Yerevan
I came along for a ride. The swedish women rights organisation, Kvinna till kvinna, that I will work (taking photos) for later this spring was driving to Jerevan and there was room left for me in the car. The scenery along the 250km Tbilisi-Yerevan route is diverse, The mountains, the plains, lake Sevan, the industrial yards that has spent the last 30 years collapsing. Everything combined with good food, good company and a police stop that looked like it would cost us a bit.
After a day of photographing Yerevan and the spring that paied it a visit I got an early start, a wild taxidrive to the wrong part of town and then right and finally a minibus to the disputed region Nagorno-Karabach. I had a number to call once I got there but was warned that the phone might not work in the region, from political reasons. Hours and kilometers on roads that climbed up to the high mountains, snow, men in leather coats and leather hats and lots of cigarettes. I was quite happy in the bus, I fell alseep a few times and woke up every time to more astonishing sights. We crossed the border with no problem, though the border guard asked for my phone which I kindly refused to give him.
Once we arrived in Steparnakert, the capital, I got my visa sorted with the kind athorities at the foreign ministry and found a women that could lend me her phone, mine was obviously not working. The women that lend me the phone alredy knew the women I was meeting, small place this is.
Another small ride in a minibus, packed beyond sanity, people, legs, arms, bags in a big bundle and the a couple of more people got on the bus before we left town. One of the a french man who gave me his Karabach story and who obviously devoted his life to the region and to the town Shushi we were heading for. He told me Shushi used to be the third cultural capital of the trans-Caucasus, in the last century, but now only hosted some 3000 people which were not quite content with their situation, few jobs, little education, few rights.
He also knew the woman I had the number for and called her to announce my arrival and then promptly showed me the way to her work, a cultural center for young and old. From there on impressions have been many. I spent one night a guesthouse, got invited to stay elsewhere, switched, ended up with the french guy, got into trubble for that, or he did at least. Snow, massive snowfall, worries about the return trip, assurances about the splendid road conditions, my own impressions from looking out the window. You see I need to sort out my impressions before typing them down.
For now, I look forward to eat some of the preserved veggies, look at my pictures and climb into the bed and cver myself with three blankets. @+
