I'm in Armenia!

And for the second time in less than one week, being befuddled by a somewhat baffling alphabet. Georgian and Armenian are simultaneously kinda similar and completely different, and trying to learn both concurrently might be scrambling my brain a little.

I'm in Yerevan earlier than expected. After chatting with the guy who runs the Tbilisi guesthouse, including a weather check, I decided at short notice (9:00 pm at night) to come to Armenia first (leaving at 8:00 in the morning) and to return to Georgia in a week or two. I've sort of been flying by the seat of my pants for the past few weeks. I have a general itinerary in mind, but the when, how, and even where are decided sometimes on a daily basis. The downsides - an occasional worry about finding accommodation, and at times paying premium prices for last minute tickets (I'm looking at you, British rail companies*) - are offset by the advantage of really having complete freedom to do whatever I want when I want, instead of being locked into a booked itinerary and route. It's also making me confront and challenge my inner control freak, and pushing me out of my comfort zones a bit, which I want to do. I relinquish control to transport timetables, weather, and whimsy.

Here's a little story from yesterday. It requires three introductory points.

1. I'm easily identifiable as a foreigner here. This despite efforts to wear understated and unbranded clothing, not having a camera dangling around my neck, not carrying a guidebook and map openly in my hand, and in general making a very conscious effort to not look lost even when I am. I don't know how they know. Possibly from some combination of footwear (unfashionable but functional), small backpack (ugly but a daily necessity), canteen (hydration is important, and it's approaching sultry temperatures here), and sun hat (it's also quite sunny). Or maybe it's just my looks.

2. People speak to me in Russian. I don't know if this is because they think I'm Russian, or because Russian is a common second language for many here, and therefore the default language with which to engage a foreigner. I think it's mostly the latter, especially with older folks.

3. Snacking on sunflower seeds is popular here, both in Tbilisi and Yerevan (I assume elsewhere as well). The sidewalks are lined with women (usually) who have a small table or crate with a selection of seeds, and small paper cones. Park benches as often as not have a spray of sunflower seed shells underneath them. Both of these cities have more park benches than I've seen anywhere else, and most of them are occupied most of the time. These people are highly advanced in the art of leisure.

So I'm sitting on a bench, discreetly referring to my Kindle e-book guide to figure out some eating options, and I realize there's a little old lady in front of me speaking some Russian words. At one point a couple of years ago I knew some emergency Russian, but time and German lessons have pushed that vocabulary deep into the dusty crevices of my brain. So I just smile at her, and maybe say something to the effect that I'm American. I don't really remember. She chatters on a bit and then reaches onto her bag and gives me a handful of sunflower seeds, says goodbye in Russian, and wanders on. I sit there eating my seeds and wishing that I'd  had the guts to ask if I could take her picture (taking photos of people is also out of my comfort zone), because she's a character. After a bit I move down the street, and there she is, sitting on a low wall. So I ask if I can take her picture, at first she demurs, but then relents, and here it is. I wish she had been smiling, because she had a great cheerful smile, with lots of gold teeth. But I think she also looks sort of distinguished, if serious, in this picture. I have no idea why she decided to talk to me and give me some sunflower seeds, but I'm glad she did.

A short write up of Scotland coming...at some point. Spoiler: it rained.

* And, British rail tip: The guy sitting next to me on the London to Inverness train fed me a useful tidbit of info. If one's train is 30 minutes late, one is entitled to a return of half the fare. If an hour late, one is entitled to a return of the entire fare (in the form of a voucher). Both my trains being on time, I did not get a chance to test this out. So, if you have an expensive rail ticket, hope that your train runs late.

Orkney Mainland

Ich bin Wwooferin. And three months in Austria come to an end.

I wwoofed on a farm in Upper Austria for about 2.5 weeks. The main product was milk, and although the twice-daily milking is done with machines, my dear diary moment was learning, at long last, how to milk a cow by hand. I only did it for a couple of minutes; time is money, and both my technique and aim need a lot of work, but I can now check this off my bucket list. The close second for awesome activities was making cheese and topfen. We made and ate so much cheese, I almost cheesed myself out. Almost.

This farm had lots of varied activities, and a menagerie of animals including cows, calves, one bull, two goats, two horses, sheep, rabbits, ducks, an unknown and ever increasing number of chickens, two swans, fish in ponds, several cats, and bee colonies, Other things I did, in no particular order: trimmed wine grape vines, collected honey from bees, picked berries and cherries, made jam, got bitten by a hungry swan, mowed the lawn, hauled and stacked firewood, made yogurt, milled grain for bread, helped prepare dough for baking, ate more whole grain bread than I suspect is healthy for any individual, stacked hay using a giant mechanical spider-like claw, shoveled manure, laid down new bedding, and squished potato beetles by hand. Also, I discovered that cows have scratchy tongues. I did not know that before. They are like cat tongues, just a thousand times bigger and way more abrasive. 

Out of all the farm residents, my favorite was Momo, a little black cat with emerald green eyes. Sometimes she would just appear out of nowhere and keep me company. One day I was up a ladder trimming the grape vines, and she walked up the ladder to the top, easy as pie. Such a cool little cat. 

And so three months in Austria come to an end. Traveling can always be bittersweet. It's sad to leave such a pretty place and so many new friends. But soon I'll get to see new places and old friends. Tomorrow I go to the United Kingdom where the plan is to go up, up, up north to Orkney, and maybe even as far as Shetland.

sweet chicks on bike

small creatures Saturday

It was back to Eichgraben on Saturday for another trifecta of wwoofing fun at the apiary. We did some hive maintenance, a little bit of roadworks, and checked in on a litter of two-day old Russian Blue kittens (closely supervised by Mama Blue. Also, not exactly "work"). And I picked up a jar of holunderblütensirup processed since the last time I was there.

schnitzel: take two

The last time I was in Vienna I went to Schnitzelwirt and ordered a schnitzel without a side salad. My waitress seemed a little perplexed, but didn't press the issue. When my dinner arrived, I realized my mistake - unless all you really want is two slabs of breaded meat, so big they overhang the edges of the plate, accompanied by only a lemon wedge, you really need a side salad to balance it out. I've sort of been haunted by this incomplete meal ever since, and finally got a chance to make it right on a lazy Sunday. In a perfect alignment of the schnitzel stars, I even got the same waitress as before.

wwoofing mit Bienen

I signed up with WWOOF Austria, and spent part of the weekend in Eichgraben, helping out with some bees. As far as I can tell with my limited experience, bees really don't require too much maintenance. The hives at this place are fairly small boxes, with rectangular hanging frames that the honeycomb is built on.The only thing we ended up doing with the hives was adding some expansion room; we opened each to add new frames with a sort of starter comb inserted so the bees could get busy(er) building more combs, and then stacked another box on top. The starter combs are basically a sheet of wax with a shallow honeycomb matrix, and if I understood the bee lesson correctly, the size of the matrix ensures production of worker bees, rather then drones. However, this was my first time working with bees, and some of the finer points may have slipped by. It's entirely possible I have no idea what I'm talking about. But I didn't get stung, which I'm taking as a sign that I did something right.

Other small tasks included cleaning up old comb frames in preparation for new starters pieces, and we also started a batch of elderflower juice (Holunderblütensaft). We filled a big bucket with blossoms, added water and citric acid, covered it with a cloth, and left it to steep in the corner. I wasn't there long enough the witness the next step.