noise. Dan thought it was a bird, but having had experience with this sound, I knew it was a days-old kitten. It was night and we didn't see anything and there was nothing to do.

The next day I was working at my desk with the balcony door open and I heard the crying again. I looked out and saw a tiny black kitten crouching next to our back gate. I went downstairs, picked up the baby and, as there was no mother anywhere to be found, I took it home. It was in a miserable state. One of its eyes had not yet opened, and it must have fallen into cement because its fur was white, clumpy and hard in several places. I know one is not supposed to bathe cats, but I had to risk it because the cement was covering the kitten's eye orifice and it was stuck between it's paw pads and the kitten had a very hard time walking. I removed as much of the cement as I could, also having to cut some fur off. I then wrapped it in a towel and sat with it in a warm room until it dried up. Meanwhile I got on the phone and tried to find it a home before Dan came from work. No luck with the Community Liaison Officer, or with two local vets used by Embassy personnel.

I fed the kitten some warm milk and then it burrowed itself in a new dry towel which I was heating with a microwaved cold pack. With Dan, I went to a supermarket where we got some cat food and fed it to the kitten which had drunk hardly any milk as it was still used to suck. It had no problem eating the cat food, and immediately after its tummy was full, it fell asleep.

We got in touch with Dan's colleague who didn't want the kitten but suggested another colleague known for rescuing strays. She wasn't answering her cell phone so I called her up in the bowling alley where I knew she would be that evening participating in the Embassy league. She agreed to be a foster mom for at least until we came back from Israel and she would pick the kitten up after the game. I wrote a short ad before going away and eventually an Embassy family adopted the kitten now named Simon.


SAVE KITTY —This cute little baby kitten was found abandoned on the street and covered with cement. Unfortunately, the rescuers suffer from severe allergies and couldn’t keep him, and he has since gone into foster care. Please open your heart and your home and adopt this weeks-old kitten, which is all black with a small white tuft of hair on the chest. He comes with a free bag of food and box of kitty litter. Call Christy at ... or Embassy extension: ...

I had another job interview yesterday. The interview part went very well, I had a feeling I made a very good impression, answered the questions of the interviewers well and asked good questions about the position. Then a simple "writing" assignment was to follow. I expected to be tasked with writing a paragraph on a particular topic. No, I was assigned to create an Excel spreadsheet. With input information I was to calculate a sum, an average and then arrange the data in descending order. I had no problem with the first two, and as I was trying to remember and figure out how to do the third task, I accidentally deleted the whole table. I started redoing it but at that point the lady in charge walked in and said my time was up. I explained the situation and asked her for more time. She nastily said she already had let me work for five extra minutes and I should print whatever I had immediately.

This is one of the worst feelings, knowing your action will influence the future, you make a stupid mistake, don't have a chance to fix it and the opportunity passes away forever. There is a Slovak saying that all bad is good for something. Let's hope so.

Hope. That's also a funny thing. Even though I know I screwed up bad and most likely I will not get the job, I can't extinguish this feeling tickling me in my chest and a little voice in my head saying that what if the other candidates screwed up as well, what if the interviewing committee really liked me?

After the interview I met with Dan. Down in the dumps and with tears in my eyes, I persuaded him I needed something to make me happy and that thing could only be a pet canary I'd been wanting for a while. I drove across town along with inconsiderate Armenian drivers, in terrible traffic congestion, dusk and pouring rain to the only decent pet store in town. I chose a bird, apparently the most talented as he allegedly already knows six different tunes. I got the biggest cage, seed, toys and a squid bone for him to peck on for calcium. He doesn't have a name yet and is slowly adjusting to his new environment. He ate, drank, bathed and even trilled a little. It is supposed to take a week before he is accustomed enough to sing properly. Hopefully by that time Dan will get used to him and we will give him a name. Ideas? Anybody?


Bird in his cage.



When I let him fly around the room, he landed on the dictionary first. Fierce intelligence!


On top of a picture.

Thursday, November 09, 2006

It is time to fire the housekeeper when...

...you find her asleep during work hours in your home.

...she is so clumsy and careless that everything falls out of her hands.

...you start to straighten up after she leaves.

...she constantly puts things in the wrong place even after working for you for a long time.

...she asks every hour what she should do after she's been told what her tasks are for the day.

...she begins act like your mother and tells you to put your socks on so you don´t catch a cold.

...she feels familiar enough with you to tell you private and embarrassing facts about her adult children.

...she does the opposite of what you tell her to do.

...you leave the house ridiculously early just so you can avoid her.

...you have to separate out the laundry for her because you fear she will ruin it.

...she dries heavy towels on delicates setting.


...you keep finding her thick, black hairs all over your apartment, even in your bed.

...you can't find your underwear.

