Day 238 29 September 2017
Destination Jolfa – a city in the far North West corner, divided by the border with Azerbaijan. Much of the road followed the Aras (Araxes) river which also forms the borders of Azerbaijan, Armenia and Nakhchivan – hard to believe we are here in amongst names more familiar on news broadcasts. Border notices along the way were a reminder of how close they were.
St Stepanos an Armenian monastery – a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Another site dating back an incomprehensible age – in the 4th to 6th centuries the first monastery was built. Today it is our first stop. Foundations of dry stone walls surrounded a large building of pale stone blocks. Ornately topped with round towers decorated with carvings and intricate brick work.
A simpler structure built up into the hillside were the monks quarters. A central treed courtyard and inside long vaulted corridors with small rooms lining both sides.
The monastery housed a small Armenian museum with delicately crafted artifacts, clothing. A small pair of shoes drew me in – dainty brown leather shoes with embroidered floral patterns across the toes.
As we left Chris found himself again the centre of delightful conversation with a local group visiting the monastery.
The river lined with green had the familiar high red cliff walls along much of its path. Passing a Caravanseri dwarfed by the cliffs settled alongside the river.
13th Century Saint Andreyordu chapel or Chapel of Chupan was a tiny light coloured stone chapel said to have had a matching chapel on the other side of the river built by 2 brothers. After the many elaborately decorated Mosques visited this was a small and simple stone chapel
Moonscape and striated red landscapes as we travelling onwards.
Until a literal change of scenery – the waterfall of Asiab Kharabeh. A popular local tourist site – with many gatherings throughout the falls area – families, young couples, groups of friends, photographers and selfies galore.
In the arid looking surrounding area the lush green ferns and moss and sun sparkled droplets from the falls were a haven. One group of friends headed along the river with rugs, picnic baskets and a chess set.
The waterfall is also the site of an old mill with a large grinding stone – grinding grain for centuries and still in action. Milled grain is sold at the site.
And on to Jolfa. As we settled in our room for the evening we could hear music, chanting, drumming. Ashura. After discussion we decided Chris would venture out but I did not feel comfortable. I could open our small window and hear the chanting and drumming moving through the streets, coming closer. And then in the dark poorly lit night the march came into view – men lined the street as others marched through the middle – all beating drums, chains for symbolic self flagellation – as a symbol of mourning and redemption. Stirring and powerful in the dark night.
