One of the quirky things about living in Armenia is the spontaneity of adventure. My daily routine if you could call it that is often disrupted by needing to run unexpected errands, like shopping for wet napkins for babies or having to suffer the grueling process of paying my annual automobile taxes (which I need to do asap). Rarely I find myself having to roll my Niva down to the auto repair garage that I frequent, located behind the circus (where a braying donkey can always be heard).
This morning yet another unexpected challenge awaited me – just over 30 liters of premium gasoline that I purchased from Gagik in Aresh yesterday afternoon were siphoned from my gas tank. The thieves were able to pry off the locking device in place that essentially seals the tank spout, without causing much damage as it turned out (read on).

There are two kinds of devices available to lock the spout of a Lada that doesn't have one already built-in from the factory. There's one that screws onto the spout replacing the standard fuel cap that locks on with a key. These vary in quality and are relatively easy to tamper with, as my experience has proven. The one shown below demonstrates the locking fuel cap's design, but the image is not meant to represent the models of those I have used in the past.



The other is a Russian-made cylindrical device made of hard plastic that you insert into the spout about three-fourths of an inch down, which with the turn of a key fastens to a nub found on the spout pipe – that's what I've been using for about two years now. The trouble with this lock is that it's often tricky to install; it can take some fiddling to get the thing to fasten in place. I've found that it's best to hold it down with my left index finger while turning the key with my right hand, which can be difficult since it's on the key chain and the other keys get in the way when I try to lock it. Also it doesn't seal hermetically, meaning that if the gas cap is not affixed tightly enough gasoline can spill out when making hairpin turns with a mostly full tank.

Somehow the petrol bandits were able to unhinge the latch by breaking off a piece of the bottom of the lock (represented in green in the diagram shown below). The top of the lock where the key is inserted appears unblemished, and there was no immediate way of knowing that it had been fiddled with until I inspected it more closely. Whoever did it was obviously very clever and must have had previous experience in deviously removing these things.


So this morning the search was on for a replacement, even though it still seemed to be working properly but I wasn't all too sure. The cracked corner just below the latch troubled me and I figured it was best to buy a new one. The bandits were sweet enough to leave about a half-liter of gasoline in the tank so I could make it to the gas station down the road. Then I wandered into the Lada auto parts store just around the corner from the station on Nardos Street where I had originally purchased the lock, only to find that they were all out. Apparently the locks are no longer being produced, which is quite strange given the umpteen thousands of Ladas that must be on the road in the former Soviet Union, not to mention all the Nivas owned by fanatics around the world. I visited about five parts stores anyway, most of them being on Kochar Street in the Arabkir district, not far from where I work. All were out of stock. But the owner of the last store I went to told me after inspecting the lock that it was indeed functional, and it was still far better than any of the locking caps on the market, so I'm sticking with it for now.

Nevertheless it seems I'll be taking more frequent trips to Aresh to fill only a half-tank of gasoline at a time. With prices currently set at 480 dram ($1.15) per liter, I can't afford to fill up the tank only to get duped by the gasoline robbers again.

Labels: Personal Experiences

Five years ago I bought a plot of land just a stone's throw away from a reservoir known as Aparan Lake, about a 40 minute drive from Yerevan. The stunning scenery had me hypnotized the moment I stepped foot there. On the far left was majestic Mt. Aragats with all four summits in plain view, and on the right the legendary, emerald Mt. Ara. Yonder were more modest although no less spectacular mountains sprinkled with evergreen forests, and then there was that amazing lake. It took only a few minutes to realize that I had to be there, that it would be my first tiny patch of Armenian soil I could call my own.

But like my immediate neighbors who are all Armenians from the diaspora, I hadn't decided what to do with the land -- whether to build a home immediately or wait until the time was right (without a clue when the right time would ever be), plant a fruit tree orchard or simply sit on it as an investment and sell it down the road. I knew that the latter was an unlikely option; the location and surroundings were too perfect to ever give up. And I lacked support and the motivation to take a step forward, that is until a few weeks ago.

Levon, my father-in-law, told me that it was time for me to put my responsibilities as an Armenian man in order, which were to get married and have a child, both of which I obviously succeeded in doing, then plant a tree in living memory of the child and finally, build a house to shelter the family (still working on the logistics behind that). He said the only thing I needed to do to get started was decide on the kind of trees I wanted to plant. I told him what I had in mind and he took care of the rest. Two weeks ago about 30 saplings were delivered to us from Ijevan. Among them were willow, linden, green and dark maple, and poplar. Most of them were planted in a single afternoon, as soon as we surveyed the "exact" property borders, which took about ninety minutes for the village mayor, Levon, and Sergey Minasian, the only horticulturist among us, to figure out. I was too busy trying to imagine where the trees would go in relation to the home I will likely build.