Monday, October 23, 2006

Labor Day Weekend Trip

We’d been in Armenia for a month and a half but so far hadn’t ventured more than an hour out of Yerevan. Knowing us, that could not stand andwith our first long weekend in this country came our chance. We made hotel reservations trough a travel agency that operates on the Embassy compound, and Daniel rented a car over the Internet through Hertz International based in the US. According to them, as well as to the Hertz.am website, the branch in the center of the city is closed on Sundays and therefore to pick up a car on this day, we would have to do it at the airport. This was fine with us as the airport was on the way out of the city in the direction we needed.

On Saturday night we frantically organized our food supplies for the upcoming two days. The supplies consisted mainly of water, hard boiled eggs, tuna and saltine crackers. Even though it was oppressively hot in Yerevan we packed warm clothes knowing we’ll be high up in the mountains the next day.

Everything was going well on Sunday morning, even with my stomach giving me issues, we got out of the house only fifteen minutes later than we'd planned. The sum on the cab’s meter was growing more rapidly than usual and only after we asked the cabby did we find out that there is a special rate to the airport. By the time we arrived there the meter was announcing over three thousand Armenian dram. No one at the airport knew where the Hertz was. With the cabby and the meter still running we searched the arrivals hall (most probable location) and then the departures hall. Nothing. We found an information booth though, but the perplexed girl
(wo)manning it was clueless. She had a computer in front of her and we saw she was able to access the Internet. We asked her to go to Hertz.am and get us the emergency numbers, but she said she is not allowed to change the webpage from the one of the airport currently on her screen. This was the dumbest thing I’d ever heard. She was not willing to change the page even after we explained to her that she could return to it after we got our desired information. We were so close to it and yet so far. For the first time, I witnessed that someone prevented this amazing research tool from doing the job it was created for. She said we had to go to an Internet Café located near the information booth. I left Daniel screaming at the girl, found the Internet Café and got the desired phone numbers for a price of one hundred dram. I called the number immediately and the guy on the other end told me to call in five minutes while they solve the problem. I found Daniel who meanwhile extracted an airport information guide from the hussy in the booth. He called the Hertz numbers as well and got the same answer.

The cabby was still with us as we made our way back to the car. The Hertz people called back and told us that they have the car ready for us in their downtown office, a ten minute walking distance from our house. An hour and half after we had left our house, we found ourselves back in downtown Yerevan with the meter at over 6,000 dram. We paid the fee lightheartedly vowing to make Hertz pay us back as well as having them fix their website so that it would not contain wrong information. When we sat down in the office the young lady in charge showed us that our reservation was never confirmed and said that she was doing us a favor by getting us a car. We responded that they have incorrect information on their website and we had been therefore wronged. After some nasty ten minutes of yelling we got the car with the forty dollar airport fee and taxes deducted, though she wouldn’t cover the cab cost.

As we started filling out paperwork, I realized I had left my license at home, since I carry a different wallet for money around the city. I got a cab from the street and returned in about twenty minutes. By the time we were ready to leave Hertz, after a least three different men checked the car and showed me how it worked, it was noon. We had supposed to have been on the way already for two hours.

We mastered the complicated and confusing directions out of Yerevan and within a half hour we were out of the city in the fertile Ararat Valley. To the right the majestic silhouettes of Mt. Ararat and its small companion peered through the summer haze. To the left, before transforming into the foothills of another mountain range, sprawled green fields of an array of fruits and vegetables. Along both sides of the road farmers had built small structures out of tree branches and hay, which were all in fact sukkot, where they sold their crops to the passing cars.

Sukkot on highway


After a while we got used to he sight and did not get excited when we saw a car with its back seat loaded with cucumbers or tomatoes up to the car’s ceiling, thus being displayed in the back windows of the car, or a small truck with its back loaded with a pyramid of melons, some of which tended to fall out if the truck moved to fast.

At one point, making a right turn off the highway gave us the option of taking a scenic bypass through the fields. Driving through a sleepy village, we saw local men sitting in front of the houses smoking, while the women walked by schlepping bundles of wood, or buckets with water, or just running after their tasks. After the village we drove through green fields towards the Mountain when suddenly we saw an outline of a medieval church to the right and a giant statue of a man leaning on something to the left. The church was Khor Virap, a medieval church which is much beloved by Armenians as it is the one closest to Mt. Ararat, only a few hundred feet from the Turkish-Armenian border. Armenians love Mt. Ararat more than they love their grandmothers as a fellow traveler had said and even after their death want to be close to it. On the field below Khor Virap is a large, ever expanding cemetery. Due to the excruciating heat we saved the climb and tour of Khor Virap for an other time and started toward the statue of the leaning guy.

