The temperature in Yerevan is blazing, hotter than I ever remember it being for July. Usually the air is arid and difficult to breath in August. Last year the summer weather was relatively mild, aided by frequent rainstorms and cool breezes. Now it's time to fry.
Luckily Areg doesn't really seem to mind the high temperatures, judging by his usual moody behavior. The weather doesn't appear to faze him in the slightest. But having said that, he can't stand being confined to his jogging stroller for very long and usually starts complaining 10 minutes into our walk. That means either me or my wife have to bounce him on our shoulders during our stroll while the other (usually me) pushes the carriage around. It's nearly impossible to get him back in, even when he has apparently fallen asleep.
Chi Chi should by nature be easily adaptable to this weather, being an ethnic Mexican. But lately her meals are disagreeing with her, and we haven't yet pinpointed the reason. I think it might just be the heat. Strangely enough, her mood doesn't seem affected in any way; she still pines for affection and constant attention.
And although Yerevaners love to complain during the summer about how hot it is, and not much else, they are still lining the streets of the city center in droves. Last night was very challenging trying to find walking space when pushing the stroller down the sidewalk on Sayat Nova Street alongside the Opera House and myriad cafes in the vicinity. Even around 11:00 pm the temperature felt like it was in the mid to high 80s, with a very slight breeze blowing. Since I'm sure most people can't afford air conditioning, it's better to be out than boil at home. We actually just leave the windows open to create an air current that gets the job done of cooling the apartment down.
These days I spend most of my free time in the evenings entertaining Areg. I haven't gone out to hear music in the jazz clubs in well over a year, and I haven't been able to check out the new bars and restaurants opening up at the far end of Pushkin Street, which is turning into a sort of Greenwich Village it seems. On the weekends I water Areg's trees
on my land and visit my father-in-law's dacha in Dzorakhpur, which is a village just outside the city limits off the road to Garni, to help out with repairs. Hopefully, opportunities for adventure will arise sooner or later.
But right now, the most important center of my attention is my beautiful boy and making sure my family is happy. I don't care about much else these days.
Labels: Armenian babies, Personal Experiences