This past Saturday, Peace Corps arranged for our cohort to visit Noravank, a 13th-century monastery a few hours south of Yerevan. It’s a bumpy ride to Noravank. Bumpier still when you’re sitting towards the back of the bus, which I was. But the views made up for the mild jostling. The clouds cast shadows over the mountains and far in the distance, the snow line was visible across the horizon as white-capped peaks poked out into the sky. I oscillated between listening to music while watching the scenery and leaning out of my seat to exchange banter with the other volunteers. When we passed the Armenian-Azeri border, the rowdy bus suddenly became quiet. We squinted our eyes to make out the flags planted on top of artificial mountains that delineated the two nations. Every time we drove through a village, I wondered if my permanent site might look like that. None of us will be placed that far south, but it’s hard not to imagine what our life might be like once PST ends. With each house we passed, I saw myself standing in the yard to hang laundry, walking down the dirt roads to my school, or playing soccer in the fields. The further we ventured, the more the landscape began to remind me of Sedona, AZ. The velvety green hills and sloping valleys gave way to jagged red rocks and a rushing stream that hugged the winding road. Our steady climb concluded at the base of the monastery and I removed my earbuds just in time to hear our Language and Culture Facilitator explain that according to legend, the rocks are red from the blood of the monastery’s creator who was killed shortly after its founding.
The site itself contained two large churches, some smaller chapel buildings, and to many of our surprise, a large hole in the ground with a ladder leading down. After watching a couple of other visitors climb down into the hole and then emerge again unscathed, I decided I might as well explore too. The descent didn’t look so bad from above but once I oriented myself to make my way down and felt my foot swing in the air as it searched for the next rung, my heart began to beat a little faster. I was quickly distracted by my friend’s laughter as they watched me lower down into the darkness. The rungs were wet with mud and by the time I hopped down to the bottom, my hands were also caked. At the bottom, there was a small set of stairs that led to an enclave with a headstone. I assumed it was a grave, but never double-checked. Our LCF told us later that the hole had been used for hiding long ago when the monastery was under attack. When I emerged, I bee-lined towards the first patch of grass I could find to rid my hands of the ladder gunk which had now dried on my skin. But regardless of the mess, I was buzzing from the slight adrenaline of facing a fear. At the zoo in my city growing up, I remember near the wolf exhibit there was a small tunnel built for children to replicate what a baby wolf would sleep in. Crawling through the tunnel always seemed so exciting at first until about halfway in when I felt myself surrounded by stone. I think it took me a few years of going to that zoo to finally make my way through to the other side of the tunnel. I hadn’t felt that specific type of unease in a long time. And I felt it again only a few minutes later when we made our way into the main building of the compound.
Like all Armenian churches I have been in so far, this one was a unique mix of cold and welcoming. The rays of afternoon sunlight broke through the gaps in the stone walls and created beams of light that cut the room in half. On either side of the entrance to the main sanctuary were two sets of narrow steps leading up to darkened doorways. These rooms were designed for worshippers to isolate themselves so they could confess their sins to God. Having already braved the hole, I felt emboldened to climb up the steps and check out one of these chambers. Going up was simple, but as soon as I turned to start backing down the steps that familiar uneasy feeling crept in. It’s amusing to watch the video back of me going down the steps because you can see clearly that I was only about 6 feet off the ground, but as I carefully lowered myself down each step, I could have sworn that I was 100 feet in the air. Later, as I bounded over rocks along the side of the mountain to get a better view of the full monastery, I looked down at just the wrong time and felt my stomach lurch. But I shook the thought of slipping out of my mind and kept on. Luckily, the view was well worth the damage I was putting my white sneakers through.
After Noravank, we stopped briefly at a cave on the side of the road which held one of the most important archaeological sites in all of Armenia. Inside this cave, archaeologists found the oldest known shoe in the world. At 5,500 years old, the leather shoe is older than both Stonehenge and the Pyramids of Giza. I had seen the shoe itself on display in the National History Museum of Armenia on a trip to Yerevan with my host sister a few weeks prior, but the historical significance did not hit me in the same way as it did when I walked into the Areni-1 cave. The wooden walkway that guided visitors occasionally creaked under our weight which struck up my unease again. Even though we had to duck through certain passages ways, overall the cave was spacious. This was also one of the oldest known wine-making sites, so there were numerous large clay pots that had once held grains and apricots laying in the sandy pits along the walkway. Most were broken, but still in remarkable condition. In a fitting celebration of this vinous history, we made one final pitstop on our way home at a small winery for a quick tasting. I bought two bottles of wine to bring back to my host family, one sweet (for them) and one dry (for me).
On the ride home, we all joked around about those of us who had climbed down into the hole and my friend Ray facetiously remarked that I had found the topic for my next blog post. I laughed but then thought a little more and decided that I would take it as some kind of challenge to relate crawling into a hole with joining the Peace Corps. So here goes; becoming a Peace Corps volunteer has felt a lot like climbing down a muddy ladder into a dark scary hole. It seems like a really good idea at first, some kind of adventure that you’ll be able to tell stories about. Then, as you make your way down into the black and your feet are searching in vain for their footing, it’s terrifying. But you do find that next rung and you keep on climbing down and down, ignoring the dirt on your hands, and plunging deeper into the unknown. Before you know it, you’re on solid ground again. And sure, you’re in an unfamiliar hole and it’s wet and cold and a little creepy. But it’s also exciting and fun and you’re so glad that you took that step down onto the ladder so that you could find out what’s down beyond where the light illuminates. The unease that’s followed you from childhood is slowly slipping away and a new desire to explore and take chances has started to take its place. I guess that’s kind of what joining the Peace Corps is like.
You had me at "shoe"... :-)