Khor Virap church with Mt. Ararat


A seller of yellow melons and other field produce had set up his shop at a perfect photographic spot. We stopped to take a picture of the Mountain and the church, and I bought a few of the unusual tiny melons with hard, colorfully patterned skin. We then proceeded toward the guy who as the melon seller told us was an Armenian general. When we got close, we were able to see that he was leaning on a gun as opposed to an axe as I originally perceived thinking he was an Armenian version of Paul Bunyan.

Dude with gun


Back in the air-conditioned car we continued our loop off the highway. At the point where we reached the bottom of the U, we hit the Armenian-Turkish border. Two rows of barbed wire fences and watch towers secured the no man’s land between the two adversarial nations through which the Arax River flows peacefully. We drove along the Armenian side of the border and to our surprise witnessed cars passing through it. These were probably local farmers who have made a deal with the Russian guards who patrol the frontier, as the border is officially closed and impassable. As it was lunchtime, we stopped the car at a pretty spot along an Arax River tributary and snacked on saltines with tuna and cherry tomatoes.

Turkish - Armenian border

Lunch

Arax River tributary - our picnic spot


Slowly we made our way back to the highway passing through many fields and a village or two. On wires near the last house of one village, we spotted a sunbird we were familiar with from The Gambia and were lucky that he posed for a snapshot.

Sunbird


Back on the main highway, before a compulsory sharp left turn towards the foothills of a mountain range and away from the road to the detached Azeri province of Nakhchivan, we stopped in on one of the fruit and vegetable sukkot to buy a sunflower with ripe seeds to munch on. As we drove higher and higher up into the foothills, the sukkot, now selling melons only, became less and less frequent and after one particular turn completely disappeared.

The road became very dramatic not only because of the gorges, mountain peaks and dangerous curves, but for us, also because of the Iranian trucks that we kept passing. We made sure we always waved to the drivers to greet our dear friends. We passed through a number of villages in the valleys between the mountains. When we finally arrived in the region of Vayats Dzor, we decided to go check out the Noravank monastery and church that were built high up on a mountain. It was quite a sight and we admired the builders of this place who had had to live and work in tough conditions all year round.

Passing an Iranian truck

Stark mountains on the way

Noravank monastery


The road through Vayats Dzor into Syunik region was as stunning as the one from the Ararat Valley. We traveled mostly through valleys where the road stayed close to the Arpa River. We passed the Spandarian Reservoir which looked very tempting in the heat of the day, but unfortunately had no beaches for recreation. We continued through more villages and eventually we went through a police checkpoint indicating we were near the border with the controversial region of Nagorno-Karabagh. We soon got an even starker reminder of the fact that Armenia, even though in a ceasefire, is always ready for another conflict with Azerbaijan. On a large field near the highway we saw a large military camp complete with hundreds of troops, tents, tanks and war machinery. We kept going, expecting our turnoff into the village of Shaki. When it didn’t come after several miles, fearing that we would come to the Karabagh border, which was the least of our intentions, we turned the car around and made our way back through the now arid and dusty fields on top of mountains. We asked a group of soldiers near the camp for directions. They were very friendly and reassured us that the turnoff to Shaki is just after the police checkpoint we had passed earlier.

Finally in Shaki, we were forced to ask for directions again as our guidebooks turned out to be written very poorly. We finally found what we were looking for: in a gorgeous valley of the Vorotan River surrounded by fascinating rock formations is a hydro-electric water plant. We parked the car in front of the locked gate along with a couple of other cars and as no one answered our call, we climbed through a hole in the fence and started towards the plant. As we approached, about a dozen dogs, mainly tiny puppies, tried to scare us away with barking. Two workmen walked out of the plant. We greeted them and asked them whether it was possible to continue on. There was no problem and we started up a steep path, following another group. About ten minutes later we reached the river and turned to follow its course up on its right bank. The path narrowed to be wide enough for only one person. We finally heard the noise we’d been expecting and a few hundred feet later we reached the beautiful, wide Shaki Waterfall. This time of day was the best to come. The streams of water were illuminated by the setting sun and many small rainbows made the whole sight spectacular.

Shaki waterfall

On the way back, the electric plant workers joked with us, asking whether the waterfall is running – the plant controls the flow of the river.

With the sun setting and us fairly exhausted after the long drive, we made our way to Sisian, a small town where we were to spend the night. Dan wanted to go check in into the hotel, but I, after reading that our next point of interest was just at the outskirts of the town, suggested that we go look at it in the light of the setting sun. “Carahunge” as the name may suggest is are stone circle of some hundred and eighty scattered stones erected by ancient peoples for unknown reasons. It was a bit daunting to stand all alone in this place in the middle of fields on the Armenian mountains where so much and so little happened in the past centuries.

Carahunge stone circle


Astronomical tool?


