Tweet
DISCOVERING THE FORGOTTEN HOLY LAND OVERLOOKED ARMENIA IS HOME TO A COMPLEX CULTURE AND SOME OF THE WORLD'S GREATEST RELIGIOUS SHRINES
Dennis K. Berman
http://ramgavar.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=458%3 Adenni
Tuesday, 10 April 2012 00:00
Rocks of Ages | The Monastery of Haghpat
The Armenian man let loose a single musical note. It ricocheted
between the 1,000-year-old stone walls of Haghpat Monastery, echoes
transforming his warm, lonely voice into a full symphony.
If time has a sound, it sounds like Haghpat, one of the world's
greatest religious shrines-and also one of the least explored.
Every year, millions of tourists flock to the predictable splendours of
Rome and Jerusalem, filling the Vatican and the Old City. Armenia,
meanwhile, hosted fewer than 100,000 visitors in 2009. It's
understandable: On first impression, this country of three million
on the Caucasus does not feel like a holy land.
Armenia's cities are filled with grim industrial buildings. Hundreds
of miles of barbed wire separate it from Turkey, from whom it
is still awaiting an apology for a 1915 genocide. Relations with
neighbouring Azerbaijan, which claims territory within Armenia, remain
fractured. The bulk of Armenian tourists are, in fact, Armenians, who
scattered after World War I and through later years of economic decay.
Yet it is this tangle of histories and enmity that makes Armenia such
a compelling place to visit, as my wife and I learned when we spent a
week there last summer. Men roast giant pots of corn by the roadside;
Armani-clad hustlers share streets with farmers wearing thick,
Soviet-era suits. And magnificent, soot-stained monasteries like
Haghpat and Geghard, which was carved into the side of a mountain,
still preside atop green valleys.
Ancient archways at Haghpat
Perhaps fittingly, a fine airborne grit-and surprisingly friendly
gun-toting guards-welcomed us to Armenia's north-eastern border
crossing with Georgia. We were driven by a 48-year-old former
architect who said he changed careers because there is no work to
be had designing new buildings. Old structures-abandoned Soviet
factories-still loom over the landscape.
But soon enough, crumbling concrete gave way to thick forest, spread
across a series of river valleys. The occasional ox cart appeared on
the uneven roads, slowing our progress. At a roadside restaurant, a few
dollars bought a lunch of fresh lamb, eggplant and hearth-baked bread.
The bucolic, shambolic setting only made the 10th-century Haghpat,
in the north-eastern corner of Armenia, feel all the more remarkable.
With its gilded and vaulted spaces, the Vatican implores its visitors
to be inspired. Haghpat doesn't have to try so hard. It and sister
monastery Sanahin, which form a Unesco World Heritage site, are
little visited on Armenia's back roads. At Sanahin, only a wizened
female caretaker was on site. (And down the hill was a memorial to
Artem Mikoyan, father of the Soviet MiG, complete with a fighter jet.)
>From the outside, Haghpat looks like a jumbled castle whose owners
keep randomly adding on wings and storerooms. About 500 years after
King Tiridates III made Christianity his nation's official religion,
a monk named Nishan set upon a hillside near the modern-day town of
Alaverdi to build Haghpat. The main two-story sanctuary was begun in
967 and was finished 24 years later. In the centuries that followed,
descendants built scriptoria and belfries, refectories and mess halls,
chiselling many of their walls with fine crosses.
Haghpat's monks formed a devotional, if paranoid, communal existence.
Their lives were short. Books and manuscripts were fiercely
protected. Invaders were so frequent that the windows were designed
as narrow slits, which today seem to concentrate the power of the
sunlight that beams through them.
Vendors outside Geghard monastery
Nishan named the place more suitably than he may have
imagined-"Haghpat" means "strong walls" in Armenia's curled 36-letter
alphabet. The blackened stone walls have survived earthquakes and
sackings, Muslim invaders and atheist pedants, and convey fortitude
where little has managed to endure. In a country full of monasteries,
Haghpat, which outlasted the Cilicians, Egyptian Mameluks, Kurds,
Turks, Mongols, Ottomans, Persians and Russians, particularly inspires
simply because it is still here.
Inside, towering arches are caked with a patina of soot, mold and plain
old dirt. Birds roam throughout the many rooms, their tweets echoing
among the stones. The sparse walls once held a series of religious
murals and paintings. Most were scrubbed off by the Soviets, though
a few splashes of red and blue peek through the grime.
There are also tracks of soot from a set of flickering candles. It's
as if you can see the centuries of invisible prayer that accumulated
with each lighted wick, making the ethereal into the tangible.
As we explored the complex, we trod on tombs and crypts laid down
century by century. Most feature the ancient Armenian script, surely
describing the pious and glamorous of the day. Some are simpler,
depicting only the most basic outline of an adult's body-or a child's.
