The 501s

Tucked underneath a vaguely French-style deli is Pub 501, Novosibirsk's only cowboy bar. A creaky set of wooden steps, illuminated by the orange glow of incandescent lamps in brass fixtures, opens into a room with nearly a dozen oak tables placed on the right side and a long lacquered mahogany bar on the left. Paraphernalia of the American West dot the ceilings and walls. A portrait of Annie Oakley, arrow-pierced hats, boots, steer horns, Colt 45s and, of course, the obligatory tomahawk and bow-and-arrow. The piped-in mishmash soundrack alternates between 70s AM radio and early 1950s crooners.

Accompanied by Garreth, an English mechanical engineer I had met in the hotel's dilapidated Internet Centre, we struggled in vain to find any open stool, the place already packed at 9 pm. As we conversed in English nearly every head turned, locals undoubtedly playing Spot-The-Foreigner. Despite being Russia's third largest city and unofficial capital of Siberia, not many tourists swing through Novosibirsk and even fewer presumably drop into the 501.

Every Friday and Saturday night, the four-piece house band, named the 501s, takes the three-person stage. The opening electric guitar riff of "Hotel California" reverbed through the pub as the drummer, who played an amazing synthetic drumset, pounded out the beat. There's something quite special about non-English speaking singers belting out Western hits and it was gratifiying to secretly laugh at Russians for a change for mispronouncing our words. The setlist was exquisitely bad, yet somehow brilliant: Genesis' "Turn it On", Michael Jackson's "Beat It", The Looking Glass' "Brandy, You're a Fine Girl", and easily the highlight of the evening, "Ghostbusters Theme". As the band rocked it hard all night, Garreth and I let out a variety of whistles and whoops and, with index and pinky fingers extended, the heavy metal sign was used liberally. The keyboardist, decked out in an Iron Maiden T-shirt, was appreciative, to say the least.

The Baltika-fueled hangover this morning was not nearly as fun.

Vector

There's something about the phrase "weaponized viruses" that gives a person pause, particularly when sprinkled together with adjectives like "aerosolized" and "Marburg". This morning, as a lauded and oft-frisked guest of the Vector State Research Institute of Microbiology and Virology, it was my pleasure to witness the very labs used by the Soviets to make such biological weapons. Neither particularly clean or modern, the halls of the third and fourth floors look like submarine passages, one airlock closing behind you as you step into the next. Typical office paraphernalia like dogs on pillows and kitties hanging from branches are placed, presumably unironically, next to shutdown protocols in case of accidental exposure or rupture. All cameras and computers were confiscated before going in and the stern female soldiers in camouflage were lucid reminders that this was a very serious place. The thick fog that blanketed the ground just added to creepy effect, the sun not fully exposed until 2pm in the afternoon.

Today was my last [long] day representing the Department of State. Tomorrow I will move out of the Akademgorodok and into Novosibirsk proper. Soon thereafter the theatre of embarrassment known as Rod's Excellent Uzbek Adventure will begin.

onward to Novosibirsk

I have left Armenia and am in the airport now and soon on way to Siberia. Details later. Access to internet uncertain as we are headed to Koltsovo, a closed city.

A Temple for Helios

Flanked on three sides by canyon walls, the Garni sun temple is an eerie reminder of how long this part of the world has been populated. Built by King Trdates in the first century AD, the structure was erected in honor of Helios, the Roman god of the sun and was the site of many an animal sacrifice. Though Armenia was the first nation to convert to Christianity (in 303 AD), its pagan roots cannot be ignored -- indeed, just a few meters from the temple are the ruins of an ancient bathhouse where orgiastic partys were thrown as tribute to Emperor Nero.

Oddly enough, just ten kilometers down the dusty road, some of earth's oldest Christian relics still exist in cave-carved chapels and monasteries.

Central Yerevan

With Mount Ararat, the reputed landing site of Noah's Ark, prominent in the horizon, Yerevan is sleepy and proud, friendly and vibrant, gentle and modest. A stark contrast to Russians, the people of this ex-Soviet republic pride themselves in being hospitable and smile with no provocation. Though this is a poor country, cafes are omnipresent and the nightlife trails into the wee hours of the morning. The people carry a Persian appearance, with perhaps a bit of Turkish and Russian mixed in, and many are quite stunning. Armenian is the official language while most everyone speaks Russian also, and English is the hip language that is spoken by the under-30 set (as well as many others). Lunille, a smart trilingual Armenian girl who works the front desk at our hotel, informed me that the population wants to forget Russian altogether, hopefully to be replaced by French or Spanish.

The weather here is idyllic, the semi-humid air nearly the same temperature as the skin. Little consistent rainfall in the summer makes for sudden gusts of dust clouds that can sting the eyes, but it is a small price to pay for such a peaceful, welcoming place. Our meals have been very cheap; last night's full Lebanese dinner with felafal, hummus, salad and two beers for $4 each. The people here are so friendly and this city of 1.1 million feels quite safe to stumble home at any time of the day.

Devoted formerly to Lenin, the Soviet-style Republic Square in central Yerevan has been refurbished into something colorful, enormous and majestic. The headless statue of Vladimir lies supine in the fountain and ubiquitous corn-on-the-cob and watermelon stands serve tourists and locals alike.

Although unmistakably serene, I can't shake the sad feeling that this is the high point of many Armenian lives and the abject poverty just ten miles away better reflects the nature of this country.