Carahunge


We arrived at the hotel at dusk and checked into our room, which was an individual house with three rooms and two bathrooms downstairs and upstairs. We chose an upstairs room with a private bathroom, which did not make a difference as we were the only guests in the hotel for that night and were therefore able to use all eight bathrooms in the house. After a short rest we ventured to the restaurant in the courtyard decorated in traditional Armenian style with carved furniture and rugs hanging on the walls.
We got a tour of the room where they bake homemade lavash which consisted of a deep pit in the ground where a fire is made and dough rolled out thin and flat on a long oval shaped mitt, is slapped against the wall of the heated up pit and voilà, you just peel the sheet of bread off the mitt.

Our dinner of cut up salami with fresh vegetables, fresh lavash, hot instant couscous and canned corn tasted delicious in the cool evening and shortly after diner, exhausted from the long day's trip, we retired to our modest bedroom.

Sisian hotel room


Unlike Dan, who didn't know what to make of it, I was very fond of the heavy duvet made of chicken, or goose feathers. It felt exactly like the duvet I remember from spending my childhood summers in my maternal grandmother's house in Vištuk, a small village near Bratislava. Heavy and so toasty warm, soft as a cloud. I just hoped avian flu didn't transfer this way…

We woke up at dawn on Monday morning and after davening, dressed for cold weather, we made our way to the restaurant for a cup of hot tea before we boarded the jeep we had arranged the day before. It was to take us to the 3,300 m (10,890 ft) high peak of Ughtasar, where ancient petroglyphs are still to be found.

The jeep was an hour late in coming because a part needed to be welded back on to it. I had thought highly of Russian made military vehicles before the thing rolled into the hotel courtyard with its roaring engine. Our driver Hamlet (this is a commonly used name in Armenia, yet so far I haven't found out how it came to be) had donned an Armenian military uniform for the occasion. Only later I found out that he participated in the 1979 Soviet campaign into Afghanistan.

We got in, I took shotgun, as I am prone to motion sickness and Dan occupied the back seat. I felt very American when I started searching for the non-existing seatbelt. Daniel announced that there is a hole in the floor and soon after we started on the road we started smelling the gasoline through this hole which only added to our nausea.

We were told the trip was to be an hour and half. After ten minutes on a paved road we turned into a field with barely visible tire tracks. And that's when the bumping and shaking began. My stomach was surprisingly fine. I kept my eyes on objects in the distance and was able to observe lots of interesting things like huge eagles taking off from the fields frightened by the sound of the approaching vehicle, and then diving back towards the ground where they were hunting for their breakfast of small rodents. While my stomach was okay, my bladder had issues with the shaking and already after a half hour we had to stop for the first pit stop. This turned out to be good, because Daniel who was quiet for some time, did not, as I assumed fall asleep, but was really sick. He got out of the car with a green face and had to walk around a bit to regain his balance.

Jeep ride up to Ughtasar

I gave up shotgun for sick Dan

Jeep ride

We switched seats and I understood why Dan was so sick. The smell of gasoline was overbearing, the seats were so high up you could hardly look out through the windshield and the shaking was much worse than it had been in the front. As we ascended higher and higher, passing rocky fields of oats and barley and several herds of cows, I got more nauseous and had to go again. An hour into the trip this was already our second stop and it turned out we weren't even half way there. We switched seats and began to climb steeper and steeper hills. The "road" completely disappeared and at this point we were driving on yellow grass and rocks. At times the Uaz jeep tilted over sixty degrees into ravines and I don't know how it was that it didn't topple. I mamish felt like I was riding in a toy car handled by a kid in a sand pit.

We climbed over a nasty hill and all of a sudden the sky was blue and the sun was shining - we were above the clouds. We were driving through a beautiful valley and we thought we must be very close. We passed stone circles made by shepherds to keep the sheep safe overnight and ahead of us we saw a steep road winding up another hill. Next to the road was a wide "waterfall" of volcanic rock creating one of the walls of the hill, which looked like it would tumble down if any of the rocks were removed. The driver was not very talkative and only once we started our slow climb up did we understand that we had to surmount this final, particularly steep cliff. Still in the back seat I felt like I would fall out through the back window. My bladder shaken into fullness again was about to explode and so I just clenched my teeth and waited for us to get up to the top.

When we made it, a wide plain was spread before us and we were surrounded by three peaks and a view of the dazzling valley we had come from. There were no large rocks to hide behind, and so I used the trick I learned in Suriname, where when we were surrounded by the most poisonous jungle in the world on both sides of the road, I had to squat behind the jeep to go. It worked in Armenia too. We switched seats, not knowing that after a five minute smooth drive we'd reach our destination.

