With the arrival of spring, my friend Mkhitar Mkhitaryan, an Armenian of his ilk and a seasoned mountaineer, summoned me to join him back home. There were good conditions in the mountains, and for ten days or so we enjoyed the capricious powder of the Lesser Caucasus and the merry taverns of Yerevan. It didn’t take him long to convince me, so dear is this country to me. My wife, as is often the case when it comes to travel, gave me the green light. So off I went.
Une civilisation extraordinaire
Armenia is the skeletal reminiscence of an ancient empire that has become a geographical fragment under the pressure of its Turkish and Azerbaijani neighbors. This fragment has recently been further eroded by the loss of Nagorno-Karabar, as if the will of its two powerful neighbors were the effective disappearance of an extraordinary civilization. Armenia is a country on borrowed time, and its people have the acuity of those on borrowed time. This manifests itself in an uncompromising capacity for happiness because no one knows what tomorrow will bring.
This is not exaggerated happiness. It’s a rough, unspoken happiness. It manifests itself between the walls when misfortune remains at bay and grandmothers prepare the khash. I’ve been invited several times by Mkhitar to his family or friends’ homes, and each time the welcome has been majestic and universal. I’ve felt something similar in other Eastern countries, notably Iran, where men and women are rarely separated once the doors are closed. But here in Armenia, with these people who have taken so many knocks, the joy is as tangible as it is fragile. It’s a joy that can withstand any test, engraved in the hearts of these people, hearts in which centuries-old memory lives on.
Once there, conditions dictated that we needed to gain altitude, so we headed for Mount Aragats, the highest mountain in the Republic of Armenia, founded in 1918 – not to be confused with Mount Ararat, now located in Turkey. The sacred mountain, also known as Massis in Armenian; Hellenic and Hebrew, dominates the entire Armenian high plateau at 5,000 metres, like the scar of a civilization dating back to the 3rd millennium BC. Indeed, there is every reason to believe that Armenia has its roots in a nation that rubbed shoulders with the Old Egyptian Empire and the construction of the first pyramids, and whose founder, Haïk, is said to be a descendant of Noah. In this land of antediluvian cultural richness, you’re immersed in legends as old as the world.
Les particules de rayons cosmiques
Mount Aragats is an extinct volcano with several small peaks surrounding the fiery crater: the eastern peak at 3,916 metres, the southern peak at 3,879metres, the western peak at 4,080 metresand the northern peak at 4,095metres. But before reaching this pretty mountain, which is relatively close to Yerevan, you must park on a snow-covered road, put your skins on and cover kilometers of false flat before finally gaining altitude and reaching a scientific station at around 3,200metres. The advantage is that you can follow the power line to the station. In this case, in a Caucasian pea soup, that line is invaluable. Finally, we see the first buildings and enter this unheard-of place. Like a world engulfed in ice, with its disparate buildings on the edge of a frozen lake, its large central building and its swarms of strange sensors scattered all around, the base offers itself to us.
©JAG
©JAG
We navigate to the miraculously open door of the central building and enter a vast hall with a large twin staircase. A new door opens into a large Soviet-style heated dining room with a lady in the foreground watching TV, smoking cigarettes and eating chocolates and, in the background a large table at which sits a man who bears an uncanny resemblance to Gary Kasparov, with a pencil portrait of Einstein behind him. It turns out that these are two of the three scientists who live here for several months at a time. They warmly offer us tea, happy to break the monotony of similar days for a few moments. We take out our delicious lavash breads, accompanied by herbs and cheese. Happiness is simple.
Mkhitar explains that we’re in a laboratory for research into cosmic ray particles. Once the flagship of Soviet research, the base took a beating when the USSR was dismantled. It survives, however, with a handful of scientists continuing research and guarding the ship over the long winter months. He informs me that beneath our feet lies a huge research facility, now abandoned and buried dozens of metresbelow the surface. When I’m told about the cosmic waves and secret laboratory from the 1980s, right in the middle of a volcano climb, I confirm that ski touring leads to everything.
©JAG
©JAG
Once we’d warmed up and had our fill, we unfortunately had to set off again. We wave goodbye to our hosts and set off for the crater summit. The sky is changeable. Wind and storm suddenly give way to clear skies, before turning dark and rainy again in a dance of Dantesque clouds. A few hours climb and we reach the pass separating the west and north summits. After a round of observation on the state of the mantle, we decide to ski one of the small couloirs on the north face that flare out onto beautiful combes where we can ski in a chassé-croisé playing with the relief. The place is magnificent. We follow long banks of snow that flow into small canyons like long fingers spread out across wild meadows.
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©JAG
Eventually, we take off our shoes and join a path to the first village. A group of grey buildings surrounded by small enclosures for the animals. Mkhitar has called a friend who agrees to pick us up in 2 hours. We decide to kill time and lie down on the welcoming grass of a plantation of young conifers. We put on all our clothes to keep warm as dusk sets in. Tasting chocolates, dried fruit and nuts as we drift off into a gentle torpor. Farther on, in the middle of the field, there’s a large boulder standing all alone. It’s studded with holes that may seem symmetrical. It seems to have experienced something. The magic of cosmic waves continues.
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Heureuse rencontre
Back in town, we spend a few days scouring the city. A group of seven French women are passing through. I know a few of them, including Clio Di Giovanni, Oona Skari-Duroy and Layla Jean-Kerley, the companion of Bruno Compagnet, who came to document this purely feminine escapade. We meet in town. We drink Armenian wine and sample some of the country’s specialties. They were delighted with their trip, but the temperatures didn’t help their desire for snow. During their stay, they also went up to the cosmic wave station. However, bad weather forced them back down without having been able to reach the crater’s peaks. We decided to go back up there together. The last snowfall, the prospect of clear skies and Mkhitar’s route advice convinced them to make another attempt. Only four of them will be making the trip, the three named above and a fourth from Chamonix, Mathilde Mounier. The other three, Constance, Louise and Eugénie, will have to return to France to meet their obligations.
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©JAG
We meet up again the next day at the end of the same snow-covered road, and off we go again for yet more miles of false flat, accompanied by four cheerful fellow travellers. Once we’d passed this torture, we were delighted to return to this unlikely place. Once again, we have the opportunity to have a cup of tea and a bite to eat. This time, Kasparov’s double ismuch more interested in our presence. It’s true that for men, women share many of the same mysteries as cosmic waves. Unfortunately, we have to leave this cosy hut in a wind that would blow anyskiers off their feet.
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©JAG
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©Layla Kerley
©Layla Kerley
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We made our way painfully towards the west summit, battling the gusts. In these conditions, the experience is spiced up and we arrive at the summit happy as conquerors of the useless. After a few photos on the way down, we part ways. The girls leave straight away, as they have an early flight the next day. Mkhitar and I decide to head up to the south summit to take advantage of the beautiful powder snow. Of course, once we got up there, the clouds closed in and we had to navigate blindly to find, with relief, the scientific base. Then, following the wires of the power lines, we glide happily across the kilometers of false flats that have become downhill until we reach our vehicle.
I’m staying with Mkhitar for a few more days. We’ll make new attempts to hike the magnificent Teksar mountains, where he has bought a farm and land to build a gîte, but the weather, too hot at the end of the season, forces us to retreat. So, we’re off to town to drink Georgian and Armenian wine in small basement taverns and listen to local groups sing their love of their country, because nothing beats human warmth and joy when the sky constantly threatens to fall on your head.
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©JAG
words & photos by JAG
