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Notes From Hairenik
January 27, 2005
The Absence of Modesty
The following is a reprint of a column that appeared in the Armenian Weekly in early January, 2004. The topic is still timely, as very little if not anything has changed after one year in terms of continuing violations of city ordinances. Illegal structures continue to be built and the parks have simply become continuous cafés, with unidentifiable borders separating one from the next. Although technically legal, the construction of the Northern Boulevard in downtown Yerevan has uprooted the several hectare-wide plot of land once defining Old Yerevan, its residents relocated to destinations unknown. Apathy regarding these blind construction trends continues in the form of the 'vochinch' mentality, and thus the madness of lawlessness thrives.

There is a frightening trend among members of the elite in Armenia to demonstrate their wealth through the medium of construction. This trend has increased substantially in the last two years, reflected in the amount of modern, or rather, non-Armenian architectural buildings being erected.

It appears that members of the elite are competing with one another in the “mine is bigger than yours” mentality, resulting in a mismatch of grotesque, tasteless business, restaurant, and café structures being constructed without regard for architectural planning, greenery, or city ordinances.

The result is the total destruction of viable city plots and parks, namely the “circle” park, a long narrow green area that traces the curve of Khanjian and Moscovian Streets. For example, a gigantic structure surrounded by large ionic columns, suspiciously influenced just slightly by the Taj Mahal, was erected mid-2002 called Ancient Rome. This café -- which is truly an eyesore as are many others and does not in any way symbolize progress but rather regression -- is presumably owned by government-linked businessmen. This presumption is not alarming, as several governmental officials, political party leaders, and Armenian businessmen purportedly own such ostentatious establishments.

But the fact that such tasteless and over-the-top buildings are being constructed, without any regard for architectural design and aesthetics, is not the only problem. Governmental officials cannot afford to finance such projects if they are, in fact, doing so. Their salaries range from only $200-800 per month, which suggests, as revealed by income declarations of governmental and parliamentary officials, that they are earning secondary withheld and improperly substantiated incomes. Yet many citizens realize what is happening.

As a result, these citywide parks are virtually disappearing, as trees as well as common park spaces are being dug up to make way for cafes, many of which include illegally constructed permanent structures. In many instances, cafés are expanding or new cafés are built illegally encompassing more than the 20 square meters they are allotted by law.

Former mayor of Yerevan Robert Nazaryan was quoted as saying that “I can be blamed for not fighting against those illegalities. Yes, I failed to do that.”

By contrast, I had the opportunity over the weekend -- with a good friend and his wife -- to visit the town of Nor Kharbert, located just outside Yerevan city limits. The town consists mainly of small private homes, a large kindergarten and primary school, and an orphanage. Incidentally, much of the town’s renovation has been financed by Diasporan Armenians, mostly from France, who are ancestrally linked to the city of Kharbert in Eastern Turkey.

We visited a family that had suffered a serious setback during 2003 to wish them a happy new year. The head of the family, named Vardan for the purposes of this column, has been obliged for two years now to work in construction in Russia, where purportedly 2 million Armenians now live to earn a better living, making it the largest Diasporan community. His son cannot presently work mainly because of medical problems. While Vardan was away, he agreed to permit his relatives to put up his home as collateral on a personal loan. When the relatives defaulted, Vardan lost his home and all his possessions.

As a result, he and his family are living with a neighbor, who has graciously taken them in. Although their situation is grave to say the least and their supplies are limited, they invited us to have a meal with them and celebrate the new year.

So we see another example of the rise in disparity between the rich and the poor. On one hand, we see construction being made simply for sake of demonstrating the wealth of the elite. On the other hand, we see a family struggling to make ends meet and able to maintain optimism for the year ahead, even after losing their home with no fault of their own.

And yet, these problems and hardships are ignored or simply not comprehended when most Diasporan Armenians visit or even live in Armenia. Rather, pointless and, indeed, wasteful construction is regarded as progress and demonstrates a rise in the nation’s economy, while the gap between the rich and poor increases at an alarming rate.

After leaving my rose-colored eyeglasses behind before returning to Armenia, I cannot help but not be very optimistic for the new year. Unless a concerted effort is made in attempting to balance social equality, things may not improve anytime soon.

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Posted by Christian Garbis at 1:53 AM.
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January 18, 2005
Ferdinand Grigoryan

Ferdiand Grigoryan
Originally uploaded by Notes From Hairenik.

