People sometimes ask for my favorite country or region. It’s a sweeping question with no easy answer, of course. But there are certain lands that hold a strange fascination—before, during, and long after a visit. For me, the Caucasus is one of those places. I can’t quite pinpoint what draws me in—is it the culture, the history, the people? Or perhaps the climate, the terrain, the food? I even entertain the unfounded notion that perhaps this land resonates with some distant memory etched into my DNA. Carrying these thoughts, and encountering landscapes that occasionally sparked a curious sense of déjà vu, I journeyed through the Republic of Armenia.
“You can drink the tap water in Yerevan,” said Yoko-san, drinking deeply from a public fountain near Republic Square in the city center. Yoko, who goes by her Japanese nickname, is Arev, an Armenian fluent in Japanese and my guide for this journey. Intrigued, I followed her lead. True enough, the water had no odor, tasted clean, and was refreshingly smooth, much like natural spring water. Apparently, some of the sources are natural springs, with water quality varying slightly by region, making it a genuine “local natural tap water.” While official information from the Japanese Embassy suggests bottled water is safer for drinking (though tap water is fine for brushing teeth or cooking), even to my discerning traveler’s tongue and throat, the quality seemed perfectly drinkable. I’ve always felt that a country where you can safely enjoy delicious tap water is the mark of a great place. In reality, few such cities or countries exist globally. I was genuinely pleased to discover Yerevan is one of them.
Returning to Armenia After Five Years
This was my first visit to Armenia since 2014. Back then, I traveled overland from Tbilisi, the capital of Georgia (still often called “Gruzia” in the Russian way at the time), crammed into a shared van – a marshrutka – with local passengers for about six hours. I vaguely recalled border hassles: the visa officer supposedly went home sick, immigration grilled me about whether I’d been to or planned to visit Azerbaijan. In our rapidly changing world, five years can feel like an eternity. The contrast sharpened this time, arriving via an Aeroflot flight from Moscow and entering through Yerevan’s Zvartnots International Airport with remarkable ease – and visa-free, no less.
Let me offer a quick overview of the Republic of Armenia, nestled in the Caucasus region between the Black and Caspian Seas. To pinpoint it further: it lies east of Turkey, south of Georgia, west of Azerbaijan, and north of Iran. A former Soviet republic, it occupied the far southwestern corner of that vast territory. Today, approximately 3 million people inhabit a land slightly smaller than the state of Maryland or the country of Belgium. Armenia holds the distinction of being the first nation to adopt Christianity as its state religion and boasts a unique culture, including its own distinct language and alphabet, forged over millennia. The population is remarkably homogeneous, with 98% identifying as ethnic Armenian—a factor often linked to a strong sense of patriotism. Adding to this is a vast diaspora of around 7 million Armenians living abroad, known for maintaining strong ties and solidarity, contributing to a strong collective identity. It’s sometimes said Armenia is truly a nation of 10 million people scattered across the globe.
The Cascade and the Colors of Yerevan
My base was the Radisson Blu Hotel, perched on a hill in central Yerevan. One of the city’s premier modern hotels, it’s just a short walk from a major landmark: the “Cascade,” a giant, multi-tiered stairway structure, and the “Monument to the 50th Anniversary of Soviet Armenia” standing atop its viewpoint. After a pleasant check-in experience with the reserved yet sincere and friendly front desk staff, I quickly unpacked, spurred by the brilliant sunshine outside. I immediately headed for the viewpoint. Gazing up at the towering monument, a thought struck me: commemorating 50 years of Soviet-Armenian relations meant it was likely built in the early 1970s.
In many parts of the former Soviet sphere, monuments of this kind are being systematically removed as nations distance themselves from their Russian or Soviet past. Yet, here in Armenia, this monument remains untouched. If anything, it seems cherished, radiating a timeless majesty as a city symbol. Does this reflect Armenia’s unique political and economic position within the region? Or perhaps it’s the tolerance and broad perspective of a city with millennia of history, viewing events of mere decades ago as just one small chapter, neither needing affirmation nor condemnation? A passing traveler can’t know for sure, but mulling over such questions is part of the unique experience of visiting the historically complex Caucasus, and Armenia in particular.
From the viewpoint, a beautiful panorama of Yerevan unfolds. The city center has a vaguely Eastern European feel, yet it’s distinguished by striking buildings of pale pink and brown stone. This is tuff, a volcanic rock used extensively here, earning Yerevan nicknames like the “Stone City” or the “Rose City.” Throughout the city, one senses influences from Asia Minor, Central Asia, and the Russian/Soviet economic sphere. Abundant parks and tree-lined streets bathe the city in green, a lovely sight. Yerevan’s history stretches back to the 8th century BCE, making it one of the world’s oldest continuously inhabited cities. According to Yoko, local lore even places the biblical Garden of Eden in this region. Time here feels truly immense.
