Divided land, united people
My last blog finished with a glow of self-confidence; that I was camping by a splendid lake at over 2000m and it should all be long, easy descents in the saddle from here. Well that dream was shattered within my first day of leaving Lake Sevan, grinding up a pretty battered road called the M10 in 35c heat. In a strange way I prefer these potholed beasts than their smoother siblings, as it keep cars at bay and usually indicates you are in a more authentic part of a country, but it was still hard going.
After a real morning’s graft I reach the summit of the pass and what I notice is the huge abundance, literally hundreds, of bee-eaters. This is a migratory bird that I had not really seen all trip and yet here were loads of them, arriving just as the grass and wildflower meadows were being mown for winter feed. It made me question their timing; had these birds arrived right on cue, adapting their migratory pattern to fit the harvest in the knowledge it would stir up millions of insects into the air; or was this just an odd coincidence.
I genuinely think this is a relationship that has evolved over hundreds, if not the thousands of years that these farmers have been here. A slow co-existence emerging generation after generation, with a good year for these long-distanced travelling birds very much dependant on the farmers being present to cut the grass. No matter how much we may think otherwise, humanity is still very much interconnected with nature and we play a key role in many ecosystems, sadly all too often to its detriment.
A cheerful reminder: road surface 10/10, drivers 4/10
The other side of this steppe plateau finally provided the much promised descent, and like most of the other passes this trip, it led me into a completely different climate and landscape. The wind and temperature both picked up significantly, making it feel like I was cycling into a giant hairdryer; and the steppe vegetation had turned to a thin desert-like scrub. Unsurprisingly, I make very good time getting to Areni, the wine capital of Armenia and somewhere I had scouted a pretty good riverside camp spot using google earth. I picked up a huge water bottle, some roadside homemade wine and slipped through town onto a dusty track that snakes its way to the border Armenia has with the Azerbaijan enclave of Nakhchivan.
I arrive to a slice of paradise. A cool river, shade (this is becoming more and more key for camp suitability) and ample material for a fire. I set up my tent, get everything ready for a chilled evening (wine was cooling off in the river at this point) when I hear the sound of cars. I knew the spot would be too good not to shared and out of the cars comes one extended Armenian family, here for a spot of dusk fishing and a bbq. Fortunately one of the kids could speak reasonable English and so we happily conversed, exchanged stories and spoke about Armenia. As they got their fire going I then left them their slice of the bank for family time and I headed to my tent for cold pasta and a chilled wine. Writing my diary, watching the sunset and just chilling out next to the river.
Suddenly one of the kids runs up the bank and says I am to join them, as the food they had prepared was ready and I am a guest in Armenia. I’ve made it a motto that whilst travelling solo if someone offers you help or to have something to always say yes. It makes such a big difference and is often an ice-breaker to delve further into the local culture. Grabbing what little wine I had left and some snickers bars I joined in, tucking into some of the best grilled meat I’ve ever had, potatoes and copious amounts of local brew wine. Through broken English, German and the translator son we spoke a lot about Armenia, the area and what the future holds. It was captivating to hear their passion for their country and determination to make things better; indeed, such was the occasion that when the time came to drop their sons home in the evening, the elders all promised to continue the festivities as soon as they could make it back.
A guest in a giving country: BBQ with the new family
The previous evening’s activity severely hampered preparations the following morning. Knowing it would be 30c+ by the mid-morning I originally intended to break camp at 7am to climb out of the Areni valley and onwards towards Khor Virab, all in the morning coolness(ish). It will not surprise you then to hear that I didn’t even open my tent until 9.30 and what lay ahead was a roasting….and pounding headache. Not a great combo.
The road was in decent condition so vehicles flew by but what I noticed was a large percentage of these were military or UN. This part of Armenia is lodged between Turkey and Azerbaijan, two countries sadly with strained relationships with Armenia. After four hours of diesel dust and pints literally leaking out of me I make the summit, jubilantly celebrating one of the hardest segments of the entire trip. However, my euphoria was shortly lived after receiving a text from my Mum bringing sad news from back home, muting me immediately and locked in a state of shock for the remainder of the day. The views less important, the sunburns irrelevant.
It would take a lot to lift spirits on this sad day, and it was only the sheer magic of Khor Virab that could even remotely move the needle. Khor Virab is a 4th century monastery that looks out to Mount Ararat, the spiritual home of Armenian culture, and a place that sadly is no longer a part of Armenia. Setting up camp in an apricot orchard looking out on this view helped spirits. Much like a fire capturing your mind, Mount Ararat exerts a similar pull and were it not for the mosquitos slowly eating me alive I would likely have sat there, transfixed, all evening.
Khor Virab: the picture doesn’t do it justice.
The next day saw me push onto to my final Armenian destination, Yerevan. The hottest day yet saw the genuine kindness of Armenians shine again; I could not cycle more than five minutes before someone would flag me down and hand me a bottle of water from their fridge. Indeed, this kindness was not limited to water, with a bakery giving me some lavash (Armenian flat bread) to have as a snack on the road and point blank refusing to take any money. Yerevan itself was a tough nut to crack. Extreme air pollution and a lot of old soviet industry estates forms the southern gateway in, with the city centre pretty cool but not entirely captivating. Luckily any concerns I had for entertainment was sorted quickly. My brother Adam knew someone near town who wanted to show me the sights and within an hour of messaging him we were sinking back a beer. What I did not realise, nor warned, is the normal beer here is 12.5%, enough to get you pretty legless after only a few pints.
Rado played the part of host to the extreme, going to his family’s house in the hills north of the city. Here I was spoilt rotten and drunk under the table for two-days before the need to actually sort my kit and life out forced me back to the hostel I had booked and barely stepped foot in. A lot of stories emerged from my two-days with Rado and his family, from foraging blueberries, learning a few Armenian recipes to hangover inducing grape vodka at all hours of the day. Being back in a family setting was great, with Rado’s village reminding me of the little town I grew up in. It was also great to properly experience the Armenian way of life, see places well off the beaten path and not have to worry about a thing for two days.
Extending the family: Even more Armenian relatives now.
My final day in Yerevan was spent in the company of a good samaritan called Anthony, originally from the UK but has worked across the globe. Seeing a long-distanced traveller reminded him of his own youth, backpacking on a hairline budget through Asia, and from the kindness of his heart he took me under his wing. He was working that day but before going our separate ways after breakfast he paid for my breakfast bagel, told me the must see things in town and said we would meet for pints that evening. It appears the extreme kindness I have expereince in this country is not limited to the Armenians, and I can only assume it must be something in the water!
I now await a nervous flight to Kazakhstan with the bike. Having not wanting to fly, nor ever flying with oversized baggage, I am on edge and praying all goes to plan. From there it will be an eight or nine day passage across the desert that separate Kazakhstan with Uzbekistan, so if you don’t see a blog or hear from me for a week or so, don’t panic. The nerves of flying are matched equally with the excitement of getting stuck into the desert crossing. Remoteness, stunning landscapes, hospitable people and hopefully no mosquitoes. I am sure it will test me unlike I have been tested yet, but now is the time to back my abilities and put to use all the lessons I have learned on the road to date.
I think it will be a trip and life defining section, and I’ll be eagerly looking forward to a shower and a cold beer on the other side. I’ll update as best I can, with the Amu Darya (a river still with sturgeon present) a reward waiting for me just beyond the end of the desert.
Khor Virab from camp.
