Dad and I got caught in the rain tonight, walking from market to market on our way home, and of course we'd left the umbrella at the office (the top picture is of the Center Chapel / CES Building and our office is one of those basement windows, the other one is inside the office). It takes us about 4 or 5 markets to get everything on our grocery list, but it's fun and the merchants are very friendly and helpful. When Dad reaches into his pocket for change and holds out the palm of his hand to see what he's got, they often reach right into his palm and pick out what they need - it happens frequently in various markets. Bread dries out completely after one day, so we have to buy that every day; fortunately it is one thing that is pretty cheap. Most of the fresh produce is displayed outside the store and you pay a clerk right there on the sidewalk after he or she weighs it up.

We are trying to learn the language - not even a glimmer of a hope we'll ever be fluent, but enough to survive - but whenever either one of us uses a word or phrase in public, EVERYONE turns to look at us. I said "kargahnell" when we wanted to get off the marshrutny the other day and everyone whipped around to see who said that. When we got to the office I asked one of our Armenian friends what I should have said, and he assured me I'd said it right - he smiled and said my american accent was what they were reacting to - so I guess we don't exactly blend in. The marshrutnys are often crowded with not enough seats for everyone, but usually a man will offer me a seat and he and Dad stand crouched over since a marshrutny is just a 15 passenger van - certainly not big enough for a 6 ft man to stand up in - anyway, Dad hangs on and keeps his balance as best he can as we weave in and out of heavy traffic on often bumpy narrow streets. And the driver keeps right on stopping to let more people climb aboard. I'm not kidding, sometimes I actually laugh outloud it's so ridiculously packed with people. They must break world records. It is such a blessed relief whenever anyone gets off and we all adjust to more space, maybe someplace to put your left foot, or being able to sit with your tush completely on the seat instead of just halfway.

For the second time since our arrival, we about got shaken out of our bed the night before last with their 21-gun salute, which I guess is their custom to mark any major event or holiday. The first time it happened, at the inauguration of the new president, I seriously gained a measure of insight into what it must feel like to be bombed! Our old soviet-era apartment building shook with every blast! They do it late at night and it sure gets everyone's attention.