After the whirlwind tour on Sunday and Monday, we had two packed days of classes, and I am just now feeling like I have the space to process everything I've experienced.
I don't think I've ever traveled with spirits before, but packed into the backseat of Ara's little car with me are two very palpable presences, my good friends Fimi and Michael. I hear their voices as often and as clearly as I hear Ara and Sara. And when I was frightened descending into St. Gregory's pit at Khor Vrap, I was calmed by knowing I was following in Fimi's footsteps.
What might have otherwise seemed like an "ordinary" stone-lined pit (um...is there such a thing?) was made special because its importance had been explained to me and because I knew how deeply the experience of going there had touched my friend. (A gaggle of Italian tourists who descended after me could have used such an education. To them it was just cool and creepy; there was no reverence.)
The legend is very real and central to Armenian history and religion. St. Gregory was called The Illuminator because he brought Christianity to Armenia. Of course, he was persecuted at first and was thrown into this prison-hole at Khor Vrap. As the story goes, the pit was full of snakes and scorpions. He was kept alive by a woman who secretly took him bread every day for twelve years (some books say fourteen) when he was finally released. After that, Armenia became the first country and culture to officially adopt Christianity--twelve years before the Roman Empire.
I'll admit that I doubt the pit was full of snakes and scorpions, but it wouldn't surprise me a bit if one or two found their way in. And that's really all it would take for me to feel like it was filled with them!
I also managed one brief glimpse of "the bride who rarely raises her veil" when the clouds around Mt. Ararat parted briefly in the morning. I was told I could get a better picture from Khor Vrap than from the car, but of course, the clouds were back by the time we reached the "best" vantage point.
My other very striking memory of Khor Vrap relates to a puppy. Everyone who knows me is aware of the great commitment I've made to working for the Burbank Animal Shelter. I was told before I came to Armenia that I should expect to see a lot of stray dogs and cats. There are no animal shelters here. From my questions to Sara, there are apparently no animal rights activists here either.
Sara is wonderfully non-judgmental in her speech...but her eyes occasionally reveal that she finds me strange. This question of caring for homeless animals is particularly perplexing to her. When I look around and see how much people are struggling, I suppose it is a luxury to care for dogs and cats. After very careful consideration of this--and I really have thought so much about it since being here--I think I'd sooner live without the luxury of 24/7 running water than live without the luxury of animal shelters.
As we walked up the hill to Khor Vrap, the cutest little puppy was lying in the path while a tourist took his picture. An old woman was sitting not far from them at the bottom of the steps. In my mind, I assumed the woman was a beggar and she brought her puppy to this tourist site to inspire people to give her some spare change. I mean, seriously, this puppy was adorable.
When we were leaving, the puppy and the woman were still there. I couldn't resist the opportunity to pet him. He was so friendly and licked my hand and then tried to follow me to the parking lot. I told him no and looked to the woman for her to call him back to her. She didn't.
I asked Sara if the puppy belonged to the woman and Sara said no. We were walking and I stopped dead in my tracks and said, "Well, then who does he belong to?" Sara looked at me confused and said, "No one." It was like she had punched me in the face. I was horrified. I had just barely begun to accept the idea of many homeless adult animals, but the idea that I would leave a puppy who's probably not more than ten weeks old to fend for himself--it was too much for me. I had a moment of half-craziness as I considered going back and bundling him into the car with me and then somehow flying him to California...but of course that was madness. But I couldn't just leave him. I went to Sara at the car and said, "I need to at least give him some food." She looked at me like she really couldn't believe I was saying that. But she could also tell by my face and my voice that I was dead serious. So she went into her store of food (which in her mind is very clearly "people food") and graciously handed me a piece of lavash, which is a flat bread. I ran back to the puppy and offered him a piece of the bread. He almost bit my hand in his eagerness to eat it. I sat there and pet him and fed him the entire thing in torn off pieces, all the while knowing that Sara, Ara, his father, the vendors, the tourists, really anyone Armenian who was there, was both perplexed and aghast.
As I fed him, I steeled myself for walking away. When I returned to the car, I ignored the strange looks and just said very decidedly to Sara, "Different culture." As we drove off, she tried to comfort me somewhat by saying, "He probably belongs to the church," which was very kind of her. Nonetheless, I was sunk into thought about a culture that could be so callous. Gandhi's quote that you can judge a civilization by how they treat their animals came back to me. But then I decided that it didn't sound very Gandhi-like to judge, so I wracked my memory and decided he had actually said, "You can measure a civilization by how they treat their animals." So I didn't judge the Armenian civilization. But I took its measure.
After two weeks away, I have made a list of things I intend to do upon my return to the US. Dropping by the animal shelter is high on my list.
