Twist my rubber arm. I’d love to live in the southern Caucasus and if I did, it would be in Yerevan. Here in Armenia’s capital city I met outdoor enthusiasts, ex-pats and artists (some combinations) who intentionally base themselves here. They feel torn between getting the word out and keeping Yerevan a secret. The city has pockets of passion, felt in its people, food, nightlife, day-to-day culture.
Each time I left Yerevan I had to pry myself away, but once I began pedalling or looking out the window of a Lada, Armenia entranced. There are canyons that close in on you and pears for sale along the road. Forgotten towns, Soviet-era statues, forests of different shades. Signs with Farsi words in Arabic script, signs in Cyrillic, signs in Armenian. The Armenians themselves showed me their diverse appearances and opinions.
For such a small country, there are plenty of empty spaces. They often felt magnified under the stark blue skies.
I’ve visited Armenia twice, enough to realize that I barely understand the place. These photos represent some of my favourite memories of cycling and driving through—that is, when I wasn’t stuffing my face with custard donuts on Yerevan’s boulevards.
This album can also be viewed on Flickr, here.
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