Ferdinand at Walden Pond, Concord, Massachusetts, September 2004

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Posted by Christian Garbis at 2:00 PM.
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Ferdinand Grigoryan: A Life Remembered
Early on the morning of January 14 Ferdinand Grigoryan passed away at his home in Vanadzor. He was 59 years old.

I had the pleasure of knowing Ferdinand when assigned to assist him during his visit to Boston from the end of August to the beginning of October, 2004 to have a battery of tests performed related to a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer he had received.

In the end the cancer spread rather quickly to his liver and small intestines, presumably related to an operation he had while in Boston. The operation was to remove cleanly the tumor that was growing on the head of the pancreas, but after opening the surgeons discovered that it was inoperable, as metastasis had already set in.

Ferdinand was born in Arevshat, not far from Gyumri, then moved to Vanadzor when he was 8 years old with his father and siblings, his mother having left them. He served in the Soviet army, then studied chemical engineering at institutes in Moscow and Siberia. He was married twice—his first wife and their son left him to move to Russia, unwilling to continue living during some impoverished times they were facing. He remarried to his current wife, Larissa, who was his student in a class he taught related to chemical compounding and 10 years his junior. They have two daughters, Ashna and Ariga. Ashna is studying for her master’s degree and has been married for two years, while Ariga has mostly devoted her time to her studies and work on her father’s projects.

He worked for one of Vanadzor’s two massive state-run chemical plants as a departmental chief of operations for nearly 20 years, up until the collapse of the Soviet Union and their abrupt closing. He had first became interested environmental protection when he as well as his colleagues formed a committee to study ways in which to prevent contamination of their environment, as toxic waste was poured freely into their immediate surroundings. He then decided to make a career out of defending environmental-related issues.

He was hired as the Lori Region Environmental Minister in 1996 but resigned only after a year on the job, having been discouraged by the high level of governmental corruption. Then from 1997-2004 he served as the program manager for the Lori region’s operations implemented by Chene, a French philanthropic organization working on various humanitarian projects throughout Armenia. He left the organization so that he could finally devote himself to his tree nursery and implement his plans for reforesting Armenia.

In 1997 he founded Tsiatsan Eco Center, an organization with an agenda to reforest the Lori region, in which Vanadzor is located. Then in 2000 he co-founded Satsil (Armenian for ‘seedling’), an collective dedicated to finding ways in which to provide the most up-to-date crop growing technologies—particularly for potatoes—to struggling farmers unable to make profits at market.

In 2003 at a special conference held in Yerevan regarding forest protection, Ariga met with a representative from Armenia Tree Project (ATP), the same organization for which I worked at their headquarters in Boston and which sponsored his trip there. He met with them separately, and they entered into a partnership in which Tsiatsan (which means ‘rainbow’) would grow on a six-hectare plot of land one million trees per year, then transfer them to Vanadzor’s deforested hillsides or other severely depleted areas throughout Armenia. The plot is divided into three subplots, on which trees are planted incrementally by plot to ensure year-round reforestation. The project is already underway, and most of the first batch of saplings has already reached maturity for replanting.

Most of his life was spent in Vanadzor, as he once told me he could not live or even spend much time away from his home. His stay in Boston was grueling for him, although I kept him as occupied as best as I could, frequently taking him to various plant nurseries, forests, mountains, and the ocean. We also spent many hours scavenging for ripened tree seeds he would manage to smuggle with him into Armenia. We were together nearly 12 hours every day for just over 30 days.

During the 1988 earthquake Ferdinand explained to me that he was on his feet with no sleep for over three days in the completely leveled city of Spitak, searching for survivors and excavating bodies from the wreckage. He only received rest after a special relief nurse from France injected him with a sedative when he was stopping to eat in order to prevent him from overexerting himself.

Around that same time he became a member of the committee for the struggle and defense of Mountainous Karabagh, the same that was headed by political figures Levon Ter-Petrossian, Robert Kocharian, and Vasken Manoukian, among several others. He would leave the organization when it transformed into the Pan-Armenian Movement political party—which led the country for the first five years of its independence—refusing to participate in national politics.

Ferdinand was a highly skilled outdoorsman, having excelled in alpinism. He was a renowned mountain climber in Armenia and trekked nearly its entire mountainous territory as well as that in parts of Russia, Georgia, and Eastern Europe. For several years he offered intensive lessons to organized groups in mountain climbing. He told me that as part of a rigorous outdoor survival train course he had once taken he was helicoptered to a remote area in Siberia and was dropped off there to fend for himself only with the clothes on his back, no provisions or navigational instruments. Two weeks later at a prescheduled rendezvous time he was picked up at the exact same spot, completely healthy. Frequently Ferdinand would take trips with his fellow alpinists at the spur of the moment, leaving his wife behind in tears as she feared each time it would be the last she saw of him.

