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The adventure began, or in a way, continued where I had left it off 6 months ago in October, with my insistence in organizing a car for a quick jaunt to Dilijan. During the first four days in Yerevan, my cameras had only captured the emotion-laden pilgrimages to Tsitsernakaberd, as the commemoration of the 90th anniversary of the Armenian Genocide had taken center stage. Now, I was ready to embark on the adventures that draw me back to Armenia, to photograph the landscape that I fall in love with over and over again.
Rain clouds once again obscured all as we departed from Yerevan in the early afternoon, and we left against better judgment and the admonishment that it was raining “everywhere” in Armenia.
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Mookooch’s friend Gago drove me in his natural gas-powered car, which unfortunately suffered from a lack of appreciable top speed. Being Green in Armenia often means being slow. As I chatted with Gago, I explained that as long as I could find interesting subjects in decent light, rain was irrelevant. This is why I was leaving Yerevan, desperate for a glimpse of the countryside I love.
Much to our surprise, the horizon looked clear of clouds and a hint of sunlight lit my soul as we sped toward Sevan. Just the thing I needed to lift my thoughts from the somber occurrences of the previous three days.
Whereas partaking in the April 24th ceremonies had been a maelstrom of emotions, grief had taken on a more personal note Monday evening, when we visited the home of my cousin who had passed away a month before. He was about my age, but had fought multiple illnesses throughout his relatively short life. The house felt empty. This was the same house I had visited in 1980, during my first visit to Armenia. That was my first taste of life in Soviet Armenia. A family of four, plus two unmarried aunts and a grandmother, all living in the same two-bedroom apartment. I have fond memories of being force-fed seven cutlets, to prove my manhood no less, and having to match the denizens drink for drink as a 15-year-old, before passing out on the divan. Even fonder were memories of a shared love of photography… Stepan had spent almost all he earned photographing everything he saw as he walked the streets of Yerevan and visited his favorite haunts.
Now, the grandmother long gone, the parents having passed but a year before, the daughter moved away, all that remained were the two aunts, appearing even more ancient in their grief. My cousin had died in their arms, at peace at last with the world. I had slept that night questioning fate, uncomfortable with the twists and turns it had given this segment of my extended family. Now, the drumming of rain on the car’s windshield as it slowly negotiated the Sevan highway gave me ample opportunity for reflection. My thoughts were a mirror of the gray clouds overhead. As if to reinforce my mood, the lake itself was gray as stone and melancholy, the glimmer of sunlight long since vanquished by the time we arrived.
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