The rainbow is a lie

I don't really know how to start. The past few days reshaped everything what I knew about a girl. This post is about her but not for her. A song and it's lyrics assisted gently, see the italics.

It always starts with an insignificant spark. It goes unnoticed but it ignites the mighty and uncanny mechanism of the phenomena called love.

This story started the same way. Sparks jumped out of nowhere as the two met. However only She saw the initial sparks. He, as usual missed to realize what is going on. It was already too big to resist when the swirl sucked in both of them.

Four months were spent in this spinning wheel. Time seemed to pass swift and summer was indeed approaching. When the day of farewell came He saw the stars lookin' in her eyes. As if he had caught the rainbow's end. But now He had to let the phenomena go.

Summer was gone and He went on chasing the rainbow. Crossroads tried to deceive Him though. He arrived weathered but He arrived and nothing else mattered. He wanted to fly again.

But the rainbow has definitely changed. Has become a mirage and nothing else. What's worse, two months and some more passed and the awful lie, the most awful lie of all emerged.

That fame was the only thing that mattered. Once the scene changed... so She changed with it. Nothing mattered about the past but only the present. And in the present He was not good enough for delivering  the kiss-up She would expect. The He who She can put out in the window is whats She really needed. And suddenly He was thrown out of the whirl, left alone sitting. However Her twirl went on twisting other He-heads, twirling and raging.


For a name in the world today, for a little bit of fame today...

And as I type the last lines I find the only truth about rainbows. You hope you find the gold that resides within a pot at the bottom of it; but then it's nothing but flashy and colorful trumpery in it.

(...)

People hate rain and hope for the rainbow. Well, I love the rain more.

 Modest and transparent; but at least it exists.

Bittersweet Armenia

I broke my own record: from August to January I haven't moved out of Trabzon. The only time when I spent more than that in my life was in my mom's belly. Before going crazy, a week holiday dragged me out of the still water and took me to Armenia. Brief summary of the trip; pictures in this post, at the Peter vs Minolta X-700 tab and on the Hungarian blog.

Too much planning kills the joy of traveling. Despite of the well-known saying, the promise of a holiday started to work the chains and I decided in December that Armenia will be the destination. During Erasmus I had the chance to visit Georgia and Iran but couldn't manage Armenia, so going there was almost a must.

Armenia, this small nation is one of the three Caucasian countries, neighboring Turkey, Georgia, Iran and Azerbaijan. Out of these two are impassable, which already indicates the bitter history of a struggling country.

My road led through Tbilisi; as I left the Black Sea the weather got dryer and much colder. My first encounter with winter came in an awful marshrutka ride from Tbilisi to Yerevan. The drive was a smoker, and apparently had no intention on putting down the damned cigarette nor to pull up the rear window in the fiercest blizzard. His nasty habit left me freezing on the backseat. Nothing proves my pain better than this shitty pic I took up in the mountains during a short break:

And even though I passed through the Northern mountainous area, it deserves a few lines here.

Soviet architecture was never known for its beauty, but the Armenian soviet era has left an expressly ugly mark on the North side. While mother nature molded the rugged mountains and vast forests into a breathtaking view, the Soviets ruined as much as they could. High and grey, 20-storey buildings uglify these amazing peaks. What's more, some of these buildings are derelict. Or at least they appear to be derelict: Hovo shocked me not long after that poor people tend to move in to these places if they find a room suitable enough. The word 'suitable' definitely means something different there.

Arriving to the capital was much sweeter than expected. Marina, a journalist apprentice from couchsurfing helped me out with finding my hostel in town, and spent the whole next day with me exploring the city.

However the weather wasn't this kind, we roamed through the town under the veil of impenetrable fog. Thus one of the main reasons of my visit, seeing the mighty Ararat had to be postponed. I couldn't stop myself though from shopping a creative photo:

Later on I met my host and his girlfriend. They lived in a small flat almost in the very centre of Yerevan. Our plans about visiting the 'non-existing' Nagorno Karabakh (maybe later a separate post about it) were cancelled eventually. Money, time and snow were made responsible. At least I had more time to explore the city.A few days afterwards lady luck eventually shone upon me: Ararat showed itself. Foggy as it was but visible enough to take some over exponated pictures:

Legend has it that the two mountains were sisters who quarelled too much so they were separated. Or more like 'sat apart'. Like rascals. Like my students...

This awesome view was available from the genocide memorial. Sadly the museum was closed but the monument makes it sure you won't forget about it:

I will write a separate post about the genocide and the so-called controversy (as its called here in Turkey) but for now just a short story about the other issue the country has: the historically awful relationship with Azerbaijan.

Sophie, who was volunteer had an interview with an Armenian woman who fled Azerbaijan during the 80's. The woman gave such an emotional interview but I only understood later what she talked about exactly. As she saw her parents executed she could control herself but when she was telling how Azeris threw out little children out of windows... she burst out in tears. The difference between the two nations is more tense than ever, without exaggerating they are on the brink of war.

Back to Yerevan now. Two things seem to be infinite here. One is the sea of communist style blocks; a night shot:

The other is the surprisingly common presence of art. Botero statue in a park:

Or just a random E.A. Poe painting in a back alley:

Van Gogh cafe, statues everywhere and loads of graffiti-style portraits of artists, this city never seems to run out of novelty. Here is another guy who according to Marina committed suicide during the genocide (a great pianist, the statue is in front of the conservatory):

Most people here speak Armenian and Russian, however English doesn't seem to be much present (at least not when I was asking for directions). Check the spelling:

Note the name Armen: according to Sophie, it's quite a nationalist thing when you name your kid like that. Made me wonder how it would sound in different languages, a short compilation:

Hungary - Hunger (hoho)
Turkey - Turk (which isn't funny at all as it's an existing name)
Argentina - Argent (Mr. Silver?)

Okay peter, this was lame.

What else to say? Armenia is bitter because of its history and poverty; but at the same time it is sweet thanks to the people who live in it and the breathtaking landscapes you roam through. I'm more than glad for having visited a country with a story than just being a tourist in a place which everybody knows inside out.

People! Visit countries which the majority won't. And you will never forget.

(And Marina! Gotta visit you during summer.)