Lake surrounded by boulders

Ancient graffiti of a bug


On another plain a small round mountain lake glistened in the cold sunshine surrounded by rocks scattered about it. We gladly got out the jeep and followed Hamlet, jumping from rock to rock searching for the petroglyphs - rock drawings. We found many of them depicting antelopes, deer, snakes, bugs and bears. We made our way around the lake, descending to its surface, but soon made our way back up as the ground around it was very soft and we started sinking into the mud. We peered into the lake and I could swear I saw a trilobite٭ swimming in it. It must have been the mysterious ancient atmosphere of this place influencing my imagination. We wanted to drink from the clear icy water, but Hamlet stopped us saying it's no good (probably because of the trilobites).


With Hamlet and his UAZ jeep

Petroglyph of a snake

Surroundings of the lake


On the other side of the lake we realized that the "waterfall" of volcanic boulders we saw from the valley below was what prevented the water of the lake from spilling down the mountain. Another gorgeous view of the valley and clouds lay below us and after snapping lots of photos we walked back to another section of unexplored rocks near the jeep. On the way I found a beautiful growth of a nettle plant and was excited about another childhood memory of hikes in Slovakia. Dan did not know the effects of this plant, so I demonstrated them. The plant's leaves have tiny hairs on the bottom which when they prick the skin, they fill it with a small amount of mild poison which causes small itchy bumps something like tiny mosquito bites that disappear after a while. I always really liked the feeling of the innocent nettle rash and didn't miss the opportunity to experience it again.

With nettle bush

Valley above clouds and "waterfall of boulders"

A strange petroglyph


The group of boulders that we explored next didn't only have pictures of animals. We discovered carvings of people in different situations as well. What struck us most was a carving of an obvious woman with six fingers on each hand. Kinda freaky, especially because of the trilobite.

Six fingered woman with my hand for size comparison


Petroglyphs


Dan and I with the glistening lake


It was pretty cold on the mountain and having done all that we could, we started our descent back to Sisian. I didn't realize how scary it would be driving down the steep mountainside along the volcanic boulder fall. By the time we got to the valley, my knuckles were white as snow, drained of all blood as I clutched a bar on the passenger side of the dashboard. Remember we were without seatbelts.

The ride down to town was okay after that, the only thrilling thing that occurred was that I may have spotted a European hoopoe, a bird species I've been wanting to see since we got into bird watching in The Gambia. By the time Hamlet stopped the Russian monstrosity and I got out, the bird was gone and I am not sure if it was what I was looking for. The only surprise awaiting us was back at the hotel where without discussing this prior to the joyride, Hamlet asked for $75 as his fee. It was worth it, but we are not doing this again.

All shaken up back in our hotel room in Sisian, we packed up our bags and quickly got out our room, infested with a swarm of flies, since we had left the window wide open. We had a nice lunch of Corn Flakes and long-life milk on the terrace of the hotel restaurant and drove around the corner to the post office where we were told by the receptionists we would be able to buy postcards. As we stepped into the post office building we were back in deep communism, four, inefficient postal workers sitting lazily behind a long empty counter staring into the space didn't even look at us even though besides us there was only one old man demanding to use one of the beaten up phone booths standing along a wall in the large room. When we asked for postcards they sent us to the room opposite us. The room was totally empty except for a large glass wall with several windows behind one of which was sitting a middle aged woman. We asked her for postcards which she was supposed to have had according to the people who sent us here. But no, she said, and disappeared in a room behind the glass wall. We noticed an interesting thing on the glass advertising a variety of postal services: an ad for a New Year congratulating telegram written in different languages had Shana Tova written on it in Hebrew characters, but there was no Arabic seen anywhere on the telegram cover.

We left Sisian disappointed by the lack of any tourist services besides the lone hotel and started on our way back to Yerevan which we had wanted to reach before nightfall. Even with several shopping stops on the way at which we got some fantastic garlic and honey but no fish – the artificial fish ponds only contain catfish which is not kosher and carp which we both hate – we got back to Yerevan with the sun still high in the sky.

I successfully parked the car near our building. We brought up our luggage and, glad that I had gotten the car back safely, I went to the bathroom. As I was taking off my skirt I heard something clink against the toilet bowl and splash. Only then did I realize that I had put the car key with its remote control behind my waistband so I wouldn't lose it as I didn't have a pocket. I fished out the key with my hand rinsed and dried it. It worked when I tried it. It worked in the morning when I was about to return the car and it worked when I locked the car up in front of the car rental office. Then, when the five guys who took care of the car went out to check it for me, it decided not to work and they started blaming me for breaking it. I said it had just worked for me to lock it up and I had had no problems with it for two days. Then when it finally worked for them, they finally let me leave.


٭ No animal better captures the drama of evolution and extinction. Long before the fish inhabited the seas and the Dinosaurs roamed the land, Trilobites appeared some 600 million years ago during the Cambrian period. They belonged to the phylum Arthropodal (joint-footed), a phylum which to this day represents the most successful (78%) of all animal life forms, including crabs, centipedes, spiders, shrimps and insects. The Trilobites, living in shallow seas, flourished as swimmers, crawlers and burrowers for some 350 million years. They evolved rapidly into many beautiful, bizarre and, even by today's standards, futuristic forms.

