To Kapan I Go

I ventured into Kapan to get some shopping taken care of and to see other American faces. As I have said before, Matt a TEFL and Jay a CBD live in Kapan so much of my interaction down here will probably be with the two of them and Robyn made it in also to hang out with us.
I started the adventure walking out of my village to the main road and saw an older man sitting next to the river bank, pushing his dentures out of his mouth and generally unaware that anyone was approaching him.

I announced myself and started chatting with him, he was quite adorable and was heading into Kapan also on the marshutni. I was comforted by this because there isn’t an actual stop for the marshutni, rather you just sorta wave it down, hope it sees you and as it approaches and slows down you make a running hop onto it. Well, it saw us and the two of us boarded and headed into town. This was actually the first time I had taken any public transportation, besides a taxi, that has not been provided by the PC so I gave myself a silent applaud. At the last stop in Kapan I debarked and found myself right in the center of town. Next to the main bus stop is a large statue of a horseman Davit Bek, leader of the south in the 18th century.

Kapan is an old, if not extinct industrial town whose workers lived in high-rise flats that now look as if they will crumble above the next earth tremor.




Kapan is bisected by the Voghi River, the same river that my village tributary runs into higher up the mountain.

It also has another main tributary running from the southern mountains into town and meeting the Voghi at the town center.

In town these two rivers look more like canals as they have been corralled and guided through the town in a concrete path, one that also has to try to dodge all the trash that is thrown there. A development of the Soviet Era. This also has required pedestrian bridges all throughout the city.


But they have a nice variation to the setting made either of stonework or brightly painted iron work. Across the river from the bus stop and the horseman statue is the touristy main part of town (where the two rivers meet). There is a large café


set in a nicely landscaped square that is rimmed by the hotel, restaurant and various other khanoots and surprisingly a billiards lounge. Following the tributary up the hill you will find the church that has been renovated so no longer looks like a cool old church but a brand new church of garish pink stone.




On the other side of the river is the Post office (hopefully I’ll receive plenty of care packages here !!)

the culture house


that houses the library,




(trying to break into the art university)





the Art University and heading south you will encounter the Kapan University and sport field and pool with platform diving boards.




Curving back down that road toward the city center I found a very nice park with what would be beautiful fountains if they were ever filled with water, and across the street in what looks like an abandoned building the Armenian Art Museum.

Too bad it was closed, and I cannot say with any assurance that it will ever be open again.

Random herd of horses just wandering the streets

And Robyn's Armenian dream home

The lovely mountain view in Kapan
Robyn and I grabbed some food at a little shack which ended up being delicious. I think they were called Shaghama; basically marinated chicken, onions and greens wrapped up in lavash.

We sat next to some old men playing their card games and nardi and talked with them a bit. We both tried to buy internet sticks but have found out that I get no signal in my village and her computer is rejecting the program. We figured this out though after almost 2 hours in the store.

We browsed the “supermarket” and can’t say we found anything too interesting except for a premade gin and tonic beverage AND wine from somewhere besides this country.


I will survive.


The fruit and vegetable stands right outside though are still marvelous and smell so good as you walk by.

One of the bus stops i thought looked really cool

khanoot owner




What the public transportation avtobus looks like. 1940 recall?

We walked around the other side of the town and then ventured into an Armenian salon for some Armenian spa treatment and paid a fraction of the price for waxing as compared with America.


Perhaps I will be better kept over here than I am in Cali. We walked to meet the other Americans for a beer at the new place but encountered an amusement park (of sorts). It looks completely abandoned but I am told that every night it is bustling with Kapanites riding and squealing with joy. I don’t think it would be proper to compare the safety of the annual town fair with carnies galore to this site. Mostly because I don’t know which one would win on safety issues.


Americans! We met at what we have deemed the “posh place” because it looks straight out of New Orleans with the intricate ironwork and come fall it will have an amazing view of the trees changing colors.


We had a couple beers, Erebuni (Yerevan’s in Russian) because we have learned that the beer made in the northern marzs are not pasteurized so they do not travel very well down to the south.

And on top of that everything is unplugged each night and then turned back on in the morning so the beers are going from chilled to room temp to chilled to room temp and for my faithful beer drinkers we realize how atrocious this can make a beer.



The trash. tis everywhere.
Afterward I walked up the hill to accompany Jay to dinner with his family. His house is very nice and perched up on the hill above the rest of Kapan. His host family’s actual daughters were in town with their children and I fell in love with one of the little girls. She definitely enjoyed being a model though.


jay not being amused by her her antics

loving her papik



I have become obsessed with the clotheslines strung from every apartment building to a nearby tree or a neighbor’s window with clothes, blankets and stuffed animals dangling precariously. I have photographed a lot of them so I apologize for the redundancy.
I took the avtobus on the way home to save 100 dram. It took a bit longer as we had to stop twice to throw cool water onto the engine. This appears to be a team effort by the men on the bus who boisterously pile off the bus to help and then jump back on, I am sure, having done nothing to actually help. The bus does even more of a moving stop to drop off and pick up people than the marshutni so I tried to mentally prepare myself for this. As we approached Dzaghedzor I asked the gentleman next to me, who had been staring at me the entire time in wonderment, to move so I could get out. He obliged, but my route off the bus was obstructed by three teenage boys in the aisle. The village was in sight and they apparently weren’t getting the hint that I was trying to move past them. “Neretsek” Excuse me. Oh, she wants to get off. I thanked my lucky stars as I see that there is actually someone at the bus stop for my village so the bus is going to have to stop. Have to? That is debatable. The bus slowed down, opened the doors and the man jumped on. The bus driver pressed down on the gass and started to accelerate. I frantically apologized and requested for him to stop, “but this isn’t Kajaran.” “I’m not going to Kajaran, I am going back there to Dzaghedzor it is the village I live in.” “No lady, you are crazy, you don’t want to get off there” “oh my god yes I do, stop the bus and let me off!” “OK then”. Oh, and where in the world do I pay you for the door to door service? Fine, I will just hand my 200 dram piece to one of the three gentlemen sitting in the stairway. At least I can’t be arrested for not paying for the ride. I finally get off. The bus has a hard time getting going again up the small incline and as I look down the road I realize that I have been dropped off about 500 meters from the bus stop. At least now that driver will go and tell every other bus driver about me, and every marshutni driver, and hopefully they will remember the white American girl who lives in that tiny village and never make me go through that ordeal to get home again. I high fived myself on a successful maneuvering of a round trip trek to the town as I walked across the bridge. Feels good to be home.