The hills have eyes
Granted, the headline is a bit much; and no, the people in Armenia are not out to eat you. Far from it in fact, as this is a land where its shape and severity of weather has fused people together, all supporting one another and the odd mad cyclist who happens to stumble into their midst. From peaches handed over orchard fences, smoked fish shared with fishermen to a whole lunch given to me when I said I was cashless; Armenia has truly played the role of a host…..and me as the parasite.
Leaving Georgia was always going to be sad; a second home and a place that inspired so much in me, but I left Tbilisi full of intrigue and excitement. A new country ahead, a new culture and yet another currency, the coins of which will surely be lost forever at the bottom of my panniers (bike bags). It took a full day of cycling uphill to even arrive at the border with Armenia, with the official border crossing the first time all trip I genuinely was on edge at. Lots of military fatigues, everyone’s cars being completely stripped down and only Russian or Armenian being yelled around. Luckily, either the sight or smell of me kept the guards at bay and I was waved to the kiosk, passport rigorously flicked through and then stamped through. Happy days.
Before heading to Armenia I was cautioned that it was one of the true Mecca’s for cyclists; particularly those that seek out steep ascents and roads barely used. This warning was pretty on the mark with my average climbing each day hovering around the 1km a day. The sheer relentlessness of going uphill made me question when the last time I felt flat road, with this question answered a few days later when I finally hit Lake Sevan, a giant lake in the highlands of Armenia….but more on that later.
A town on hard time: skeletons that line the way to Vanadzor
The title of this blog came to me as I had stopped in a small village, after yet another hectic climb. As I had entered town there were honks of encouragement (I hope), kids waving at me and upon stopping a flurry of activity as people tried to ask where I was from and what on earth was I doing on a bike in this small Armenian town. Literally everyone in the village was looking at me, pointing me to the water fountain or just staring curiously. Hold someone from Armenia’s gaze for more than a few seconds and a gold capped grin emerges, a handshake comes your way and fruit is handed over in the handfuls. It may come as a huge disappointment to my millions of Romanian and Italian blog readers, but I think the Armenians have the lead in the hospitality table.
Two further days of cycling saw me arrive at the understated, yet thoroughly loveable, city of Vanadzor. Sadly the route here was paved with old industrial towns that had fallen on hard times, and were largely abandoned save the elderly and so arriving in the bustling Vanadzor was a massive contrast for me to adjust to. I decided to treat myself after a few hard days riding by getting a bed in a hostel, which I had to myself! The rest would be needed as the next port of call on my Armenian route was the (in)famous Lake Sevan, with only a small 1.4km ascent between where I was and where I needed to be.
The climb was nothing short of brutal; sunburns, sweat and swearing at every false summit. However, when the final summit did finally reveal itself I was greeted with a view that will long burn into memory. It genuinely took away whatever thought process I was going through and left me speechless. High peaks surrounding a huge waterbody, shimmering in the afternoon heat with its expanse drifting off over the horizon. Here was a lake that accounts for a sixth of Armenia’s total mass and it really felt like it!
Climb no.2366 in Armenia
Eager to avoid spending too much time in the relentless heat I follow the main road along its west bank, before I turn off to find a camp spot. Passing a fence with a gap in it, and then crossing a trench dug to keep vehicles out I found a pine forest right on the shoreline and immediately started gathering firewood and sorting water. So busy I was I never noticed the border guards in their boat until sirens wailing and a man barking into a microphone alerted me to their presence. What was shaping up to be one of the best camp sites of the trip yet was turning into a bollocking.
I yell ‘English’ and I could literally see their faces drop. Here was a man that evidently could not understand them and was intentionally playing coy to his advantage (I’m talking about me in the third person here. I realise some people from my school read these blogs and many failed their English GCSEs). They waved at me to leave the area, and I intentionally took it for move along ‘slightly’. What this triggered was a two-hour cat and mouse game as I lurked in the pine forest just away from the shore and they, knowing I had not gone far, were looking for me from the boat and barking into the microphone every so often. Technically being homeless means I have time on my side, and as the clock slowly edged towards 5pm, home beckoned for them and I was at long last free to enjoy the splendours of Lake Sevan uninterrupted.
As I watch the sun set, an ignition begins. The evening sky morphing into an inferno of reds and oranges, the birds all wailing looking for their evening lodgings and a cool breeze (thank God) picks up, whistling through the pine trees as it goes. I reflect on what has been an epic first foray into Armenia and sit comfortably knowing that at 2000m above sea level I should start having some descents come my way for a change. Before drifting off to sleep I remember the warning someone in Vanadzor gave me about this part of Armenia, that bears lurked and that one eye should be kept on your immediate surrounds. I had played this over in my mind that morning, but after the climbs of the day sleep was more of a pressing matter to me and I drifted off in the cool breeze, thankful that altitude at least brings some coolness with it.
Reward for the evening’s entertainment: sunset over Lake Sevan
My route to Yerevan, the capital of Armenia, lays ahead. A fishhook curve going due south at first before turning back on myself in a west-northwest direction. I’ll be venturing past the wine capital, Areni, more monasteries than you can shake a stick at before following the hard border that separates Armenia and Turkey; a place where I think wild camping might be a shoot first ask questions later kind of area. The people and the place keep me wanting to push further each day, and although my legs might be shattered, I feel truly reinvigorated cycling here.
I feel weirdly blessed to have been denied entry of Azerbaijan. This may sound counterintuitive, but Armenia has been everything I was expecting, more than I was ever hoping and a seemingly endless place for exploring. I have a week of cycling ahead and cannot wait to experience more of what this amazing place has to offer.
Smiling before the climbs: Dzoraget River cool off