Source of text: www.trilobite.com


Trilobite similar to the one I think I saw

Source of picture: tiscalinet

Sunday, August 27, 2006

Lightening from clear skies: In memoriam: Teta Kata and Phil Klein

On parent knees, a naked new-born child,
Weeping thou sat’st while all around thee smiled;
So live, that sinking in thy last long sleep,
Calm thou mayst smile, while all around thee weep.

Sir William Jones (1746–1794), from Persian
____________________________________________________

I’ve only read about these situations. Within a half hour Thursday evening, I’d learned of the passing of two very lovely and exceptional people who were for countless reasons very dear to me.

The first was my grandmother’s sister “Teta Kata,” Aunt Kata in English. He name was Katarína, and Kata was the shortened version. The thing I remember about her most are the long summers we spent together in our cabin in the Low Tatra mountains in Slovakia.

One summer, Teta Kata’s granddaughter Ema, who is the same age as me and therefore made an ideal playmate, was at the cabin with us. Being in some peculiar childhood development stage, Ema thought she was a dragon and therefore had to sit on me and choke me. My Babi and Teta Kata had their hands full to keep me alive.

During the summers in Braväcovo my aunt, a botanical artist, not only went for long walks to sketch the picturesque vistas of the mountains, she also collected different species of flowers, plants and mushrooms and painted them in the cabin. One summer when I was little, she brought a poisonous plant to be painted for some book on botany and left it on the kitchen table in a vase. The plant consisted of a tall stalk that ended with four large leaves growing into a cross and revealing a large round blue berry in the middle. I ravenously loved blueberries and thinking that’s what the berry was, I ate it. Luckily, my mother noticed the missing berry and my soiled mouth and immediately had me throw up and drink some milk afterwards.

Of course, my memories of Teta Kata are not limited to my near-death experiences. I remember her as a beautiful, always fashionably but comfortably dressed old lady. She always presented a voracious intellect, sharp sense of humor and passionate love for her own and for my grandmother’s grandchildren. I remember the family gatherings at her garden near the Devín castle, where we played musical chairs in a tangible atmosphere of sweet life, love and family closeness.

During my childhood it was fashionable to have a so called “memory book,” which was a notebook with white pages where one’s friends and family drew pictures for the book’s owner to remember them by. These memory books were a source of great pride among ten-year-old girls, and we always carried them around looking through them and trying to outdo each other in the number of drawings in our books. When it was Teta Kata’s turn to draw something for me, as an artist, she painted a scene of a Greek coastal village on a piece of special paper, which she then glued into my memory book. None of the kids who looked into my memory book believed this painting was for real.

For every birthday, or other special occasion, Teta Kata always gave me a painting. As a kid, I was not able to appreciate it, but my Mom treasured these paintings and they are with her to this day for safekeeping. As a grown up, I proudly hang the painting of a magnolia flower she gave to Daniel and me for our wedding on a prominent wall in our home wherever it is.

My Babi who is a few years younger then my aunt is devastated. Teta Kata and she had always been the best of friends, which I believe was also visible in how alike they looked. With their similar way of dressing, same height and almost the same face and haircut, everyone thought they were twins. When I project the images of these two remarkable women in my mind, they represent authentic matriarchs and women I would like to be like one day. Now one of them is gone.

ZZZ

I learned of Dr. Phil Klein’s passing a half hour after I found out about my aunt’s death. I could not believe my eyes when I read the email. I had just written to him that morning thanking him for the praise of my blog, describing the Jewish community here and telling him I was looking forward to reading his writings about the happenings in Kesher Israel he was intending to start soon.

Always with a quiet voice, an incredibly clever, stinging but well meant wittiness; this fragile and gentle man made quite an impression on me, as I am sure he did on scores of others. I first met Phil and his charming wife Charlotte on a spring Shabbos morning after services at Kesher Israel shul, four years ago. I apparently made such a fantastic impression on them that they not only decided to visit Daniel and me in Slovakia to attend the famous New Years concert in Vienna with us, but also offered their fine-looking garden to us to hold our wedding ceremony. For logistics reasons this fell through, but we had the honor of Hakohen Phil recite the first two of the Sheva Brachos at our wedding.

During our short stint in Washington between postings in Bratislava and The Gambia, we were honored to be invited for a Shabbos meal during Phil and Charlotte’s fiftieth wedding anniversary. We heard many touching stories about Phil’s life on an upstate New York farm, Phil’s and Charlotte’s meeting and dating along with the viewing of pictures of their gorgeous wedding. The fact that they shared these intimate memories with us, along with their son Jonathan and daughter in law Shulamis, made me feel like a million dollars, as these fine people included us in their family.

