Mt. Ararat, the Symbol of Armenia - Travel and Tourism
“I should like to see any power destroy this race, this small tribe of unimportant people, whose wars have all been fought and lost, whose structures have crumbled, literature is unread, music is unheard and prayers are no more answered... Burn their homes

and churches. Then see if they will not laugh, sing and pray again. For when two of them meet anywhere in the world, see if they will not create a new Armenia."- William Saroyan

Biting into an apricot, a flood of memories flows with the juice of the fruit: ancient churches, medieval fortifications, stunning desert landscapes, and most of all, a tinge of sadness mixed in for my Armenia.

I woke up on my first hazy day in Yerevan to the ragged call of a rooster. What greeted me was the silent decay of the Soviet and Middle Eastern architecture. The bleakness of my ancient homeland caught me off guard.

I was even more puzzled at the hate most Armenians felt for their neighbors: the Turks and Azeris. They said these feelings were from an ancient pain, the Armenian genocide. I just couldn’t relate then; I had never even really thought of myself as Armenian before.

But that day, as I looked up I saw an outline of a snow-capped peak that filled all the heavens, leaving me speechless. This was the place where Noah landed the Ark: Mt. Ararat, the symbol of Armenia. It is a site holy to all Armenians, yet it is in Turkey behind a closed border. Not only were the people massacred, but the very soul of the country was stolen by the Ottomans. Gazing at it I felt a strange pang of loss.

This image was still imprinted in my mind as solemn priests were chanting inside Etchmiadzin, the high-steeped holy see of the Armenian Church. It was my christening. The holy water was to make me an Armenian, yet I still felt conflicted and unsure. Who am I?

As I exited the cathedral, it was as if the holy water had washed my eyes clean. I saw Ararat again, but instead of crumbling apartment blocks, I saw the ancient South Caucasus: that crossroads of Asia Minor where Armenians had suffered under the yoke of feuding empires for almost three millennia: both Xerxes and Stalin had imprinted their own brand of anguish on the people. After that misery, instead of regaining their homeland, they were massacred by the millions in the waning days of the Ottoman Empire. .

I then started to understand the Armenians’ fierce pride. I now had a piece of their resilience, a piece of this distant land that would always be with me.

I found a hidden part of who I was: my ancient legacy. With my roots came responsibility. The Diaspora must help a country that is in poverty and ruin. As we finally left Armenia, my uncle begged me to return someday.

Don’t worry; I’ll be back, Mt. Ararat.

For more information on Armenia please visit

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Armenia