If you’re a globetrotting expat you know all about moving from one country to another and what it takes to get adjusted to life in a foreign environment. The second day of my new expat life in Armenia, I went scouting around on my own in Yerevan, the capital.
Photo © Manan Tevosyan
It was an arctic January day and the town was blanketed in old dirty snow. The buildings looked grim. The people looed grim. I tried to feel cheerful and adventurous. I wanted to get to know my new habitat and make myself at home. But it was so cold! And everything looked so bleak! To think that only weeks earlier I was sweltering in tropical, cheerful Ghana! So here’s the story of poor little me, all alone, cold and shivery and …
GETTING SHEARED IN ARMENIA
I’ve been in the Armenia less than two days. Yesterday someone from my husband’s new office took me house hunting, and this morning someone else took me around to show me where to do the shopping.
Now it’s afternoon and while my man labors away at his office, I’m scouting around town on my own to see what I can see, walking very carefully in my new boots, shivering in my also-new down-filled coat. I’m not in this photo taken by my (later to be) friend G. Peterson, but I might as well be.
The ice-covered sidewalks are treacherous, the buildings grim and gray, and why is everyone dressed in black? I asked one of the office girls this question and she gave me a blank stare for a moment, as if she had never noticed or thought about it. “Because we like it,” she said finally. “Black is our national color.”
Not surprisingly, one of the other things I notice is Armenian words everywhere, on road signs and billboards and shop windows. Written in the Armenian alphabet, which is unique and indecipherable. There is no way to even make
educated guesses. Growing up European, you learn a couple of languages here and there, and usually you can fake your way around the continent, but not here. The Armenian language itself is also unique, not related to any other languages in the universe. I see Russian on signs and buildings as well (Russian was the official language in Soviet times), but that doesn’t do me much good either.
Photo © Deb Collins Yerevan Cheese Shop
So, I am not a little bit ecstatic when in the center of town near Independence Square I spot the English words hair saloon on a sign with an arrow pointing into a courtyard. This gives me great hope for an English speaker inside. And because I really do need a haircut and because maybe it’s warm inside, I’m thinking I might as well give this a try. I find the “saloon” and push open the door.
Illusions are there to be shattered. It’s only just above freezing inside the tiny space and none of the three girls (wearing serious party make-up) speaks English. With no other clients there to help, they try Armenian on me, and then Russian. Then they give up. I’ve never felt such an illiterate in my life. But next week I still won’t speak either language and hey, a haircut is not rocket science. I indicate a couple of centimeters, about an inch, between my thumb and forefinger and the fake blonde goes for it while keeping up a running conversation with her buddies shivering in their shabby fur coats. I don’t want to sound paranoid, but I suspect they’re discussing me by the way they’re checking me out — my funny light-colored coat, my inelegant flat-soled boots. All three are wearing boots with 4-inch spiky heels.
Some time later my stylist is finished with me and I look really interesting.
What I meant when I indicated the inch or so was to have that much hair cut off, not to have that much left. And just in case you didn’t know this, hair keeps your head warm, if you have it.
My stylist writes down the amount I owe her, in standard numerals, thank God, and I pay it. It’s only three times as much as I should have been charged someone tells me the next day. My sincere hope is that these shivering girls get enough suckers like me to be able to save up for a functioning space heater.
Ah, but spring and summer do arrive. Yerevan turns cheery with flowers blooming in the many parks and gardens. Open air cafés and outdoor restaurants pop up like sunny daisies. The men still wear black, but the younger women dress in brighter colors. Things are looking up!
Photo by syrialooks Mashtots Avenue Cafe
NOTE: Living the expat life, you know you get suckered at times. It’s part of the deal, part of the price you pay for living such an exotic life (I hear you laugh). Sometimes it makes you furious, sometimes it doesn’t and sometimes it even makes you laugh. As an innocent expat, have you ever been cheated but you didn’t really mind? Tell me your stories!
{ 8 comments… read them below or add one }
nice interesting post, thanks for sharing
Another great story!
I can’t stand dark and dreary places. I guess my year in Glasgow was the worst. No sunshine, so I went to a tanning booth to get color. Only 21 at the time. I was cheated by my Scottish roomate. She stole my pin # on my card and withdrew cash when I left it in my room. Great post and very entertaining. Have you written a memoir?
Great story! When Hubby and i visited Turkey we *think* we got swindled on our second carpet purchase. We later had an opportunity to have it properly appraised but declined because we loved it so much we didn’t want to hear any potentially bad news! LOL
I have never been sheared in a Chinese hair salon, but I’ve come close! My lack of language skills means I must take a picture with me or I’ll end up with something crazy. Nevertheless, I love visiting the salons here. They give great scalp massages! As for being cheated – this happens to us constantly, but in our small Chinese city we are being cheated out of mere pennies, so no big deal. Usually this happens in the street markets for things like fruits & vegetables.
Great stories you have posted here!
Thank you for your comments! Gutsy Writer, about my memoir: you’re reading pieces of it! Now if only I could find a publisher I’d be happy, but it’s a jungle out there!
Cairo TypO — yes, better not know about your carpet. Just love it for it’s sown sake
Global Gal,
Yes, being cheated in the shops and markets is often not a big deal and perfectly understandable even. I try to put myself in the sellers’ shoes and do the same thing …
Commenting a year late here…
YES! My husband and I have what we feel is a good price for white people. It’s far more than locals pay, but on the bright side, far less than a lot of our compatriots. My husband is pretty good at bargaining.