Overwhelmed by Ararat
One of Yerevan’s—and Armenia’s—most iconic superb view is the sight from this viewpoint looking across the capital towards Mount Ararat: the massive Greater Ararat (5,165m / 16,945ft) and its neighbor, Lesser Ararat (3,925m / 12,877ft). The snow-capped peaks and surrounding landscape are breathtaking in their own right. But for someone from Japan, the sheer scale is staggering: the “Lesser” peak towers over Mount Fuji, and beside it looms a standalone giant exceeding 5,000 meters. Experiencing such colossal natural wonders expands your sense of space – a true joy of travel. And here, you can savor it right from the heart of the capital.
The summit area of Greater Ararat is, according to Genesis (again!), where Noah’s Ark came to rest after the Great Flood. While typically referred to as a “legendary site,” local guides often state it as historical fact – “the place where the Ark actually landed after the prehistoric flood.” This confidence speaks volumes about the world’s oldest Christian nation. By the way, Mount Ararat is visible from many points in and around Yerevan, its beautiful, lustrous form constantly shifting with the changing light and time of day. It’s worth noting, however, that recent climate change and air pollution have led to hazier skies more often, sometimes obscuring the view – a sad reality of our times.
Descending the long Cascade stairs, I wandered through central Yerevan to Republic Square. Grand, imposing buildings like the clock tower and the National History Museum line the large, stone-paved plaza, surrounded by chic cafes, restaurants, and shopping streets. It truly feels like the historic heart of a city where people have gathered for ages. The abundant fountains and nighttime illuminations are also must-sees (the public drinking fountain from earlier is nearby). Sipping coffee at a nearby cafe, I found myself thinking, perhaps disrespectfully to the locals, “I can’t believe such a serene and beautiful city exists here, in the Caucasus, in Armenia…”
Nearby is the Matenadaran, the Mesrop Mashtots Institute of Ancient Manuscripts. It houses an incredible collection of Bibles and documents related to Christianity and the Armenian Apostolic Church. Even if you’re not particularly religious, it offers fascinating keys to understanding Armenian and Yerevan’s history through the lenses of knowledge and art.
Encountering Noah’s Ark in Etchmiadzin
It was time to explore beyond Yerevan. Our first destination was Etchmiadzin Cathedral in the town of Etchmiadzin, about 20 kilometers (12 miles) away. The drive took just under an hour, passing through relaxed suburbs that gave way to vast, open fields. The main roads were well-maintained, and while traffic has reportedly increased in recent years, we encountered almost no congestion. The cathedral is the mother church of the Armenian Apostolic Church, founded in 303 AD. The city itself predates the cathedral by 117 years and once served as Armenia’s capital, making this site both a holy center and an ancient capital. Despite its historical significance, the atmosphere is calm and unpretentious. People chatted quietly on benches scattered across the grounds, while others peacefully sketched the cathedral (currently undergoing restoration).
Within the complex is the Cathedral Treasury museum, where relics like a “fragment of Noah’s Ark” and a “piece of the Holy Lance that pierced Christ on the cross” are displayed almost casually. For a moment, I blinked—“Is this… real?”—nearly dismissing it, overwhelmed by the claim. But seeing visitors from around the world intently photographing these objects prompted me to take a closer look myself. Within a few kilometers of the cathedral, the churches of Saint Hripsime and the ruins of Zvartnots Cathedral are also worth visiting. Both are significant Christian sites, and intriguingly, both offer poignant views of Mount Ararat in the distance.
During our excursion, we stopped for lunch at a casual, pleasant local restaurant. Home-style dishes like Malash (a chicken and bean stew) were served generously. The service was attentive, and a refreshing breeze blew across the terrace tables. What more could one ask for in a travel meal? I mused, impressed. The salads and other vegetables were remarkably fresh and flavorful, leaving a lasting impression. Yoko, who had meticulously explained complex historical narratives at the previous sites in flawless Japanese, seemed even more animated when describing the local cuisine. Her passion revealed the deep pride and affection Armenians have for their food.
To Geghard Monastery and Garni Temple
The next day, we headed towards Geghard Monastery and Garni Temple, about 35 kilometers (22 miles) from Yerevan, a drive of just under 90 minutes. The route took us through increasingly wild terrain—landscapes that could only be described as wilderness, with dramatic cliffs and valleys closing in. Yet again, finding the right angle revealed Mount Ararat in the distance, almost constantly visible. Its presence began to feel less like mere beauty or mystery and more like something profoundly sacred, far beyond human comprehension. Geghard Monastery, also known as the cave monastery, was carved directly out of the rock face by Armenian Christians and stonemasons in the 13th century. Tucked away deep in a steep, rugged gorge, the entire site exudes an air of solemn grandeur and austerity. Thinking back on the rough roads and distance covered to reach it, I tried to imagine the immense labor and hardship involved in its creation, and the austere lives of the monks who followed. But arriving so easily by car, surrounded by cheerful tourists, made it difficult to truly grasp.
