For many years now, for me, Armenia has been everything. That's why when I decided to visit its southern border, Meghri, I believed I was meant to die, because there the country ended, and beyond it there was nothing but Pardis, the longed-for Persian paradise, which I would reach by crossing winding mountains that in themselves, given their bareness, made me think of the end of the known world.

If the world ends somewhere, I don't imagine the beyond as an infinite expanse of water, like the Babylonians did, but as an arid, endless mountain range. You reach Meghri by crossing this very blanket of harsh mountains that in the end become even more jagged and sharp: if a meteorite fell on them, it would be sliced like ham and the mountains would remain unscathed. I'd bet on it! At night they are even more impressive.

Mountains scare me a little, because they tower over and accentuate everything: the sky, the depth, the smallness! And so at night, since it's hard to locate them precisely, those dark silhouettes are even more terrifying. They scare me even when I pass by them in the car... at night. Because they blend into the blackness of the dark and appear suddenly only when your eyes adjust.

A little past Meghri, in Agarak, a young man was hitchhiking in plain sight. I stopped, picked him up, and found out the guy was going to Iran, to Pardis, to "go grocery shopping," because over there "everything costs a bit less," he tells me, and besides, they are better equipped and there's more variety. As we know, living on the border can have its privileges. The guy was a typical border youth; you couldn't quite place him.

I dropped him off just before the checkpoint because I wanted to avoid questions from the border authority. At the end of the day, I didn't know if that guy was a saint or a petty smuggler... and after all, he was the one who warned me... and since I wanted to avoid questions, I stopped before it. By that point I had already done my duty, and the favor was delivered.

It's hard enough to answer questions that concern us directly, let alone those from the police... to the police you can't answer with ellipsis...

After leaving our dear merchant, I went to eat something in a restaurant near the entrance of Meghri. From inside, through the windows, I could see huge fig trees... figs in Meghri flow hand in hand with running water... they belong there. A little further away, towering over the bar counter, a huge sign featuring, alongside the restaurant's name, imagined scenes of the war between Macedonians and Persians: the name of the restaurant was Palanga.

After dinner I set off again. Off slowly to cross Vardanidzor... Kajaran... Lernadzor... Hamletavan... Kapan... heading back up toward the earthly world.