A day trip to Lake Sevan, Dilijan, and the Goshavank & Haghartsin monasteries.

It’s my first Saturday in Armenia and I’ve booked a day trip to visit Lake Sevan, the small town of Dilijan, and the Goshavank and Haghartsin monasteries. It’s a full day’s worth of activities and we won’t be back before dinner.

I walk to the meeting point to find a few buses waiting in front of the tour operator’s offices. I give my name and am directed to one. I take my seat and wait for the rest of the guests to arrive. Closing my eyes, I try to nap.

The guide, RP, introduces the driver, Joseph. Our group si comprised of a Greek woman, a couple of Philipino women (one of whom lives in Dubai, a man from Jordan, and a bunch of Russians traveling in separate groups and alone. Once we’re all accounted for Joseph closes the door and we head north, leaving the city and driving towards Sevan, an hour away.

It’s an overcast day, the skies threaten to open up on us. We drive past fields and snow-capped mountains, the odd shephard minding his sheep. When we reach Sevan, the bus drives down a narrow street onto a peninsula jutting out into the lake atop which sits the Sevanavank Monastery.

At 1900 meters above sea level, Lake Sevan is the largest lake Armenia; it’s the second-largest high altitude fresh water lake after Lake Titicaca on the border of Peru and Bolivia. The latter is a place I’d like to visit. I had the opportunity to visit Bolivia over Christmas a few years ago and opted to visit Uyuni instead. I’m glad I did, but it means that Titicaca remains unseen by me.

As we alight RP tells us that there’s a bit of a climb to get up to the monastery. He tells us that he’ll break the group into two, guiding one group in Russian and the other in English. This time he’ll lead the Russian group first and so I have time to wander around the complex on my own before meeting up with him for the guided tour.

I climb up the steps to the top of the hill, looking out over the lake when I can. It’s a pictaresque spot, though the overcast skies give it more of a Wuthering Heights type of vibe.

It’s windy at the top and I’m glad I brought an extra layer. I walk around the complex towards the edge of the hill. The clouds part now and again to reveal blue skies that never quite reach the horizon.

Cross stones fill one courtyard flanking a wooden door. I follow a group of people as they enter the church and stand before the altar before heading back outside to look for my group.

Originally built on the southern shore of a small island, Sevanavank ended up on a promontory after the artificial draining of Lake Sevan in the era of Joseph Stalin. At that time the water level fell about 20 metres exposing the land between the shore and the island.

It’s not quite time to meet up and so I walk to the far side of the complex to look at the back of the two churches. The courtyard of one looks like a maze, as only the stone foundations of an old structure remain.

A man offers his horse for photos, approaching various tourists to see if they’d be interested in mounting it for photos. No one seems to take him up on his offer and he eventually brings it back down into a small pasture to wait for another group to arrive.

I meet up with our guide who leads us into the monastery to show us the stone cross within. It’s notable for showing a figure on it. Our guide calls it an Old savior stone, of which there are around 20 in the country. We wait for a group ahead of us to finish before we crowd around the stone ourselves.

Our guide points out the blossoms at te edges of the cross to symbolize the ressurection. It’s a detail she’ll point out again in the next monasteries we’re to visit.

Outside, we’re given more free reign to explore the area. The wind blows and the clouds come close and disperse. It’s as if we’re experiencing multiple seasons at the same time.

I walk down the hill to the shore. Behind a collection of restaurants and shops a small dock shelters tourist boats. One lone boat sails into the small marina. The lake is a bit choppy and there are no tourists looking for a cruise. The captains wait by their vessels.

From Sevan we drive to Dilijan, winding our way through the mountains of Dilijan National Park, called “the Switzerland of Armenia.” The old town itself is a small street lined by stone buildings adorned with wooden parapets. A renovation in 2000 sought to return the look of the street to its 19th century origins.. Workshops and small shops cater to the tourist crowd and I step into one to watch a wood carver for a few moments before I have to rejoin the group.

Walking into a main square we pass the Monument to the Heroes of the Film Mimino, a Soviet-era comedy that won the 1977 Golden Prize at the 10th Moscow International Film Festival. I’m unfamiliar wit the film but a number of people in our group are and there’s much jostling about as people stand beside the figures to have their photos taken.

We eat lunch at the Van guesthouse, sitting at long communal tables. A few dishes dishes adorn the table and a Russian woman shows us how to eat them, wrapping a few things together into bite-sized morsels.

The food is delicious and we ask for more, but they haven’t prepared enough for seconds. A particular favorite is baclazhon, a delicious eggplant dish that I’d love to be able to eat regularly.

Our next stop is the Goshavank monastery. a 12–13th-century Armenian monastery located in the village of Gosh.

The monastery is situated in the village surrounded by homes. Our guide leads us around the buildings, pointing out cross stones and architectural features. In one corner she shows us her favorite cross stone in Armenia, a large slab with incredibly intricate details.

We’re given free time to roam as she leads the Russian tour and I walk in and out of the buildings and up and around the hill overlooking the monastery. A statue of Mkhitar Gosh, an Armenian scholar, writer, public figure, and thinker and founder of the monastery stands outside the entrance.

In a quiet moment I chat with our guide. She’s a PhD in comparative linguistics and a professor in Armenia. She’s been guiding for 10 years as a sideline to her regular job.

Our final stop is the Haghartsin monastery. The bus stops at the base of a hill and we’re to walk the rest of the way, enveloped in fog. I take the lead but pause at a crossroads before following a sign and heading walking up to the monastery itself.

Built between the 10th and 13th centuries the monastery is composed of three churches: St. Gregory's, St. Stephen's, and St. Astvatsatsin. The name is derived from the Armenian words "hagh" (game or soaring) and "artsiv" (eagle), translating roughly to "monastery of the soaring eagle.” Legend has it that an eagle was seen circling the dome of the main church during its consecration ceremony, and so the monastery was christened.

A light rain begins to fall as I walk around the buildings and explore the area around the monastery. It’s relatively quiet; we’re the only large tour group to be visiting at the moment.

There’s a restaurant and cafe and a bakery just down from the monastery. Our guide had recommended an Armenian bread called Haghartsin gata filled with apricot and thyme. I get in line for a coffee and a gata which I share with my new Filipino friends. It’s hot and burns my fingertips as I snack on it, letting rain fall into my coffee.

I nap on the ride back to the city, my belly full and warm, my clothes dry. There’s so much to see in Armenia, and I feel like I’m only scratching the surface. I have another tour booked tomorrow to Garni and Geghard, but I feel like I haven’t the time to see as much as I want to, which will be borne out as I meet other travelers who tell me about the trips they’ve made around this devout country. 🇦🇲