Yesterday Yerevan was packed with people for a day of Armenian dances. Streets closed off entirely. People everywhere. So much noise from speakers. The sun was intense. While I wanted to photograph the dancing a bit, it was a little too chaotic at times and so I stood to the side a bit away from the crowds, somewhere not as close to the speakers too. Standing alone, an old woman started to approach. Throwing the odd smile regarding how loud the speakers were.
At first I thought she was the typical kind of beggar you see in the area. Unfortunately as of late there are more and more of them, though I noticed she was really clean. She talked to me initially in Russian, to which I told her I didn't really know it. She then spoke in German. I don't know that at all! I told her in Russian that I speak English, to which she lit up a bit. To a huge surprise, she spoke some English. This is incredibly rare in Armenia when it comes to the elderly, even with those much younger! She told me of how much she loved John Lennon. How much she adored The Beatles growing up.
She said how it was her dream to go to London in her youth. She never did get the chance to go. In the Soviet Union she was quite close, having applied and seemingly been accepted, until last minute they changed their minds on her as an applicant because "she looked too Greek and they wanted a more beautiful Armenian girl". Silliness that was quite common in the past. Where the Soviets were quite afraid of what others would think whenever someone went abroad. They wanted to send the most beautiful, the very best. It was heartbreaking to hear.
She told me she managed to learn some English from her days in school and still remembered it a bit. How she studied for 45 years in Yerevan State University and fell in love with academics. She was 75 years old but the more she talked the more I could imagine this youthful academic. At her age she would've lived through a completely different world, the height of Armenia's Soviet era. She told me how much she missed it, how much easier it was. Complaining that her pension today was pathetic alongside her failing health. I tried to avoid such topics, even avoiding bringing up whether she was alone or not.
We talked about her travels, and while she never did go to London, she explored most of Europe as an academic, falling in love with Yugoslavia, loving Socialist Poland, and spending a lot of time in the German Democratic Republic. This woman was a walking time machine. Riddled with life and stories of the past, stories of places that no longer exist. I'll skip some of the extra details, but she lit up when I said how impressed I was with her English. She thanked me for the conversation and we parted ways. Only for me to look down on the bus a few hours later and see her smiling looking up at me. Heading to a glaucoma check-up.
As much as I wanted to, I didn't ask to photograph her. She also made it clear without any implications on my end that she didn't want to be. Though I couldn't help but show her my Soviet lenses to which she found some joy in seeing.
This encounter made me reflect a lot. I felt so much sympathy for the poor woman that was clearly incredibly intelligent but stuck within an old, failing body. Nowhere near finished with life mentally. As sharp as she could've been, even. She told me these days she performs the same walk to get outside a little. I'm sure I'll end up seeing her again. And I'm hoping I do, to hear more of those stories and maybe surprise her with some English tea.
