I single-tapped this note below into my trusty Nokia flip phone early Sunday morning, September 27 during my visit to Meghri, Armenia.
I’m in meghri, staying in misha’s house, it’s extremly clean and the family hospitable. The purpose of my trip was to bring sergey here as he has never been. It’s 2.23 am and i can’t sleep at all, although i am tired. Might have something to do with the homemade apricot vodka. There’s lots of ground to cover tomorrow, sunday. It’s nearly 400 km to yerevan, about 8 hours driving time with short breaks. Flying to boston from europe takes less time. Tomorrow we will see the town and its environs. We’ll arrange to take some persimmons and pomegranates back with us. This is pomegranate country, the fountain of pomegranates. There are trees everywhere, growing like weeds. Seems like they spread on their own, a natural divide and conquer mechanism. Unchecked and the trees will devour the whole south of syunik. May take some time though, years or centuries. Who planted the first pomagranate tree here anyway and for what reason? For his own amusement perhaps? Maybe he wanted to conquer the world with pomegranates one millenium at a time. What a disturbed, depraved mind . Hard to imagine death by pomegranate. And i love them, since i was a little boy, eating the kernels plucked from the crannies that my mother filled into a glass bowl for me to devour with a teaspoon. My mom taught me proper table etiqutte at an early age. I can only recall eating chicken wings broiled with a garlic and lemon dressing with my fingers. That and popcorn. I remember each time a kernel exploded in the pot i would leap in sync in place. When will i finally sleep?
Tings... 