The Monastery in the Forest

June 28, 2017

YARP Hello from Elise!

My feet sank into the muddy ground as I climbed up the steep mountain to the old thirteenth century monastery Matosavank. Isabelle, my sister, and I were leading a small group of tourists up the hike. Our group was made up of my mother’s students, Dan and Erica; a graduate student from the U.S., Nichali; my mother; a Lithuanian family of four; my mother’s friend Alexandra, or Alex; another professor from the US; and my grandfather, Suren Ohanyan.

My mother ripped the silence by announcing she and Dan were going to walk my grandfather back down the mountain, because the hike was proving too hard for my grandfather. “Elise and Isabelle, you two are in charge.” Isabelle and I had hiked up the mountain in the middle of winter a few years ago, and we recognized the path. By following trees marked with arrows we made our way up the mountain.

All of a sudden the road forked off into two paths. The main road continued to the right, although five arrows on different trees pointed to a small footpath. “I think we take the footpath,” Isabelle said, “Yeah, me too.” I agreed. So we led the group single file on the footpath, for it was only wide enough for one or two people.

After almost an hour of walking, we came to a small sign that gave some background information about Matosavank. The thirteenth century monastery was built in the year 1251 by Avag and Ivane Zakarian of the Orbelian Dynasty. My breath was ripped away from me as the church came into view. As we filed in single file through the one entrance, our eyes were blinded by the beauty. The church consists of three rooms, the porch, the church, and the book depository. One of the walls was built entirely of Khatchkars, or crosstones. Two small holes in the ceiling lit up the church, illuminating the space around us. Part of the wall was cracked, letting plants grow inside.

We set up a picnic near a strange rock, with thick moss growing over it. “Maybe it’s a gravestone,” suggested Erica, although there was no visible writing on it. “It might just be a fallen rock,” Nichali thought aloud. “Well, there’s only one way to find out!” Alex joked. Nichali took out some wine and we all had some, all except Isabelle and me of course.

We talked for almost an hour until Erica received a call from Dan. We all listened in on the conversation. “Where are you guys? Can you wait?” Dan asked, his voice fuzzy over the phone. “Why? We’re already here.” Erica responded. “Are you guys lost?” Continued Erica. “Well, I wouldn’t use the word lost…” Dan said, chuckling, although I could hear my mother’s yells in the background. “No, no! We are lost!” We all laughed. “Do any of you remember a fallen tree on your path?” aAsked Dan. “Do any of you guys remember a fallen tree on the path?” repeated Erica. “Well I do,” I blurted. It was on the wrong path.” I said. “Yes,” Erica breathed into the speaker. “It was on the wrong path.” Erica continued. “Should we come and get you?” She asked. “Nah, I think we’re good. We’ll call again later if we need help.” Dan responded. Thankfully we received no more calls, and, almost an hour later my mother’s shirt came into view. “I can’t believe you got lost in your own country!” I teased my mother. “Well, we used google maps until we saw one of the arrows and followed it back here,” she responded. The adults enjoyed another bottle of wine together and off we went, leaving the hidden monastery behind us.