Last weekend we decided to plant a fruit tree orchard in the frontmost area. We settled on various sorts of apple, pear, apricot and plum, all of which were purchased from a tree nursery in the village of Karbi, situated quite close to Ashtarak. As a bonus they threw in a cherry tree, which Levon planted himself for his first grandson.

All in all, we managed to put close to fifty trees in the ground in two weekends. I wanted to plant the forest trees around the perimeter of the land but also in random locations in the area I imagine to be the back yard, so that it would be vaguely reminiscent of back home, where thick woods of maple and oak reign supreme behind our house.



Several apple trees had been planted on the site by the village mayor's father about twenty years ago. But for some reason he never pruned them, so they grew like bushes with spider-like branches jetting from the trunk. We decided to coppice them in the hopes that they would eventually turn into proper trees and yield good quality fruit. I have personally never seen apples on those trees, but I have been told they do produce fruit.



The richness of the soil was also a bit disheartening. We found at most about 40 centimeters of top soil while digging holes before we hit a layer of curious, black sand and soil mixture. In some spots it was pure sand only 25 centimeters deep. This can mean two things--either the trees will thrive because of decent drainage without the fear that the roots will rot from too much moisture, or they will not be able to adapt to the foreign soil conditions and wither. The topsoil had turned into a thick muddy paste from all the springtime precipitation, and it was nearly impossible to separate it from the roots of the wild grasses and weeds, some of which were twice as think as those of the saplings. Levon went in search for cow dung, not hard to find as cattle along with sheep and have been grazing in the area for years. Sergey believes the trees will indeed grow but having been discouraged by the quality of dirt seems to think they will perhaps not be very tall.

In a few years Areg will be running through the trees and picking wildflowers, loving life, and I hope when he's old enough to realize, he'll be grateful for the miniature park we created in his honor.

Labels: Nature, Personal Experiences, Photography

Chi Chi has never been properly socialized. Although she naturally gravitates towards people, even those she has never met, she is repulsed by other canines, no matter the size or shape. Her repulsion can be mistaken for fear. The more I think about it, it's not about being afraid with her, it's more about wanting to be with her own kind. When she is in the presence of another dog, be it tame or a stray, she wants to flee, but not necessarily run for her life. She simply wants to avoid contact.

This behavior may be the result of trauma. About a year ago she was attacked by a street dog while my wife was taking her for a stroll. Somehow she broke away from her leash and ran all the way to the entrance of the apartment building where my my mother-in-law lives (about a 100 meter sprint down Tumanyan Street). When my wife found her she was trying to conceal herself, shaking like an oak branch during a hurricane, afraid to approach even her. After some coaxing she finally went over to my wife, who has protected Chi Chi as an infant ever since.

Now I want Chi Chi to run with the big dogs and behave like a member of her own species. That's proven to be extremely difficult at this stage due to her fragile nervous condition and neurotic nature, which shows clear signs of passive aggressiveness and obsessive compulsive behavior. Sometimes it's nearly impossible to walk her because she can get spooked by an old Volga with a faulty exhaust system driving by or a woman sweeping sunflower seed shells from the sidewalk. Once she is fearful of anything -- it could be a shriveled blossom falling from a cherry tree in the courtyard -- she starts pulling to run for home.

About four months ago my wife at my insistence found a dog trainer, named Leonid, who I refer to as the Armenian Dog Whisperer. Leonid, a tall, lanky man who is very personable and polite, has a magical way with dogs. When we first met, Chi Chi, who is lovable but notoriously obstinate, was obeying his commands within a few minutes. He was coming by two or three times a week for a month, then we took some time off and asked him over on an as-needed basis. At first he was essentially dispelling Chi Chi's bad habits, like entering the bedroom on a whim and jumping up our legs while barking whenever my wife and I hugged each other. Chi Chi also had issues with being dressed and having a collar tied around her neck, where she would bite playfully, but would instantly be overly aggressive, as if it wasn't a game any longer. The power of kibble as a reward completely turned that problem around. Now we're left with the timidity, the fear associated with hearing strange foreign sounds, the paranoia she's about to be snuck up upon.

Last week we met Gucci the Chow Chow and Max the German Shepherd, who Chi Chi seemed drawn to, but was timorous nevertheless. After a while the two of them started walking side by side, which encouraged Leonid as it's definitely a step in the right direction. Seems Chi Chi's pack bound instincts are intact.


In this photo above are Max, Bella the Boxer, who apparently is in heat as Max couldn't stop mounting her, and Gucci the Chow Chow, with owners Armen and Aram, two great guys. Chi Chi is hiding, barely visible (see if you can spot her). Leonid is wearing the red and blue jacket.



Starting today we are moving forward with an intensive, proactive socialization regimen that will last for one week. Leonid is skeptical that we'll see huge improvement in a week's time, but we won't know unless an effort is made. It's all up to Chi Chi now.

Labels: Armenian Dogs, Personal Experiences