One of the first things that caught my attention about Yerevan were the little white buses that weaved through the perpetually busy streets, always at full capacity, somehow still able to take passengers and always looking as though complete vehicular collapse was moments away.

Discovering that these white buses, the martshukas, were to be my mode of transportation back and forth from work was amusing—I felt certain that my hopeless sense of direction and the ostensible chaos of the bus system would land me desperately lost somewhere on the outskirts of Yerevan. 

That’s why when one day, my bus came to the end of its line in a place that was clearly not a part of Yerevan and definitely not Republic Square, I found myself not panicked as much as amused and somewhat embarrassed.  I made my way to the front of the bus and asked the bus driver in my halting Armenian how to return to the Republic Square.  The bus driver, an old man with the requisite cigarette hanging from his mouth began to laugh and then asked me if I drank soorj.  It was about a week into my 8 weeks here in Yerevan and I was taken aback by the question—coffee certainly didn’t get me back to the center of city.  I stammered something incomprehensible, and the bus driver asked again, this time explaining that we would have soorj and then he would get me back to Republic Square.  He led me to a little storefront where a group of toothless, old men sat around a small coffee table.  I sat with them and he explained my scenario—I was a lost Americahye who needed to get back to Republic Square.  They all were amused by my situation and did their best to make me feel comfortable.  I was served soorj and practically force-fed an inordinate amount of dziran by the men, who all the while were asking me about my self—my age, where I came from, if I had a boyfriend, if I wanted to marry a Hyastansi boy.  My comprehension was low, and I had to ask the men to repeat themselves numerous times, but we were able to communicate. 

We passed about twenty minutes this way when suddenly it was determined (by what logic, I do not know) that it was time for the bus to make its way back to Yerevan.  I was escorted to the bus by one of the old men who had been particularly attentive—he explained that he would accompany me and the bus driver back into Yerevan.  He held my hand as I went up into the bus, refused to let me hold my purse and stopped the bus a number of times to pick vişne for me.  It was as I picked the fruit from his old, cracked and dirty palms that the enormity of this man’s heart—of all those men’s hearts—became clear.  I had spent the twenty minutes with the men at the storefront so concerned about being late to language class and so drained from the sweltering heat that it didn’t quite hit me that I was experiencing something that would stay with me for a long time.  It was a beautiful experience for me—I still have trouble finding the words to explain what it felt like to never once think that I was unsafe, to never once think that there was even an ounce of malice in these men and to really know that they were happy to have crossed paths with me and to have helped me to the best of their ability.  There was something so simple in that experience and something that continues to evade description.  It was simply beautiful and part of the beauty came from knowing that experiences like these are not uncommon in Armenia—all my diasporan friends have similar stories of simply being floored by the immense hospitality of the Hyastansis.  I hesitate to expand on that idea—that this kind of hospitality and kindness is somehow more prevalent in Armenia—for fear of falling into the usual clichés about this place, but I will say that it is easy to discover genuine beauty and kindness in this sometimes overwhelmingly sad country.

I still see the old man who sat with me on the bus ride home that day.  We still struggle to communicate, but we are all smiles.  He is always eager to know how I am, how I am faring in the city and whether or not my Armenian is getting better.  It always brightens my day when I run into him—again, the reasons why evade description, but his smile makes me genuinely happy. 

Arpi Paylan (USA)
AAA volunteer and BR/DH participant