Much of our time together in Boston was spent working at the ATP office or driving from one place to another visiting various sites and less often going to have medical tests performed. We would speak about various topics, including Armenian politics, the indifference of the Armenian people regarding their own nation and fate, and environmental protection in Armenia. Near Mount Washington, when stopping for directions, he told me that he wished for me to drive him to the desert of the western United States, and we had planned to go in early Autumn of 2005. He was in turn to take me to see various nature and historical sites, particularly in the Lori region, that he had admired and wanted to share with me.

Ferdinand was an energetic, robust man who was a devout animal lover. He would often drive about during the winters throughout Vanadzor with Ariga handing out bread to stray dogs for them to eat as he felt sorry for them. He has a dog of his own, a rare white Boxer, as well as chipmunks and various birds. He allowed his wife to care for a sickly rescued laboratory rat as well as an abandoned fox cub, which she still keeps in a special pen designed by their neighbor.

Ferdinand could also be rather silent and introspective for minutes at a time, sometimes hours. Then suddenly he would burst into conversation, rapidly talking about something that had come to mind so as to not loose his train of thought, to express whatever he intended to relay and also to engage debate.

I remember during one of our long drives he told me about the story of two frogs who had accidentally jumped into a pot of fresh milk. The two frogs were trapped and could not immediately escape. One frog had given up, believing that there was no chance to survive, and drowned. The other, determined to give every last bit of effort to free himself from his place of doom, kicked about relentlessly across the surface of the milk, only to eventually settle on a newly formed slab of butter, from which he jumped out to safety.

Ferdinand performed according to the hero of his fable, fighting with every last ounce of energy that he managed to retain. During the last two days of his life he was delirious with pain, his eyes turned to glass, and unable to stand on his own or even speak. Since his return to Armenia from Boston he must have lost over 30 pounds, his leathery skin forming tightly over his skeleton.

I believe Ferdinand was my messenger of good will, as without him I would never have met his family, with whom I have grown very close, especially with Ariga, in a short amount of time. He was one of the most inspirational and strong-willed men I have ever met, and I will cherish my memory of him until my last breath.
Posted by Christian Garbis at 1:40 PM.
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January 7, 2005
The Godfather, Part 2 (continued)
The wedding plans continued--I accompanied Karen to order the wedding cake one week in advance. I promised Sergey that I would accompany him in purchasing new clothing, including shoes, a suit, shirt, and tie. To make things easier for both of us, I decided that we wear the exact same outfits--matching neckties, shirts, suits, and coats, which we purchased during the course of 14 days. Karen had picked his own suit with his bride to be but had asked me to help look for a necktie. We spend nearly four hours one day rummaging through piles of ties both loosely arranged and wrapped in boxes in dozens of clothing "shops" throughout Yerevan.

As a side note, shopping for clothes is an experience in itself because there is no one store you can go to as can be found in the West, where you can find everything you need from underwear to winter jackets. In Yerevan especially, one must go to a specific market to shop for a particular item. Clothing markets are plentiful here, but they are chaotic and if you don't know what you are doing they can be dangerous as they are breeding grounds for pickpockets or tricksters. In such markets vendors operate small booths where they display the items they have for sale, each vendor specializing in a different clothing type. One vendor may sell women's dresses and also men's dress shirts, while another vendor will sell all undergarments except pajamas, and so forth. The markets, which are essentially labyrinths, are tightly packed and the thoroughfares narrow, with no easily identifiable exits or entrances, and they can lead to a quite maddening experience.

We managed to pick out a tie, but then Karen was still unsure and went to another store the next day to purchase an alternate.

Several foodstuffs had to be ordered or acquired from the open markets. Dresses and gowns were purchased or rented. Transportation for over 100 guests had to be arranged to be transported from Yerevan to the village of Noyakert in Ararat region where the bride lived, then on to St. Hripsime church in Ejmiadzin, and finally to the restaurant in Yerevan where the reception would be held--only the immediate family would make the return trip to Karen's home to have a celebratory shot or two of cognac or vodka before going to the restaurant.

In the end the ties and cakes were all arranged, but there was one problem that had to be resolved straightaway: acquiring the "kavori kin," the godfather's wife (more about her in future postings).

