Is a militsa really a policeman?

Yerevan. 2:00 AM. In the back of a police car.  Not a place I thought I would ever find myself.

The evening started out bland enough with our usual group gathering together to figure out where to spend the evening. After walking around for hours from one place that was closed to another we couldn't find (Bunker- fun times people) we finally settled on an Irish pub (yes, Yerevan even has Irish pubs). It was your standard evening with a few drinks and even more laughs. Around 2:00 AM my taxi buddy Melody and I decided it was time to go home. So we stepped outside of the pub and flagged down what we thought was a taxi. It turned out to be a police car. We realized our mistake and told them as much. They started asking us where we were going, what we were doing there, etc, etc. When we asked them where would be the best place to get a  taxi, they offered to give us a ride to the nearest taxi stand or even take us home. Melody, my taxi-buddy was ready to jump right in thinking that they are cops, we would be safe with them. I had to remind her that we are in Armenia, you can just get into a car because they're cops. She couldn't understand why I was so apprehensive about getting into a car with them. I did a  quick cost-benefit analysis in my mind as to whether we would be safer walking down this dark and deserted street looking for a taxi or if it would be a wiser decision to get into the cop car. We sucked it up and got into the car. And that is how I ended up in the back of a cop car at 2:00 AM in  Yerevan.  As we drove around looking for a taxi, it started: "Eh axchkerk sovats check (So girls, aern't you hungry?)" One of us unassumingly says yes. And here we go, "check uzum hima gnank irar het hats utenk (do you guys want to go have dinner together right now)." Melody turns around and looks at me in horror, realizing what we got ourselves into. "I'm so sorry Diana, I had no idea this was going to happen." 

But to their credit, they were nice guys and backed off when we said we weren't interested. They were helpful in getting us safely to a taxi and we appreciated them for it. It was kind of uplifting to see that they were genuinely nice and  didn't push it.  I was expecting much worse.

We sit in a taxi and ask the driver to take us somewhere where we can find some fast food. After talking back and forth to dispatch we head to Proshyan street aka khorovats street, to an all night stand. We found the nicest couple working there and they make kabob brtujes for us. Three sandwiches (one for me, one for melody, and one for our taxi driver) in hand we get back into the taxi and go home- marking an end to one of the most spontaneous evenings of my life.

(Images from top: The man at the kabob stand who made us fresh kabobs at 2:oo AM, his wife who agreed to pose with us in her hot pink sweater, Melody modeling while waiting for kabobs, Melody and I in the back of the police car  thinking what the hell are we doing right now).