Flower Valley

Yesterday we took a day trip to Tsakhkadzor (translates as Flower Valley) - a small resort town about 60 km north of the capital. The organization my mom worked for (The Writer’s Union) had a guest house there for as long as I remember. Back at Soviet times everyone working at the organization as well as members of the Union could spend 24 workdays a year there either free, or at a discounted price. Needless to say, the place used to be a second home to me. It was nice to see that it hasn’t changed much. The house, that is. The town changed a little, but not so drastically as Yerevan. We met the director of the guest house, reminisced a little about my mom and the old times, after which he offered us a lunch at the hotel restaurant - free. He also told me that should I like to stay at the house for a week or so, he will arrange a discount for me. Now that’s an offer I am planning to take an advantage of, and soon! Since the place now has a pool, sauna, gym, Internet access and a bar, even the kids agreed it’s a good idea.

The town being a skiing resort, there is a ski lift. It’s in three parts, and takes you all the way to the top of a very high mountain. In the summer, only the first part works, and we took a round trip on it. The views were spectacular, I’ll post some pics when I get a chance. Half way to the ski lifts, there is an 11th century monastery, which is now renovated and looks great. It’s a special feeling, to touch those ancient stones warmed by the sun and think of the people of faith who laid them 1000 years ago. There are tiny little rooms where monks used to live (I know they are called something, but I don’t know the term), and a small cemetery behind the main church. There is a beauty and peace in all that, that is hard to express in words.

On the way back from ski lifts (which are about 2 miles from the town) Vicky started complaining. Her ankles hurt, her knees hurt, she is hurting all over and apparently I don’t give a rat’s behind and what kind of mother am I anyway and she thinks we should take a taxi back to town. Lucky for me there were guys on horsebacks passing by, who offered us a ride. Not free, about $3 per person for the ride. We took the offer and rode back into town in style. Those horses were quite capable of a gallop, we witnessed that when the guys were riding them, but with us they were going at a trot and we didn’t even had to hold the reins (not that I knew what to do with them anyway.) Mounting and dismounting was something of an embarrassment for me, not very elegant, because the horses were pretty tall, but who cares - we had fun.

Since by then we missed the last bus back to the capital, we had to get to a nearby larger town which is a transportation hub for the entire area. I offered to walk there (it’s only 4 miles or so over the mountain) but the kids were tired and refused to walk. So, we had to take a taxi after all. City kids!

Overall, I think everyone had fun. Me, the kids, the village folk… The guys were hitting on us something crazy, especially on Vicky. After a while, it gets pretty annoying. We are an easy target, because the kids are speaking English, and I speak Armenian, so the conversation starter is a no-brainer: “So, where are your guests from?” And it goes from there. Guys on the bus, guys at the bus stop, guys with the horses… Grrrf!