Balcony Moments

What I have thus far failed to be brave enough to notice is that my concrete, crapped-out, gorgeous-in-all-its-patheticness balcony represents the space I often inhabit here in Armenia between cultures.  

So I sit here on my balcony, courageously enduring the stares, pondering this space that I’ve grown so fond of dwelling in this past year in Peace Corps Armenia.

On the outdoors side of the balcony, Armenians spit sunflower seeds, work on their cars, play in the street, shout to each other from their balconies, and release a cathartic “HELLO!” whenever they happen to see me.  

On the other side, a private American sanctuary sits, removed from it all:  a little slice of home decorated with pictures of my family and memories of what I’ve left behind.  Secluded, but free.  My own, but in someone else’s country. 

Reflection and a sudden fondness for this balcony-moment I’m having in the middle of this new world I’ve found myself in encourages me to press endlessly deeper into the in-between,  to really get to know the language, the idiocyncracies, the heart-issues, and the needs of the people surrounding me.  

Because what can happen in these unfamiliar, slightly awkward in-between spaces, or “balcony moments,” are interactions like the one I just recently had with two of my neighbors, who I’ll call Loud Kid #1 and Loud Kid #2:

Loud kid 1:  Hey! How long would it take to bike to... where is it  
again you are from? Russia?

Me: America.

LK 1: Yes. So how long would it take?

Me: Well, there’s an ocean you’d have to cross so maybe a plane 
might be better.

LK2: Yea, yea, but if we WERE to bike, how long would it take?

Me: Maybe a year... I dunno.

LK1:  Vshhh, that’s far.

Me: Yup.

And it’s moments like this that make turning “grapes into wine” and embracing the “balcony-moments” all worthwhile.

Weekly Grape:  Have I passed up a balcony moment recently?

Lost on a Horse in Armenia

When my sister Casey’s horse took off full-speed through a river, up a narrow road, and then completely out of view (leaving her phoneless, helmet-less, and blasting through a foreign Armenian village unable to speak the local language), I had only one thought:  If she dies, my parents will kill me.  

Do you know what the English halt command “Woahhhh” signifies to an Armenian horse?

Speed up.

And you can probably guess what my sister, an experienced equestrian in the States, shouted at the horse as it bolted through the village toward the mountains. 

Linguistic barriers can be really entertaining until your life is on the line. 

After sprinting a lap around the entire village in search of Casey, asking anyone along the way if they had seen an American on a horse and if they could please – gasp, heavy pant – help me find her, I climbed to the top of a mountain to search for her from a bird’s eye view.

Right when I got to the top, I finally got a phonecall from my host sister telling me to come home because they had found Casey casually walking the horse down the street saying it was the best ride of her life.  

If my sister is going to come visit me in Peace Corps Armenia, I guess the least we can do is provide the villagers with stories to tell their friends over “surch” (coffee).  

“Grapes into wine” is about pressing through fear and discomfort to experience the freedom that exists within that.  When Casey took off on that horse, she literally went into “fight or flight” mode for a while, deciding whether or not to jump off the horse.  Her decision to stay on the horse required a great amount of trust – trust that the horse wouldn’t buck her off, that she had enough skill to ride at a gallop, etc.  It also required courage.  

Casey later explained that after sprinting past all the village homes, the horse slowed down when they reached miles of wheat fields, apple orchards, and wildflowers in a gorgeous valley outside the village.  She said she had never felt more free on a horse in her life.  To Casey’s enormous relief, the horse then stopped and allowed her to dismount in the middle of this landscape.

“It was the best ride of my life,” she told me for the second time.

“Yeah yeah alright but you almost died.  And I almost did too. What was so great      

I know you can't see this because the picture quality is
terrible, but this is the only photo we managed to get
from the experience after it was all over. I look wraught with
concerned (right), and Casey is full of joy (left).

   about it?”

“It was just sooooo liberating.” 

I think that’s what happens when we press through discomfort.  It requires a great deal of courage and trust to do it, but then we are set free.  

Weekly Grape:  Do I fight or flee when things become really uncomfortable?