retiredmartin

June 2026. Gyumri. Armenia.

Unexpectedly, the two carriage “commuter” train left Yerevan bang on time, and arrived in Gyumri bang on time, 3:05 hours later.

With that sort of reliability Armenian Rail should take over Northern; it’d take a day to cross the Pennines but at least you’d know that in advance.

A dull, featureless 3 hours,

which I whiled away by wondering about vine leaves and why the border between Turkey and Armenia in the Arpacay Baraji reservoir isn’t straight.

Do fish observe international borders ?, as Pink Military might have sung in 1980.

Gyumri has a Soviet era gem of a station,

it once had a population higher than the capital, and nearly 40 years on from that earthquake that destroyed 80% of the city is still rebuilding, impressively.

But it’s not history we’ve come for, it’s Untappd check-ins and weird shops along Gorki Street. This one isn’t what you might think;

With Mrs’s RM blog now outperforming mine and the influencer $$$ rolling in she’d decided to book the posh hotel overlooking the main square.

£40 a night for the glamorous Alexandrapol Palace, rather than the better rated options at less than half that.

Honestly, I’d pay £40 for a tour of the hotel,

Titanic-themed staircase and all,

clearly built for wealthy Russian tourists who no longer come,

and then stay in one of those £20 guest houses, as the Alex itself barely functioned as a hotel.

Unable to take our card payment, we had to head back into the town to find a bank for some drams, having been able to use Monzo to pay for an espresso in Yerevan.

I would have liked perhaps the poshest Untappd check-in so far, but both bar and (tellingly) restaurant were closed.

Mrs RM got busy finding fault with the room, which was actually pretty good and had a shower that also functioned as a light show for a disco.

That £40 included a breakfast with just two, minor, quibbles.

Rather than the usual buffet a cold selction had already been set out for us, sitting there for who knows how long before we arrived at half nine,

and the hot platter made Mrs RM suspicious on first bite.

“DON’T EAT THAT !” she pleads, obviously worried about limitations in the RAC travel insurance.

Reader, I was born in the Fens, I eat anything and everything.