All streetlights are off. Furious packs of stray dogs have colonized certain streets. There are no women anywhere, only men, usually in pairs, arms linked, talking in secretive tones. We find ourselves tailing a guy in his early twenties, dressed, like every other Armenian we have seen, all in black, who tells us he will lead us to the address we are looking for.
Eventually we enter a large and unlit block. The man knocks the door of a ground floor flat and an old lady answers. The old lady responds enthusiastically to the word. She knows what we want: the American who lives upstairs. Our guide leads us up to the second floor and knocks loudly on the door. It is answered by a man who looks Portuguese.
Inside the flat, the group of ten young, slightly drunk people of various European nationalities, all in Armenia on volunteer placements, inform us that we are about to go out clubbing.
I am exhausted. I desire a bed, a toilet, and nothing else. We have no running water of any kind. As these words sink in, a sharp pain stabs at my stomach. I ask if nightclubs have running water. As we walk the streets in darkness, Luis and Iustina — a larger than life, both physically and in character, Romanian girl — give us a local studies lesson.
No way! The norm is to marry in the teens. If you are a girl, you must remain a virgin until marriage, otherwise no man will take you, and you will spend the rest of your life alone, being thought of as a whore. The rest of our group walks ahead of us in pairs.