While in The Gambia, I corresponded with Phil about interesting facts about the strange country we lived in, for he was always hungry for scientific, geographic or historic facts.

We had the pleasure to share several Shabbos meals with The Kleins over the past year in Washington. I always felt uplifted when I saw Phil coming to services on Shabbos morning, always very dignified with his cane and hat, above all when it was hot and he was sporting a striped black (or navy) and white crepe suit. For me, Phil represented the perishing race of New World gentlemen.

For many years, Phil had been the Baal Tokeah at Kesher Israel. Daniel remarked that he would have started blowing the shofar for the congregation starting tomorrow morning for the month of Elul heading to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. This year, I can imagine that Phil in his striped crepe suit will sound the tekiahs, teruahs and shvarims for the assembled host in shamayim.


The Kleins were one of the last people we visited on our last day in the US, several hours before boarding our flight to Armenia, July 25, 2006.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

What we eat

Many of my Jewish friends ask as their first question about our new country: “What do you eat over there?” Nu, it’s worse than I thought it would be, but we will survive. Before our final decision to take the position in Armenia two years ago, we spoke with the local Chabad shliach and about a month before our departure, we were lucky enough to have met him in Washington where he was attending a conference. On both occasions, we discussed many of the Jewish issues that naturally arise in places with small, unorganized communities. In particular, we discussed in depth the four products that have to be made or processed by Jews in order to be kosher: meat, milk, cheese and wine. (Bread is another questionable product, although considerably less of an issue, since in The Gambia I was used to making my own.)

The Rabbi assured us that everything is available: He said he brings in a shochet from Russia who slaughters cows and lambs and he himself still slaughters chickens; even though bird flu is affecting all the surrounding countries, miraculously it has avoided Armenia. He said he goes to a farm where he milks cows (chalav yisrael), watches local people make yogurt and adds rennet to the milk to make cheese (gvinas yisrael). He also assured us that we could get kosher grape products.

Upon our arrival in Armenia, the Rabbi kindly hosted us for Shabbos meals and supplied us with a few items to survive on for a while. These included a wheel of local cheese, two jars of preserves, a jar of peanut butter and a bottle of barbecue sauce proudly bearing an OU symbol. I asked about the possibility of getting some milk and yogurt (which I eat daily for its beneficial acidophilus bacteria). The Rabbi surprisingly answered that it is not possible to get yogurt and that when he gets milk, it is seventy liters at a time and therefore it’s not gonna happen. When Daniel asked him about the possibility of chalav stam, the Rabbi first didn’t know what Dan was talking about. Then, after an explanation about government dairy regulations acting as an assurance for kashrut, he denied the existence of the whole idea.

Although the heter of chalav stam has been applied to many developed countries, such as the US, it is not necessarily possible everywhere. Put simply, not all countries have laws (and/or proper enforcement of them) requiring that a product labeled “milk” must necessarily contain cow’s milk or that only cows are present on a farm from where the milk comes. Lubavitch Chassidim famously reject the notion of chalav stam, requiring them to eat chalav yisrael or no milk at all. As I believe in having an open mind within halachic limits, and find it unhealthy to live without dairy products, we were forced to do our own research.

First, we talked to the local US Department of Agriculture representative, who works with several local dairy farms who told us that there is no governmental supervision over the dairy industry. Even if there were laws, he said, there would definitely be no enforcement of them. So, Armenian milk products are basically not available to us. Since in the supermarkets, we’ve seen plenty of dairy products from Russia and because of the many Jews in Russia as well, we decided to try to find a list of kosher products from Russia on the Internet. And it delivered. We now have a ten-page list that not only assures us that chalav stam is applicable to Russian milk, it also lists a bunch of yogurts and even some cheese spreads from there that are kosher.

When we came to Armenia a little over three weeks ago, we brought a cooler full of frozen ground beef and chicken breasts with us. So far, we have not been forced to ask the Rabbi to supply us with the beef that is available. Surprisingly, he said chicken is not shechted here nowadays because of the bird flu threat. I still don’t understand why a month ago he told us that chicken was available, when now it isn’t. We were able to acquaint ourselves with the local beef over our first three Shabbosos here, during which the Rabbi’s family kindly and thoughtfully hosted us. At all six meals, after a delicious appetizer course of fish and salads, we were served similar food: chunks of fatty, stringy and bony beef with either potatoes or kasha. Obviously, the Russian shochet is not much of a butcher.

We do not have our kitchen yet, so we are making the most of what we can out of the embassy-provided welcome kit. It contains several pots and pans, basic utensils, plates, mugs, glasses and plastic containers. As the welcome kit was previously used, the only option we had was to find a large rock and kasher whatever was kasherable. Of course, we did not venture out the very first day to find a large rock in this world capital. Hungry and without a kosher kli, I took the only thing available and made some instant couscous … in a glass vase. For the past month, I’ve been cooking with two pots and a spatula. I’ve kinda gotten used to it and don’t really know what I’ll do next week when my eleven large boxes of kitchenware are due to arrive.



