National, International, Armenia, and Community News and Opinion

The Armenian Reporter | March 28, 2009 5
Community
That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it
Continued from page 4
“Why not?”
“You are wearing shorts.”
“It’s hot.”
“You cannot come in wearing
shorts.”
“I paid for my ticket. It doesn’t say
on the ticket that I must be wearing
long pants.”
“This is an Opera House. You cannot
enter with shorts. Aram, give
this man his money back.”
I grabbed the ticket in obvious
disgust and left. As I was walking
away, I saw a member of our group,
Bob, walking toward the theater
in shorts. I quickly explained that
we had to go back to the hotel to
change into long pants. As we hurry
toward the taxi stand I’m agonizing
over how I’m going to explain
my situation to the driver, when,
thank God, I see Gevorg (he’s on
Armenian time).
We drive back to the hotel and
Gevorg has the taxi wait for us as
we change into long pants and return.
As we walk up the stairs to the
entryway of the Opera, I realize that
I don’t have Gevorg’s ticket, Nadya
does. As we enter, I tell Gevorg in
Armenian, to take my ticket, find
Nadya, and come back with another
ticket for me. He disappears from
sight, and the same man I had the
argument with 20 minutes earlier
about my shorts is staring at me.
“Heema eench?” (Now what?), I ask
in Armenian.
“Hay es?” (You are Armenian?)
Duh, I’m thinking, I traveled 24
hours to this postage-stamp sized
country, whose inhabitants have
learned to survive on rocks and water,
to see the ballet? It’s not the Bolshoi
you know (though I patriotically
am thinking, it’s a close second).
“If I knew you were Armenian, I
would have let you in. Aram, show
this man in.” WHAT!!! Where’s
the logic in this? (I’ll answer that
later). Even though I had a ticket,
I wasn’t allowed entry 20 minutes
earlier because I was wearing
shorts. Now that I’m Armenian,
I’m escorted in without a ticket!
Discussing Egoyan
After the performance, I ran to the
Moscow Theater to see Egoyan’s
Adoration. Based on my experience
at the Opera House, I said in the
best Eastern Armenian I could “Mi
domsag oozoom em Egoyanee ngarasharzoomeen”
(I would like to
have one ticket to see the Egoyan
movie). “Domsag cheega!” I realized,
belatedly, that I gave myself away
by using the word “ngarasharzoom”
(moving pictures). Local Armenians
use kinofilm (pronounced “kee-nofeelm”).
I’m guessing, a combination
of French and English. About thirty
seconds after I back away from the
ticket window, I hear “Baron…Baron”
(sir…sir). They’re looking at
me, and there’s no one behind me.
I approach the ticket window and
they ask, “kanee domsag goozaass?”
(how many tickets to you want?)
HEY, what’s going on here!! Thirty
seconds ago there were no tickets.
Now, I can purchase as many as I
want? (I’ll answer that later).
So I’m seated next to a fellow
who is speaking in English, with a
German accent, to a friend who is
responding in English, but with an
Irish accent. When there’s a break in
the conversation, I ask the one with
the German accent if I may borrow
his program. After studying it for
two minutes, I ask him, “Can you
determine from this program, what
language is spoken in the movie, and
what language the subtitles are in?”
“No way,” he says.
“Who’s in charge here anyway?”
“Yeah, you know the other night
I watched a movie in German, with
Spanish and Armenian subtitles.”
“Where was I?” he bellowed. That
ended our conversation.
Now, I’m watching a typical Egoyan
movie (I’ve seen two – that makes
me an expert). By typical, I mean
that you can watch it with a friend
for two hours. Then you discuss the
movie. Your friend has a completely
different understanding of what he
had just seen. You actually wonder
if the two of you were watching the
same movie. After two weeks of discussion,
you can’t come to terms. So
both of you return, sit in the same
seats to see the movie again. You
discuss the film. Your friend now
has your opinion and you have his!
