DON'T CRY FOR ME, ARMENIA!

One peculiar ride I took somewhere in the north of Armenia dumped me on the outskirts of a town. I’m not sure if it was the dry fruit I’d offered that was somehow offensive, but he pulled over and let me out. OK.
I walked past a horse and kart with 3 dudes on the back dealing cabbages, they all stared at me as I strolled passed.
I looked up at the hillside and saw a few houses scattered around - It was extremely rustic and quite battered. I’d quite like to stay here I thought, it was wild and natural (just like me). I found a little dirt track and started ascending in search of a house that might be able to host me for the night. There was a woman chucking some dirty water in a hedge.
“HELLO!” I said
She turned around and gave me a surprised smile.
(I’d spent the best part of the last year on the Indian subcontinent where pretty much any residence is a potential homestay and was still in that mindset).
“HOMESTAY?!” I asked, tilting my ear onto my joined palms and pointing around the hillside.
“ahhh HOTEL” and she motioned in the direction of the town.
Her husband came out of the garage blacked up with engine oil, looking a bit like John Rambo. After another five minutes of Armenian backpacking charades, they were showing me through to their spare room..
AAAARIIIIGHTTT!!! =)
Ararat, Rambo’s actual name, husband of Lucine, proudly showed me how thick the walls were. Yes, they were really thick and I was genuinely impressed. He'd built the house himself. 
They gave me a mug of curd, and another, then another. I dumped my stuff in my new concrete boudoir and I went out to do some exploring. I met a group of young lads who showed me around the neighborhood. We dossed around for a couple of hours, climbed some stuff - including them over me - lobbed some stones through some windows and they gave me a bouncy ball as a gift when we eventually parted ways, which I though was super nice (i still bouce it to this day).
Back home and the news of my arrival had spread. The whole family was in and eager to say hello. Their daughter (whose name I never really caught) spoke a little English but was too shy to use it. Granny was one of the cutest little old women I’ve ever met and her husband Albert soon rolled in with his 9cows who  marched calmly in single file into the stable with a few whips on a stick by Granny. They had Chickens, Pigeons and various other flappy things too.
Diner time was a lot of homegrown food, cheese, honey and as much curd as any human could drink. Afterwards Albert gave me a pair of his slippers and we sat down in the living room and watched a documentary about Karabakh - the war that had taken place between Armenia and Azerbaijan in the early 90’s. Albert was transfixed and at points sobbed - it’s one of the darkest and most significant periods in Armenia’s recent history. I wondered how many times week this documentary was on.
Before going to bed granny brought me a bowl of hot water and sat down patently next to me with a towel ready, motioning for me to put my feet in. It was to warm me up as there was no heating in my room..wuahh granny was so sweet!!

The next morning we rose early and Granny took me to have a go at milking the cows as I’d requested (I think the cow could sense my inexperience and seemed to looked at me with a bemused look on his face). Afterwards Albert and I walked them up to the top of the hill to pasture for the day, it was a cold frosty winter morning. I sat on the hilltop and meditated for a while as the sun rose over the mountains before me. It was a nice moment to myself and gave me chance to think about and appreciate the adventures of the last few days. I decided it was time to go back to Georgia and start thinking about hitching west through Turkey. Christmas was only 6weeks away and I had a lot of ground still to cover (if I wanted to reach my goal of surprising my family back in the UK).

On the way back down I got a couple of pictures with Albert and bid him farewell. Back home I thanked Ararat and Lucine for inviting me into their home and gave them some dollar bill (dram) to thank them for their hospitality.
They loaded me up with food for my trip and then as we marched out to the stables (just like the cows) to say goodbye to Granny, we found her in there crying her eyes out. I thought something terrible had happened – like maybe a calf had just dropped dead, but then she came over and threw her arms around me “ALLLAAAAAAANNNNNN”
I realized she was crying because I was leaving!
Thinking back, I think that my visit had been as significant an event for the family as it had been for me, especially Granny.
She would have been born in the wake of a Turkish genocide, lived under hardships of Soviet rule, a war with Azerbaijan and then the devastating 1988 Spitak earthquake. Armenians are hardcore Christians yet Armenia is surrounded by Muslim nations (Turkey, Iran & Azerbaijan) and they feel that their only ally is Georgia to the north.
Suddenly one day a western backpacker rolls into town like a stray pup and ends up basically living with them like a member of the family. Perhaps it was the first time something like this had happened to her, perhaps it represented some kind of freedom or acceptance that I came to spend time with them because I wanted to. I dunno, maybe she was just sentimental - either way I walked away from that house and wandered down the street again and stuck my thumb up with a big smile in my soul.
LONG LIVE ARMENIA!