Tenth Century Monasteries of Debed Canyon

Trip Start Mar 21, 2005
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Trip End Ongoing


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Where I stayed
Alena's Family Homestay
(Yerevan hotels)

Flag of Armenia  ,
Tuesday, February 12, 2008

The marshrutka from Sevan descended from the highlands around Lake Sevan into forested mountains and valleys, leaving the white snowstorm behind. On the way, we passed small towns and switchbacked down thousands of feet, stopping at the Vanadzor bus station. From Vanadzor, I took a bus north through Debed Canyon to the mining town of Alaverdi.

Perched above the canyon were the towns of Haghpat and Sanahin, each with their tenth century monasteries. In Haghpat, the sun shone as snow melted while I looked for a guest house or homestay. Friendly villagers helped me and soon I was walking with Alena to her home, a village farm. After a mid-afternoon meal, I visited the monastery complex as another snowstorm arrived.

One fascinating thing about Armenian monasteries is that kings and other historical figures are buried here, but not in cemetaries Alena and Her Family
Alena and Her Family
 . They are buried underneath your feet as you walk around the monastery. On the floor are carvings into stones marking where each king or monk or artist is buried.

Aside from that the general feeling is that you are always discovering something new, whether a small carving on a wall or a seminary chamber around the corner or a differently-patterned one thousand year-old khatchkar.

Another feeling that comes across is the age of the structures, but you feel as though you've stepped back in time, as the churches are still in use and the buildings are in good condition, not a midieval ruin.

At Alena's the family and I had dinner together and we watched traditional Armenian music videos, with a modern twist, in their living room, with ancient churches in the background of the musicians, with their new Moog keyboards and microphones.

A few kilometers away, up another switchback road from Alaverdi, was Sanahin. The storm cleared while I was at Sanahin. Yet still a few snowflakes gracefully fell through the skylight pinhole in the gavit. A small white tuft of flakes graced the center of the gavit, where all the flakes had fell in the calm air. For a while, I walked around and lit candles.

I took a marshrutka from Alaverdi to the Georgian border, walking across, then continuing to walk through farmland and villages until finally getting a ride with a friendly truck driver who was also heading to Tbilisi, an hour away, leaving Armenia, its history, its khatchkars, its old monasteries, and its people behind.
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