You can’t come to terms so you both,
shrug your shoulders, get a cup of
coffee, and play tavloo for the rest of
the evening (I’m thinking if Atom is
reading this, he’d be proud of himself).
The joy of music
The next day we were touring the
monastery of Geghard. Gevorg
brought his virtuoso duduk playing
nephew, and the two of them were
playing in the old sanctuary. As the
sound resonated off of the walls of
the church carved into the mountain,
tourists kept coming in and
no one was leaving.
At one point a man stepped in
and asked the two of the tourists to
step aside. In walked eight young ladies.
They were wearing shabigs. As
they began singing, the sanctuary
immediately filled with the glorious
voices of these young women. They
sang three hymns and the last one
was “Der Voghomia.” Now, I’m not
a particularly religious man but, I
have to tell you. By now there were
about fifty people in the chapel (did
I tell you no one was leaving?)
I would guess that more than
half of them recognized the significance
of this hymn. There was not
a dry eye amongst them, including
me. I thought I had died, gone
to heaven, and there were eight of
the forty virgins promised to me,
and as I was reaching out for them,
God smacked me on the side of my
head and said, “They’re not for you
dummy, you’re not Muslim.”
We walked out of the twenty foot
long entry tunnel, fifteen feet to
the stairs, down two flights to the
courtyard, and there was Pat, tears
streaming down her face, thanking
me for exposing her to such a spiritual
experience. As I hugged her,
all I could think was, why is this
woman crying?...she doesn’t know
Der Voghomia from Jingle Bells!
That evening we were going to see
the State Song and Dance Ensemble.
As we were rushing up Abovyan,
again to the fast food lahmejun
place, we see the old woman who I
mistook for a beggar the day before.
Now she’s sitting on our side of the
street with her hand out. The team
members were pointing her out
to me: “Look, Leo.” Yesterday, she
was the queen of Abovyan Street!
How do you explain these things to
odars (I’ll answer that later).
The State Song and Dance Ensemble
is a must see. First, you’re
exposed to a group of instruments
that you don’t know the names of
and have never seen before. The
musicians and singers play and sing
the most beautiful Armenian music.
Then come the male dancers – acrobatic…sword
play. Then come the
dancing girls. They’re all about seven
feet tall, their arms are four feet long,
hands one foot long, and nails another
foot long. When they spread
their arms, they have a twelve foot
wingspan. I’m convinced that they’re
not entirely human. Their mothers
are Armenian but, their fathers are
California Condors. I’m sure of this
because they floated from one side
of the stage to the other without
ever touching the ground!
The next day, during lunch, the
Khachatryan family gave us all gifts
of clocks with Christian religious
portraits on the clock face – Last
Supper, Mother and Child, Crucifixion.
I sidled over to Gayle and
said, “so now you’ve become an
honorary Christian.” Having been
raised in Alabama she said, “Do
y’all think they know I’m a Jew?”
“Not a clue,” I responded, and we
enjoyed a wonderful laugh together.
She told me that these clocks were
going to be placed in a prominent
position in her home to tempt her
friends to ask questions. To her, it
was the only tangible evidence of
an experience that she and her son
will never forget.
So now, in order to understand
what’s going on in these situations
you need to have seen the movie Vodka
Lemon. A young man purchases a
bottle of lemon vodka from a roadside
stand. Before leaving he asks
the saleslady, “Why do they call this
lemon vodka when it tastes like almonds?”
The saleslady answers without
hesitation: “Asee Hayastan eh.”
That’s the answer to every question.
Now if you go to Geghard, you
may never hear the young ladies
with shabigs, because you don’t
know their schedule. But, if you go
on a Fuller Center trip, you will, because
“We’ve got people.”
So that’s my story, and I’m
stickin’ to it. If you would like to
enjoy similar adventures, go to
www.FullerCenter.org and sign up.
There are seven trips from which to
choose.