retiredmartin

June 2026. Yerevan. Armenia.

Breakfast at our “Boutique” hotel was certainly colourful;

it was the only free breakfast we managed that week, with no food till 9am and those early tour starts.

Tucked just outside the ring road, next to international embassies and the Soviet chess club (look closely),

it wasn’t bargain (£60 a night), but was just what we needed, and international hotels were going for three times that.

The Yerevan map doesn’t paint the city centre in the best light;

you really have to slow down and look up for the architectural gems.

Our 34th wedding anniversary yesterday (no cards, just a Chinese takeaway and an Aldi Malbec), and I’m still in awe of Mrs RM’s lack of fear in taking on assignments most would shy away from, like taking photos of the Russian sculpture fronting the police station (above) when told not to.

We would have got some proper Soviet art in the closest metro station,

but they’ve just dispensed with the little lady in a booth dispensing 20p tokens for entry to the underground, replaced with an electronic QR code that needs to be sent to your Armenian phone number.

But Mrs RM hasn’t got an Armenian phone number.

We took the first of five, perhaps six (6) Yandex rides (what’s the plural of Yandex ?) to the Genocide museum, described as both essential and difficult by our guide.

It certainly reminds you how little you know about relatively recent history.

Across town we climbed the hill in 33 degrees to Mother Armenia, missiles and all,

and decided that the giant funfair opposite was actually more interesting. Perhaps it was the extreme heat, but there weren’t many children in the children’s park.

“How did you resist the £2 pints of Kilikia, RM ?”.

Well, unlike the park lads, I was saving myself for the craft temptations of the Old Town.

Would that prove a wise move ?