I had a few candidates in mind who were acquaintances but I ended up choosing a woman from Vanadzor who I had met during a visit there a week before the wedding date. I asked her and she immediately agreed, which was a relief to me, as I would not have to answer countess inquiries as to where the godfather's wife was or why I did not have one, what kind of godfather could I be without a wife, and so forth.

She arrived in Yerevan the day before the wedding but the next day both of us were off to a late start. She needed to have her hair styled and blown dry and pleaded with me to take her somewhere to have it done. I took her to an old-fashioned barbershop that also had a old lady beauty parlor section just a few blocks up from my apartment on Nalbandian Street, but obviously that would not do. So I took her to my hair salon on Tumanian Street called Sephuria, only to find the bride's sister there having her hair done, the bride waiting in a sitting room below. Sergey's brother Karlin was also there, who was responsible for getting the bride and her sister back tout suite to their home in Noyakert. The godfather's wife's hair was styled and we were off to Raikon, where the caravan was waiting, arriving nearly 40 minutes late. We went to the 9th floor, thankfully by elevator as there were dozens of people mulling about. I greeted the smiling groom, someone made a toast, we ate some snacks, and left.

In my hired taxi were myself, my "wife," the wedding photographer, and the driver. We left the courtyard and waited for the wedding convoy on the main street just outside of the apartment complex, but it never came by. I called the groom and discovered that the procession had gone an alternative route for some reason without informing me. So in a rush we finally reunited with the groom's car and his escorts at the far end of the city, and then proceeded to the city's outer limits, where the rest of the procession was waiting for us.

In all there were at least 10 cars and two full-size vans packed full of people. With much fanfare including the relentless honking of car horns we arrived at the bride's home, with people lining the dirt roads to look on as if they were attending a city parade. Several neighbors had lined the entrance of the bride’s home as her father is the village mayor.

We went into the home and performed all the necessary rituals. While the bride, whose name is Lida, was being dressed assisted by my “wife,” the men stood around a table and made some toasts with cognac or vodka, and ate candies, dried meats, cheese, bread, and so forth. The godfather's wife paid the bribe to get the bride's shoe back (see The Godfather, Part I for an explanation) and then when she emerged she approached the table for the godfather to toast to them. Then we were off again but the bride's 8-year-old baby brother was perched at the doorway, knife in hand, to make the passage a difficult one. Sergey had told me the night before to give the kid $20 and get him out of the way so I did, but he began to shake his head as it was not enough. I gave him another 5000 dram to appease him but he still was disappointed, until I told him to cut it out. He smiled and removed the knife from the door jamb.

We descended from their home, got into our cars, and proceeded to Ejmiadzin via Masis instead of Yerevan, which shaved at least 30 minutes from our travel time. We were scheduled to be at the church at promptly 2:30. Naturally we were late and were chastised rightfully so by the young priest performing the wedding services--a wedding was also scheduled for 3:00 and the one before ours had already ended. I waited beside Karen while the godfather’s wife supported the bride. I stood before them with cross in hand held just above their heads as they leaned forward towards one another, thereby sanctifying their union before the eyes of God. As we emerged from the church a dove keeper was waiting just outside the foyer for me to pay for the four of us to release ceremonial doves, the cost of which was 5000 dram.

We were off again to Raikom but this time made our way to the 9th floor on foot as the elevator was reserved for the elder guests. The entire way up we were accompanied by a terrible band consisting of a clarinet player, a drummer (playing the dhol) and an accordionist—it was the same band that had been accompanying us the entire day. We arrived there only to stand around again, hold out a glass of vodka or cognac, someone made a toast to the bride and groom, and we were off again after 10 minutes or so. The restaurant guests were waiting....

When we arrived at the Miami restaurant complex located in the "third district" of Yerevan I entered the place to tell them that we had just arrived. The band's leader, who had also arrived but just moments before, grumbled something about my not telling him sooner and ran out to accompany the bride and groom into the restaurant. The guests finally settled into their seats, and the evening's reception moved forward--a celebration with plentiful food (the bribe for which I paid preceded by much fanfare), alcohol, absurdly arranged Armenian music featuring synthesizers and a violinist, and of course toasting.

All in all it was a wonderful day, mostly chaotic but fun. Now that I am an experienced Godfather for traditional Armenian weddings and generally know the ins and outs, my services are available for hire.

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Posted by Christian Garbis at 2:54 PM.
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