Hiking, interrupted

Okay, now about that trip.
The village of Garni is famous and very beautiful. It used to be the summer residence of Armenian kings, and still has the ruins of the royal summer palace. It also boasts a pre-Christian 1st century temple (Greek style) and a beautiful 12th century church. It is home to the most delicious apples in the world, and the coldest, yummiest spring water. Most of all, it stands by a gorge, or a canyon, which is one of the most beautiful sights in Armenia.

All this in mind, I asked one of my mom’s friends to take us hiking there. Now almost 70, our guide has been hiking in Armenia, Soviet Union and abroad since 50s. Someone you can trust to take you there and back again. So we went.

All was well the first day. Yeah, it was hot and the backpacks were heavy with all the food still in them, but those things come with the territory. We took a minibus to the village, then walked down to the canyon. From there, we walked on, heading to some abandoned Turkish villages upriver, and, eventually, to a beautiful waterfall and a church high up in the mountains. You may see the slideshow of the hike here.

The problems started later, when we reached a convenient campsite, pitched a tent and were cooking dinner. Just as the soup was about ready, we became aware of voices approaching our camp. At first, we thought it was another group of tourists. Then, that the village shepherds were driving home the herd. Finally, as the voices became closer, we realized it’s a bunch of drunk guys. Seven of them were squeezed into a small SUV, which they promptly drove into a little swamp next to our tent. They poured out of the car, stretched, yelled at each other a bit… and then noticed us by the fire…

Sufficient to say, we didn’t eat that soup in peace. They weren’t aggressive, just very drunk and annoying. Two of them were whispering some niceties into Vicky’s ears, two older ones bugging our guide, while the rest were annoying the heck out of me and Roxy. Thankfully, about an hour later and after assuring them over and over again that no, we don’t need any help, thank you very much, they finally dug the car out of mud and drove out, almost over our fire and the tent. I really hope they got home in one piece, because the roads they had to travel were narrow paths over the cliffs, it was pitch dark and they were very UI.

Well, next morning was nice and bright, so after a breakfast we decided to go investigate the waterfall. By then, a minibus full of village locals arrived in the neighborhood and sat down for a picnic not far from our campsite. Seeing as they were with wives and kids and looked like normal people, we talked to them, complained a bit about last night's visitors, after which packed out camp, left the backpacks under a tree with the nice guys and headed over to the waterfall with just our cameras and swimming suits.

It wasn’t an easy hike, but we made it to the waterfall after all and, I must say, it was worth it. The fall itself is pretty high, and under it the water has carved a natural basin in the rock, which is pretty deep, but not too wide (about the size of a large jacuzzi). Even though the water was very cold, we swam in it, our guide and I, and Vicky had to swim some too after I pushed her in. The fun ended abruptly when our guide slid on a slimy rock and fell. It was obvious that he dislodged his wrist and, possibly, broke it, too, so we dressed quickly and headed back to where we left our stuff with those nice people.

Did I say nice? By the time we got back, the guys were drunk! They were not as annoying as the last night’s guys, they were thousand times worse. Not only we were forced to share their food and drink with them, sit and listen to their drunk boasting and toasts, watch them being rude to their wives and their mother (the party consisted of two brothers with their parents, wives and kids,) but all the guys were making passes on Vicky the worst way possible. We had no choice but to stay with them and take the ride back to village they offered, not only because our guide couldn’t hike back with the broken wrist, but also because they insisted we stay, and if we tried to escape, it would mean war. My cell phone had no reception so far into the canyon, so I couldn’t even call a taxi, as one of the more sober guys suggested. Finally, after much suffering, we loaded into already crowded minibus (they were trying to get Vicky to sit with them in the front by literaly pulling her arm) and headed back to the village. Thankfully, the driver was less drunk than everyone else, but all three of us were praying really hard while the car was bouncing over the rocks on the narrow path next to a 1000-foot drop.

Thankfully again, the sober guy in the group happened to not be related to the jolly family. He was a neighbor, who recently bought a house in the village after spending 20 years or so in Fresno, CA. Seeing our sufferings, he insisted we get dropped off at his house once we got to the village. Somehow, our hosts agreed, so the girls and I went to this guy’s house while our guide continued with the drunk company to the village healer (they decided to take him there and wouldn’t take no for an answer).

I must say, the house we went into was really nice. It looked like your regular village dwelling from outside, but inside it had all the modern conveniences combined with a somewhat artistically decorated interior. I figured the guy must be an artist, even though he didn’t confess. His family is still back in Fresno, and he just travels back and forth as he pleases (nice, isn’t it?). At his house we finally shook off the dust and dirt, changed our clothes and washed up a bit. I though our troubles were over, when our guide arrived with a freshly bandaged arm. We called a taxi and were waiting for it to arrive, sipping some juice on the patio with an unbelievably nice view, when our torturers arrived again. One of the brothers decided to pay a neighborly visit, accompanied by his son-in-law. We tried to escape into the orchards and leave them talking with our host, but the younger guy followed us. Next I knew, he took Vicky somewhere to “show her the view”, and they disappeared into the shrubbery before I could put a word in. Soon I got worried and started looking for Vicky. I couldn’t find her, but instead I found the two wives pacing the road before the gate of the house. The moment I mentioned someone is "showing the view" to my daughter, the younger girl shrieked “I knew it” and ran into the bushes. She had no problem finding her way around, because a few minutes later I heard screaming and yelling and then Vicky finally showed up, all upset. Apparently, the guy was harassing her, and she was trying to call me, but I couldn’t hear her. We had a juicy, loud village scandal on our hands. The neighborhood gossips waited until they heard everything there was to hear, then commenced to carry the news from group to group down the street, while we finally loaded into our taxi and left the hospitable village…

After which Vicky refused to leave the house for two weeks.

If it wasn’t for the fact that “vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord”, I would have gone back and kicked some butt. Thanks a lot to you, people of Garni, for making it so easy to help my kids like our home country!