My dream of seeing the magic mountain has turned into a saga worthy of The Magic Mountain (Thomas Mann, 1924).
Having walked across town, taken several escalators up the Cascade — a unique Soviet architectural structure housing various viewpoints as well as multiple galleries that was completed in 1980 — and walked up to the very top of the hill, braving 30-degree heat and some guy trying to sell me something in Russian in the process, my view was obscured by low, misty clouds, rendering Mount Ararat frustratingly unviewable.
I made the journey as a result of last night’s disappointment; during a trip to Aratashen winery to the west of the city, I may have spotted Aragats (Ararat’s sister mountain, located in Armenia proper), but Ararat itself was shrouded in darkness and rain. I had to console myself with an Ararat beer and a lively helping of Khurjin, a gorgeous lavash-packed wrap of lamb, pork, chicken, boiled onions, greens and pomegranates. While there’s nothing I can do about the weather, the local cuisine is rich in flavour and heartiness.
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But thwarted ambition is a part of everyday life. It’s also rich material for storytelling, with cinema acutely equipped to capture life frozen into place, the inability to find closure and the immense difficulty of recapturing the past.
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