The onslaught of male testosterone is absolutely insane. If you're looking for Armenian men and boys of every age, size, shape, color and texture, then the arrivals termnal at Zvartnots is the place for you. I've never seen so many Armenian men crowded into such a small space- all smoking, all wearing black leather jackets...I kid you not!
It's interesting landing in Armenia. Even getting off the airplane is different here. Usually people stand next to their seat in the aisle and wait for everyone to get off in an orderly line, with those in front going first. Well I can tell you my seat was the first one from the door but you can bet I wasn't the first one off the plane. People begin to crowd the front of the plane as if those precious 5 seconds they won't have to wait is really going to make a difference in their life.
The experience walking outside the terminal is kind of like taking a walk to shame. It is 1:00 AM, yet every employee in the airport stands along in a line and watches every single person that gets off the plane- stone faced and smileless. I wonder what they are looking for. A celebrity? A nice outfit? A relative? A ticket to America? Entertainment?
I was pleasantly surprised with how modern and clean the airport is. It is absolutely spotless. Other than being a working airport, Zvartnots can also function as a dating service. If you're lucky that is. What is she talking about you ask? Well, let me tell you. I've heard horror stories about the trouble people are put through when going through customs and immigration. I breezed through with no problem and as I was two feet away from the door, an airport official standing near the door gave me a once over and said: Nerogutyun es sumkanere urdeghits en galis (Where are these bags coming from?). Greattttt, I thought to myself. Here we go. I answered that they were from Los Angeles, via London. He decides that he wants the bags to go through the xray machine. As I am summoned to his side behind the computer he asks for my passport and the bags go through the machine. There I am standing next to him, watching the xra of my bags. He points to something and says: "Es vijuterya a" (Is this jewelry?). Yes, I reply. "Shat a" (Is it alot?). "Vochinch" ( A good amount) I say. Bag number two goes through. He again sees something he doesn't like. " Diana jan(note we are already on a first name basis) what am I supposed to do now. You're a cute girl here, am I really going to go through all of your luggage right now?). That's an ego boost I didn't need.
I look at him with a mix of disdain and aloofness essentially saying do whatever the hell you want. Inspiration strikes and he decides to let me pass without any more inspection. But before he lets me go, he asks if I have any relatives in Yerevan. I tell him that I don't. Well he says, "de ke lini uremn hamars tam, ban petk lini zanges (Can I give you my number? If you need anything give me a call)." Maybe it was the jet lag or the 14 hours of no sleep, but I stupidly look at him and say "Inchi hamar (what would you give me your number for)." Then I realize my mistake. He says "de durs ke gnank hecheli jamanak kantskatsnenk (We'll go out and have a good time)." Now under normal circumstances I would have said no thanks grandpa (bald, grey, and older than my father)....But inspiration struck for me too and I suddenly heard myself saying "de grek (write it down)". I don't know what it is that compelled me to be so bold, so non-Diana but hey it worked. He tore off a piece of his Russian newspaper, wrote down his name and number, and handed it to me. Bingo, no inspection. Now, as if this event wasn't comical enough, the cherry on top was definitely the look on the luggage attendants face after he realized what took place. It was priceless. If only I could have read his mind at that instant...Better yet, I probably don't want to know.