It felt unfortunate that the profound meaning of a monastery existing in such a remote, otherworldly place seemed diluted by “touristification.” Though a UNESCO World Heritage site, the scene prompted reflection on the meaning and value of travel and tourism itself. Seeing cars overflowing the parking lot, vendors lining the entrance path, and tourists happily Browse souvenirs, I couldn’t help but wish—perhaps selfishly—that I could have visited in a quieter time.
About 6 kilometers (4 miles) back towards Yerevan lies Garni Temple. Originally built in the 1st century AD (though older foundations exist), this Greco-Roman style temple served as a summer retreat for Armenian royalty. Largely destroyed by an earthquake in the 17th century, it was reconstructed in 1976. The surrounding area is beautifully maintained. A memorable moment was hearing schoolchildren on a field trip singing traditional songs inside the temple, their voices amplified by the structure’s acoustics. Garni is also a UNESCO World Heritage site, and the view down into the dramatic gorge below is magnificent.
Our final stop on the circuit of countryside “tourist” spots was Sevanavank Monastery and Lake Sevan, located about 60 km (37 miles) east of Yerevan at an altitude of roughly 1,900 meters (6,200 ft). Lake Sevan is the largest lake in the Caucasus, with a maximum depth of around 82 meters (269 ft). Its waters remain chilly, reportedly not exceeding 20°C (68°F) even in summer. Near the monastery parking lot, simple makeshift stalls (often just the back of a truck) sold colorful fragments of green and blue stone, allegedly collected from the lakebed, for a few hundred yen (a dollar or two). The sellers weren’t pushy – was it typical Armenian humility, or the hesitancy of someone selling potentially dubious goods? Yoko assured me the stones were genuine. Though I rarely buy such things, I picked one up as a souvenir for about a dollar. Its true value remains unknown, but somehow, that feels perfectly fine.
Back in Yerevan
Feeling perhaps a little saturated with historical and religious sites from the countryside excursions, I decided to change the pace back in Yerevan. I visited the Ararat Brandy Factory and explored a 24-hour supermarket. If you’re there on a weekend, the Vernissage open-air market near Republic Square is highly recommended for pleasant strolling, Browse unique crafts and antiques, and experiencing laid-back shopping with vendors who are refreshingly non-aggressive. (As a side note, the Tsaghkadzor ski resort, at about 2,000 meters / 6,500 ft elevation and roughly an hour’s drive from Yerevan, offers a great seasonal activity option).
People-watching on the streets of Yerevan, I was struck again by how urban life is converging globally. Armenia is no exception; the appearance and fashion of young people seem increasingly Westernized. Yoko mentioned that cosmetic surgery is becoming more common, with many opting for features aligned with widely accepted global ideals rather than emphasizing traditional Armenian characteristics. Furthermore, travel and exchange with neighboring countries (Georgia, Turkey, Iran) have become easier, leading to gradually increasing interaction. Relations are reportedly improving even with historically contentious neighbors like Turkey (regarding the Armenian Genocide, which Armenia considers the first modern genocide but Turkey disputes) and Azerbaijan (longstanding conflicts over religion and territory). Despite its ancient roots, new values are clearly emerging, particularly among the younger generation. Even to a traveler’s eye, it’s visible how history here is connecting to the future. Yerevan persists as it always has: an ancient crossroads, constantly undergoing gentle evolution. It seems likely this will never change.
Final Reflections
A journey through Armenia is an experience of surrendering to a gentle, unhurried flow of time. You encounter things on a vast historical scale and breathe an air found nowhere else. The people are generally calm, straightforward, and seem to show little wariness towards travelers. This allows visitors to relax. Perhaps this stems from an identity deeply rooted in profound history and unique culture, manifesting as a healthy pride and patriotism. I felt as though the country was saying, “You are a visitor experiencing just one fleeting moment in our long history; simply be present and take it in.” It’s a quiet confidence that allows for tolerance towards outsiders – perhaps the greatest welcome a traveler can receive.
Why did I feel this sense of connection, this recurring déjà vu, as if Armenian essence resonated with my own values, or as if I recognized things I couldn’t possibly know? Is it because there are indeed common threads between Armenian and Japanese identities? Could it be some ancestral memory, the scent of this land sniffed by distant forebears, encoded in my DNA? Or is it merely the fond projection of a traveler who had a wonderful time? I don’t know the answer. But pondering these possibilities is more than enough to enrich the journey. When, I wonder, will I be able to return to the Caucasus, to Armenia? With these thoughts swirling, I departed Yerevan by air.
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