battleground armenia

I've been dreading today since I arrived in Armenia. I knew it would involve sneaking from shop to shop, ducking behind cars, and sometimes running for your life.

It's vartavar. A day when children -- really anyone with a mischievous streak -- is given free reign to terrorize unsuspecting people with buckets of water, water guns, hoses, and anything else that will enable them to drench the defenseless pedestrian.

Vartavar's origins are actually found in the church. It falls 98 days after Easter Sunday. But it is also a mix of pagan traditions. A brief Google search didn't turn up a more complete explanation.

At first, I was steadfastly opposed to leaving the house today. I figured I'd stay home, get some work done, do some reading, and glare at the mean little children gathered behind my building. Instead, I decided I should at least experience vartavar firsthand once. And so, with a deep breath, sandals, and clothes that would dry out quickly, I left the building.

As I stepped out of the elevator I waited for someone to jump out and immediately drench me. At which point, I figured I'd just go back home and sulk for the rest of the day. Instead, it seemed the hallway was safe, as was the entrance to the building, and the street outside.

"This isn't so bad," I stupidly thought.

I walked a good five blocks before I heard a whoosh and a stream of water came crashing down from a balcony above. It only splashed the back of my feet. I looked up expecting an 8-year-old culprit. Instead, I saw a woman my age and her mother. I smiled and walked on.

As I got closer to the city center, it felt more and more like the wild west. The streets are unusually empty for a Sunday afternoon. Maybe Toumanyan, a main street that runs near the opera house, would be a bit quieter. I was craving a shawerma anyway.

Bad choice.

Both sides of the street were lined with boys and girls armed with buckets, hoses, water guns, water bottles, and various other weapons of choice. That was the first time they got me good.

I ate my shawerma and decided to keep heading down Toumanyan, which looked quiet enough. As I approached the corner of Nalbandyan I noticed a man standing in a doorway with one hand behind his back. I immediately grew suspicious. Then he put his hand forward and I saw it was empty. I relaxed. He stepped inside the shop, and I figured I was in the clear.

Wrong again.

Just as I passed the shop, he emerged with a large blue bucket. I screamed and ran but he drenched me. I stood on the corner wringing my skirt out as the policemen across the street laughed at me.

Finally, I got to vernissage. I was determined to finish my souvenir shopping today. I figured with all those goods, I'd be safe there, too.

Apparently, I'm a slow learner.

While there were no buckets, it seems every jewelry seller keeps a water gun hidden underneath his table. I got sprayed a few times, but luckily no drenchings.

Now I've taken refuge in my apartment, but I've stupidly agreed to dinner with a friend in an hour. I guess I'll be taking my chances again.