ՆԻԿՈԼ ՓԱՇԻՆՅԱՆ. ԵՐԿՐԻ ՀԱԿԱՌԱԿ ԿՈՂՄԸ (մաս 9-րդ)/ The other side of the world (part 9) - Pashinyan

[English is below] from payqar.org

10. մղձավանջ եւ անուրջներ Լոզանում (շարունակություն)

Անտառ ասելով, սակայն, Իջեւանում նկատի չունեն ուղղակի անտառ: Աղբյուր ասելով` նկատի չունեն
սոսկ աղբյուր: Տվյալ դեպքում գործ ունենք որոշակի ինֆրաստրուկտուրայի հետ, որ նախատեսված է անտառային խնջույքի համար: Անտառներում կան բազմաթիվ զրուցարաններ` բիսեդկաներ, երկար նստարաններով, սեղաններով: Սրանց կից` խորովածանոց, գառ մորթելու տեղ, միսը կտրատելու փոքր սեղան, երբեմն նաեւ առանձին սեղան` բլոտ, նարդի, շախմատ խաղալու համար: շարունակություն


THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD (PART NINE)

10. Nightmares and Visions in Lausanne (continued)

When they say forest in Ichevan, they don’t just mean a regular forest. When they say spring, they don’t just mean a spring. In this case, we are dealing with a certain infrastructure which is especially designed for festivities in the forest. There are many gathering areas in the forests, bisedkas, long benches and tables. Next to these are barbeque pits, areas to slaughter the lamb, a small table to cut up the meat, and sometimes a separate table to play blot, backgammon or chess.
In the Kirandz forest there are even such springs (this is what the locals call such areas) where there are mechanical carousels for the entertainment of children, and even a museum of old goods. In these places the water doesn’t just come through the rocks or from under the river, but flows from memorial springs built in honor of a long-departed friend or relative. Sometimes the springs are named after the name or family name of the deceased: the Ghazoumyans’ spring, the Hovakimyans’ spring, the Aslanyans’ spring.
Despite the existence of this impressive infrastructure, they are not supervised and there’s no need to pay anyone to spend time there. You just need to get there before others. As a rule, this isn’t hard. If one spring is occupied, the other one is free. But there’s a big crisis during Vartavar. On the last Sunday of July many have to go there and spend the night to save the spot for the next day. But there’s a golden rule; if the individual who built the spring, or the family, decides to spend Vartavar at the spring which they have built (I mean, the same person built not only the spring itself but the rest of the things there) his rights are respected without any question. That is, they don’t have to spend the night there to reserve the spot. They only have to be there early in the morning before others start their festivities there, otherwise would be an awkward situation.
But now it is not Vartavar and there’s no problem finding a free spring. And if the group before you has cleaned up after themselves, which, by the way, isn’t always the case, you can start the ceremony [right away.] If the spot isn’t clean, festivities can start only after the area has been cleaned.
At any rate, the bottles are placed in the water and the lamb is hung on the pipe of the makeshift slaughterhouse, which means that the ceremony has begun. Yes, let’s not forget the most important attribute of the ceremony—the fire. The starting of the first is the first task of the user of the spring. It is necessary to start the fire quickly, so the “smoke will rise up thick and black” and groups looking for a free spring, having seen the smoke from afar, will know that the spring is being used, and don’t come to the spring for nothing and then have to turn back. As you can tell, this truly is a ceremony with its multitude of rules. According to one of those rules, groups that hold festivities in the forest springs must leave behind the salt they brought with them.
This rule may have been shaped as a result of life experiences; if people forget to bring the salt with them—and forgetting the salt isn’t hard—then they have to go back to the city. And perhaps leaving the salt behind is some kind of insurance. But local grandmothers have given a mystical significance to this tradition; if you take the salt home from the forest, some misfortune will come your way… And in Ichevan you will not find a single person who has taken salt to his home from the forest.
So now, when the reader is familiar with the conditions and rules of festivities in the forests of Ichevan, it is also worth recounting the local peculiarities of the slaughter of the lamb. The thing is, that in Ichevan they collect the blood that flows from the throat of the slaughtered lamb in a bowl; that is, they place the bowl under the slit in the lamb’s throat and the blood flows into it. Between the lamb and the bowl, as per custom, a sieve is placed so that wool and hair are strained out of the blood. With the collected blood they prepare the best-known delicacy of Ichevan: Djvjik made of lamb’s blood. The blood quickly clots in the bowl, and they boil that in water. It turns into a liver-like mass. To prepare the blood, the lamb’s tail is first melted in a pan; then, in the lard, they fry the chopped liver and lung. The blood, as you remember, is boiled, and when you smash it, it breaks up into tiny pieces: here, this smashed blood is added to the fried liver and lung. At the very end, you add finely chopped onion, and before long, the meal is ready. Believe me, it is very tasty. If you have the opportunity, make sure you try it, but down focus too much on the thought that you are eating blood: that deters from an objective assessment of the meal. The process of skinning the lamb, gathering kindling, or preparing the blood, is from time to time interrupted by this question addressed to no one in particular:
“Shouldn’t we have a drink…?”
Each one approaches the fire with glass in hand; we fill the glasses, we give a toast, and then each one goes back to his work until the question arises again.
“Shouldn’t we have a drink…?”
And, to tell you the truth, when the blood is cooked, the food [khorovadz] is ready, and the aroma of boiled meat [khashlama] has engulfed the world, there is no desire to eat. The purpose of this ceremony is neither to eat, nor to drink. The purpose of this ceremony is to feel the natural, primeval, and wild, freedom, and to savor it. And especially at that time when our wives and children, our parents, our guests, have already tired and returned home, or, wiped-out, are sleeping under trees, the ceremony reaches its culmination.
Around the table are seated Tchagh, Popo, Pitzik, Smiley, and me. All the toasts have been drunk, there is no one else around. It is only us, and we are happy that life has not disrupted our childhood friendships. We have talked about everything, there is nothing left to say.
“Shouldn’t we have a drink?”
Glasses are filled. But there is nothing left to toast.
“Tchagh, say a toast.”
Everybody knows what will happen, but everyone is holding back their laughter, except for Smiley, who always smiles.
“Come, with this glass, we will toast all of the prostitutes.”
We laugh, we clink our glasses, and drink. Don’t be hasty, dear reader, to consider this toast inappropriate or cynical or disgusting. This toast expresses the happiness of the moment, the carefree-ness of the moment, the freedom of the moment…
Ah, how tired I am of this Lausanne, and this Switzerland, this Vienna and Austria, this so-called civilized world. It’s true, I am, at the moment, seated in one of this civilized world’s civilized bars. But I am going to Armenia. And do not show me the way to Armenia. I am going in the way I know, I am going from the other side of the world.

(to be continued)

[translator’s note: the quote regarding the smoke comes from an idiomatic expression in the local dialect]