Wandering in rusty Armenia

One question always reappears here and there : when will you be back ? I'd like so much to answer that I don't know, that nothing can take me back from my travel, so hard it can even be sometimes. ... Asia... My best traveler friend warned me : when you'll be there there will be a big magnet strongly attracting you, called Asia. He was right. Let's agree that I should be back at least in the middle of October, to finish my studies. But who knows what the future will be made of ? I just now that my short ( 7 days !) transit visa for Iran is ready. Once in here, I will be very close to the center of the world. East : Asia, India, China ; West : Turkey, door of Europe ; North : Russia, Siberia ; South : Arabia, where Islam was born. Now each way attracts me, and I have no visa for any countries, and I do know it will be long and difficult to get a visa. 10 days to get a Turkmenistan visa...

I met in here the same kind of psycho than in Serbia. But this time he was tightly holding an ax in his hand. Rough questions, rude russian (chuj in every sentence) , he already thinks I'm a spy. It is to say that we are very close to the turkish border. But I don't see in this tiny village anything to spy ! Farms, fields, horses, cows, donkey, dogs, peasants, and I don't have any James Bond ' s gadgets : I even lost my knife. He strongly handle my arm and take me to a bench where two old peasants, a bit hilarious, sit. A little male crowd now surrounds me. He calls someone with his cellphone, pretending he calls the Police. He yells to everybody that I can be only a smile. Refuses all my explanations with insults.

After many questions, and many back and go of my passport's copy from new hands to my pocket, I start to really get on my nerves. At first I was trying to laugh, but sometimes it doesn't work. I don't have to justify to anybody. And to the fourth man who dares to ask me " Ty Kto ? Dakioument' iest ? Gdie ?" (Who are you? Documents? Where?" ) I answered directly "Ty sam Kto ? Politsiant ? Niet !"(who yourself you are ? Policeman ? No !). He didn't answer that I already took my bag and went away, shouting " Ia dielou shto ia Khatshiou, iestem wolnem tshelaviekiem !". And then keeping insulting in polish... Nobody tried to hold me from my path. C'est vrai quoi merde a la fin !

Ce n'etait qu'une anecdote du milieu de mon periple armenien. Le Caucase est un bon coin pour pousser des vehicules. Je demarre ma journee pour quitter la Georgie en aidant mon hote a pousser un side-car antique bloque sur la route de terre. Il demarre assez vite, etonnament. Apres avoir ete depose au bout du village, je marche un bout de temps, jusqu'a ce que la seule voiture qui passe en allant dans la direction opposee s'arrete quand meme. Un vieil ingenieur mecanique armenie qui aurait tout donne pour voir Paris, au point d'en avoir les larmes aux yeux. En russe, il se met vite a me parler de Jeanne d'Arc, Jean Valjean, et connait bien la culture francaise, ainsi que l'histoire en general. On est la sur la route en terre battue et cabossee quand il arrete un 4*4 rutilant qui cette fois va dans ma direction, en lui expliquant surement comment je suis un super touriste francais si gentil et qu'il faut qu'il m'amene a Yerevan... L'autre croit s'en sortir en disant qu'il ne parle pas Anglais, quand il se prend un "Ia gavariou pa rouski" magistral en pleine face...
Dans sa voiture, il me parle pour me convaincre d'a quel point il est important. Mais pouvoir passer devant tout le monde parce qu'on est flic ne permet pas de demander aux douaniers un un visa sans problemes, comme il me l'avait assure. Il se depeche de me faire sortir en disant qu'il n'a pas le temps.

Ce qui me laisse le plaisir de rencontrer Greg et Narine, couple franco-armenien charmant et tres interessant.

J'ai la flemme. Je rattraperai mon retard. Et puis je ne sais pas si mon errance ici merite tellement de mots.