The other night we went to my relative’s for a little dinner, which turned into karaoke and dancing. This wasn’t done at a nice restaurant in the city center, it was accomplished in a tiny flat in Bangladesh. The dolma, the khoravadz, the aubergine and peppers, and the soorj only tasted better with the laughing, dancing, singing, toasts, mistranslations, and of course the several unsuccessful attempts to call my grandparents in Los Angeles to tell them we were all together and we miss them.

It has been whole two years since my last dinner with my relative’s and I have to say that it was two years too long. It wasn’t just the amazingly tasty food or the Eastern Armenian traditions that it made it so memorable and reenergizing. It was the combination of love, care, preparation, and the transparent ability to put aside the daily challenges of everything else going on in this place to enjoy the details of the night. I will never fully understand everything going on in Armenia today, but I think I understand this… especially since it is so hard sometimes to put issues aside and enjoy these things, “the finer things in life.”

With all of the misperceptions about Hayastan, my relatives had something to live for that night. They had a new baby in the family, Gagik, a son who just returned from his military service in Artsakh, Garo, and a large table filled with close friends and relatives. It was the most genuine night I have experienced here thus far and it allowed me to renew my perception on what Hayastan is and could be. More to come later….

Genatsek,
David

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