Samuel Armen

The following entries, as I hope you will find, will not only elucidate the events of my days as an AGBU Intern but will also prove to be an all-around guide, explaining:

• Yerevan and Armenia in the eyes of an American – from the northern most part of Lake Sevan to the tip of Karabagh; from the attractions in the busy city of Yerevan to the serene grounds of Garni and Geghard.
• The AGBU YSIP internship program – Who is in it? How many people are there? Who do we meet outside of the internship? What are the jobs like? What are the events like? When do we work? Where do we work? When do we travel? How do we travel? Where do we stay? What do we do? What’s there to see? Where do we go? What do we eat? And how do we feel with all these new questions being answered so quickly?
• The lifestyle – from the culture and fashion to the clubs, lounges, bars and night life
• And much, much more…  

Day 1 – Many Introductions

After two delayed-flights – first from John F. Kennedy Airport in New York to Charles De Gaulle Airport in Paris, and second from Charles De Gaulle Airport to the Yerevan Airport – a total of 17 hours, I arrived in my home country, Armenia.

Though I was born in Armenia, the car ride to our house through hills and cobble stones and twists and turns in the middle of the night seemed alien to my American understanding. I was adopted from Gyumri before I was 5 years old, and remained in New York my whole life. On occasion, I would travel to Armenia with my family for a week, but this internship would prove the longest I would stay – the internship alone was forty days and I would stay an extra twenty after.

The car stopped atop a gigantic hill – almost a mountain - with both the stars and the city of Yerevan in clear view. I grabbed my bags and headed towards the house in front of me. I opened the door, beginning the story of my journey with an immediate surprise: Even in the dead of night, and in the drowsiness of long travel and jet-lag, I could see that for the next forty days I would be living in a mansion.

A quarter up the marble-like stairs was an intern who was struggling with her luggage. Noticing she packed enough clothes to last several of her life spans, I helped her carry her bags to her room. She would be on the third floor, which was a vast wooden area with the corners divided into spacious dormitories. She told me to come with her outside, so I followed her back downstairs to the balcony. This is where all the interns were.

As I walked in, they turned to me. I introduced myself to them, saying first that my name is Samuel (Samvel). As the introduction continued, I proved myself to be a good source of new information as I would eventually be able to tell the world what it’s like to live in Armenia as a writer, a vegan, a recent college graduate and one who speaks almost no Armenian.

Then they introduced themselves. Together, our group of 21 interns would be fifteen women and six men. Five of us from New York, six from Los Angeles, two from San Diego, three from Pennsylvania, one from Miami, one from Vancouver, two from Syria and one from Moscow.

It was well-past midnight and deep in our conversations when our two supervisors suggested we get rest, declaring that the following six weeks would require it. I made my way to my room where my room mate was left unidentified, sleeping in the cover of darkness. Only a short moment later, jet-lag pulled me down into a much anticipated slumber.