TOWN of MEGHRI

                                     ON   THE   SOUTHERN   BORDER

                  When  you travel, you feel  revived at  every  new  turn…

    This  time  the tour, with big and small  turns, took  us to  the last  kilometer of Armenia, the southern  border  where the road is  lined  with manmade walls and beyond  the barbed  wire  is the winding  Rive  Gihon, one of the  four rivers issuing  out of the  Garden  of Eden, also  named Arax (Araxes) by  the Armenians. But  this finish  line  called “ the border” was only  the beginning of our journey…

  The  town  of Meghri, located  at the southernmost point of  Armenia and  nestled  within  high  mountains, is  reminiscent  of a fairy-tale-ish  hamlet with  its  winding  roads, single-storied  buildings  with  suspending  balconies  and incrusted  wooden  doors. The  tranquility  of the town  is  guarded by the  fortress of Meghri, first  referred  to in 1083.  Among  the  Armenian  fortifications, the  fortress of  Meghri is  unique  because  it has no protective walls;  instead the mountain ranges  enclose the entire settlement  in a semicircular band  with six  towers  on individual  summits  made of natural granite   stone  and  clay  filler. The  town has  been  built  in the form of a Greek  theatre and  is divided  into  Mets Tagh (Greater District  or  Community)  and Pokr  Tagh ( Smaller Community).  Among  the otherwise inconspicuous  buildings  of the town  rise two  churches with sharp  cross bearing domes.  

  In  the courtyard of the  Church St. Astvatsatsin (Holy  Mother of god) built  in the Greater District  in 1623, we  met Father  Shirak, who  told  us  the  history  of  this 17^th century  ecclesiastical  edifice. The  story  was  neither  striking  nor  shocking, but  instead  the  walls  of the  church  bore authentic  jewels  of Armenian murals.

  The  domed rectangular  St. Astvatsatsin  is a  basilica  made  of two  structures. Its base  part  is  built  in basalt stone  and  the cupola  is made  of  bricks. The  octahedral drum-shaped  cupola,  which  is  visible  from  all  parts of  the  town, is  virtually invisible  from  the  inside. When  you  look  at  the  cupola  from  the  northeastern  side, you  see a small door  in the  recess that  leads  to the interior  of the  dome.  Some  sources  claim  that  the  spacious  dome  used  to  serve  as a  hiding-place  in  old  times. The frescoes  inside  the church were allegedly  done  by  brothers  Nathan  and  Jacod  Hovnatanyan  upon the  order  of some  wealthy  people  of the town. We learn some  information about  the  murals  from the  inscription that  is  still  visible  on the Sacrifice  of  laic  by Abraham,  according  to  which  the wall  paintings  were  initiated  by  Deacon Aghabab in  1844-1848. Supposedly, Aghabab  passed  away  in 1848  and  the murals  remained  unfinished. 

  Despite  the fact  that the history  of the chuch  features  no  famous  legends,  during  the  construction  works  in the  neighborhood  several  years  ago a secret  passageway  was unearthed  that stretched  from the  Greater  District  to the  Smaller one  connecting  St. Astvatsatsin with the church of St. Hovhannes  Mkrtich  (St. John the Baptist) in the southwestern  part of  the town. The passageway  stood partly  ruined and  was impassable, so  we chose  the over ground  route  to  reach  the  opposite  mountain  slope. First  we  passed  through  the winding  streets and  narrow  backyards of the Smaller  District  until the stairway,  made  from  huge  natural  blocks  of  stones,  finally  brought  us to the iron  gates. The only open  entrance  in the wall-enclosed  courtyard of the  church was  the  five-foot-tall arched door that made the visitors stoop when passing through. Within the  twilight of the praying chambers  inside the rectangular basilica,  the first thing that caught our  attention was the play of the colors plastering the walls: the interspersed ornaments  and  images created  an  inclusive  picture filling  the  ostensible  emptiness if the church. The  style  of the frescoes  induced a  mental reference  to the same Hovnatanyan  brothers. In old  times, in order to protect these  masterworks of mural painting   from foreign invaders, the monks and the locals  covered  the walls  with a thin layer of  plaster. It was only in the 1980s that the plaster was removed to reveal the beautiful  paintings.

  This desolate place stood  like  a shadow of bygone  times: there was no candlelight trembling in the wind, nor were there smoking  thuribles. But despite that, the odor  of incense was everywhere and the mystical  spirit  filled  our souls  with  every  breath we took.

  The centuries- long history  of the church was confined in a few sentences. When the words  of Father Shirak were no longer  audible in the echo, the silence  of the  church was disturbed  only by the whistle  of the  wind  penetrating  from  between  the closed doors. Suddenly, we caught  sight of  several  sunrays  creeping in through the little  windows: they were crawling  slowly up the wall of the hazy  praying chamber, fusing our  shadows with the colorful  wall  paintings.

  Leaving  the road  sigh with the indication of the first  and the last kilometers of Armenia behind,  we soon departed from the town of Meghri. Minutes later we crossed  the Meghri passing and found  ourselves on the uppermost  point  of the highway, at an altitude of  2535  meters. It would be worth “registering” that only the clouds  were above  us. But the snow white mist had accumulated  in  the depression of the surrounding  mountains, so in order to admire  the view we had to look down rather than up.

  Anyway, we were reminded once  again that nature has its  peculiar  sense of humor and sometimes  things have to be looked at upside  down.