To pray at Haghpat is to offer thanks for our short time here; to
know that our tombstones will one day be flooring; and to respect how
a rock arch can plant itself in the ground and not let go of the sky.
Dennis K. Berman
http://ramgavar.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=458%3 Adenni
Tuesday, 10 April 2012 00:00
Rocks of Ages | The Monastery of Haghpat
The Armenian man let loose a single musical note. It ricocheted
between the 1,000-year-old stone walls of Haghpat Monastery, echoes
transforming his warm, lonely voice into a full symphony.
If time has a sound, it sounds like Haghpat, one of the world's
greatest religious shrines-and also one of the least explored.
Every year, millions of tourists flock to the predictable splendours of
Rome and Jerusalem, filling the Vatican and the Old City. Armenia,
meanwhile, hosted fewer than 100,000 visitors in 2009. It's
understandable: On first impression, this country of three million
on the Caucasus does not feel like a holy land.
Armenia's cities are filled with grim industrial buildings. Hundreds
of miles of barbed wire separate it from Turkey, from whom it
is still awaiting an apology for a 1915 genocide. Relations with
neighbouring Azerbaijan, which claims territory within Armenia, remain
fractured. The bulk of Armenian tourists are, in fact, Armenians, who
scattered after World War I and through later years of economic decay.
Yet it is this tangle of histories and enmity that makes Armenia such
a compelling place to visit, as my wife and I learned when we spent a
week there last summer. Men roast giant pots of corn by the roadside;
Armani-clad hustlers share streets with farmers wearing thick,
Soviet-era suits. And magnificent, soot-stained monasteries like
Haghpat and Geghard, which was carved into the side of a mountain,
still preside atop green valleys.
Ancient archways at Haghpat
Perhaps fittingly, a fine airborne grit-and surprisingly friendly
gun-toting guards-welcomed us to Armenia's north-eastern border
crossing with Georgia. We were driven by a 48-year-old former
architect who said he changed careers because there is no work to
be had designing new buildings. Old structures-abandoned Soviet
factories-still loom over the landscape.
But soon enough, crumbling concrete gave way to thick forest, spread
across a series of river valleys. The occasional ox cart appeared on
the uneven roads, slowing our progress. At a roadside restaurant, a few
dollars bought a lunch of fresh lamb, eggplant and hearth-baked bread.
The bucolic, shambolic setting only made the 10th-century Haghpat,
in the north-eastern corner of Armenia, feel all the more remarkable.
With its gilded and vaulted spaces, the Vatican implores its visitors
to be inspired. Haghpat doesn't have to try so hard. It and sister
monastery Sanahin, which form a Unesco World Heritage site, are
little visited on Armenia's back roads. At Sanahin, only a wizened
female caretaker was on site. (And down the hill was a memorial to
Artem Mikoyan, father of the Soviet MiG, complete with a fighter jet.)
>From the outside, Haghpat looks like a jumbled castle whose owners
keep randomly adding on wings and storerooms. About 500 years after
King Tiridates III made Christianity his nation's official religion,
a monk named Nishan set upon a hillside near the modern-day town of
Alaverdi to build Haghpat. The main two-story sanctuary was begun in
967 and was finished 24 years later. In the centuries that followed,
descendants built scriptoria and belfries, refectories and mess halls,
chiselling many of their walls with fine crosses.
Haghpat's monks formed a devotional, if paranoid, communal existence.
Their lives were short. Books and manuscripts were fiercely
protected. Invaders were so frequent that the windows were designed
as narrow slits, which today seem to concentrate the power of the
sunlight that beams through them.
Vendors outside Geghard monastery
Nishan named the place more suitably than he may have
imagined-"Haghpat" means "strong walls" in Armenia's curled 36-letter
alphabet. The blackened stone walls have survived earthquakes and
sackings, Muslim invaders and atheist pedants, and convey fortitude
where little has managed to endure. In a country full of monasteries,
Haghpat, which outlasted the Cilicians, Egyptian Mameluks, Kurds,
Turks, Mongols, Ottomans, Persians and Russians, particularly inspires
simply because it is still here.
Inside, towering arches are caked with a patina of soot, mold and plain
old dirt. Birds roam throughout the many rooms, their tweets echoing
among the stones. The sparse walls once held a series of religious
murals and paintings. Most were scrubbed off by the Soviets, though
a few splashes of red and blue peek through the grime.
There are also tracks of soot from a set of flickering candles. It's
as if you can see the centuries of invisible prayer that accumulated
with each lighted wick, making the ethereal into the tangible.
As we explored the complex, we trod on tombs and crypts laid down
century by century. Most feature the ancient Armenian script, surely
describing the pious and glamorous of the day. Some are simpler,
depicting only the most basic outline of an adult's body-or a child's.
To pray at Haghpat is to offer thanks for our short time here; to
know that our tombstones will one day be flooring; and to respect how
a rock arch can plant itself in the ground and not let go of the sky.