Making couscous in a vase.



Armenia is famous for its produce especially during the summer when all the heavenly tasting fruits and vegetables arrive to the local shukaner (markets). The very first Sunday we were here, we ventured to the biggest (and as reported to us, cheapest) covered market called the “Goom” and the following Sunday we explored the second biggest market “Prospect” shuka. Everything is available there from fresh fruits and vegetables to dried fruit and nuts, meat products, bakery products, herbs, spices, eggs, flowers and fish.


The "Goom".


Fruit display at the "Prospect".



The fruit and vegetables here are unbelievable, juicy and full of real flavor that I haven’t tasted since my childhood in Czechoslovakia. We didn’t even bother asking the Rabbi for wine or grape juice for sacramental purposes. As grapes are abundant in colors and flavors to no end, I just bought the juiciest and tastiest and made my own grape juice. Yummy!


Making grape juice.


As during the winter, fruit and vegetables are expensive and sparse, canning and freezing is recommended. Not having a job, I rose to the task and froze two kilos each of strawberries, blackberries, raspberries and peaches.


Washing the peaches and cooking sugar syrup.


Adding citric acid to cut up peaches.


Final product.



I have also attempted to make dill pickles. The first batch rotted probably because it was in a plastic container (and I left it out in 40 degrees Celsius heat for two weeks). Now I am trying to make a second one; the pickles are in a glass jar and will stay on the balcony for only five days.


Making pickles.


I get fish at the shuka as well. It is not as cheap as it was in Tha Gambia, where we lived on the ocean and by definition, the local fishes aren’t saltwater fish either. We get freshwater fish from Armenia’s lakes, especially the biggest one, Lake Sevan. First, I was a bit worried about freshwater fishes as they sometimes tend to taste “muddy,” as I define their flavor. So far, we’ve only tried one type, in Armenian ishkhan, a species of trout, but once my chest freezer arrives, I look forward to sampling the other “fins and scales” options. I went to the fish market in The Gambia often enough to learn the art of filleting fish from the local fish dealers. I never actually tried it in The Gambia, but the skill has come in handy here since, when you buy the fish, you get it whole, with the skin and scales and fins and head and tail. They do degut it though. I brought the fish home and dealt with it:


Meet ishkhan.


Before …


… and after.


Yes, it has fins and scales (on the knife).


A word about a special Armenian bread called “lavash.” It is paper thin and huge and one uses it to wrap foodstuffs with it: cheese, vegetables, cooked meat, fish, whatever you want. Though it has a neutral taste like pita and is so thin you can almost see through it, it is amazingly impermeable to wetness and quite strong (more than a laffa, for instance). As this bread is only made with flour and water and has to be baked in a special oven intended solely for the baking of lavash, the local Rabbi deems it as kosher; we are so happy. Lavash lasts forever in an airtight Ziploc bag in the fridge, and when it gets a bit tough, you just sprinkle some water on it, reheat it and it is fresh again. It is also ridiculously cheap, for a kilo of lavash you pay 300 Armenian Dram, which is the equivalent of 80 cents.


Dan with lavash.

No, there are no kosher restaurants in Armenia. Just like in The Gambia, my kitchen functions as the local kosher Chinese, Indian, Italian restaurant or just a simple typical American diner. Well, not so typical. We can only eat meat on Shabbos, so our supply of meat lasts until Rosh Hashanah, when we will restock in London. During the week, we only eat vegetarian food. The vegetables here are delicious, but there aren’t many types to choose from: tomatoes, peppers, cabbage, zucchini, eggplant, carrots, onions, garlic and potatoes. That’s it. There is a variety of legumes available as well, along with rice and pasta. Everyday I cook up some sort of a combination of the above: stuffed zucchini, ratatouille with rice, bean salad or whatever combination my imagination creates. It has happened on several occasions that my darling, hungry husband, after glimpsing the food, says, “What the hell is that?” However, to my credit, he always finishes what is dished up and asks for seconds.

A mystery: Matza makes me terribly sick, so I do not eat it during Pesach (with the exception of what’s required at the Seder and a k’zayis for each Yom Tov meal). Zehu. Otherwise I’ll spend the whole of Chol HaMoed in the vicinity of a toilet. When we first came to the embassy, people from several sections started giving us boxes of matza they’d been saving for us since April when someone from the Jewish community dropped some off at the Consular Section. I’ve been eating matza for a month now, at least every other day, and I’m fine. Is it true then, that not the actual matza, but the holiday of Pesach itself embodies the infamous revenge of God on the Jew folk?