In a far-flung corner of London Heathrow Airport—beyond the reassuring glow of McDonalds and the aseptic comfort of Starbucks—I waited for my connecting flight among veiled women tugging at their children's hands and swarthy men clutching passports. A sign—ominous to an American journalist with no intention of going there—read "destination: Tehran."
Onboard the plane, the woman sitting next to me, a black veil covering her head and shoulders, smiled. "Are you visiting Tehran?" she asked.
"No," I shook my head emphatically. "Yerevan." I checked my boarding pass for the third time. Yerevan, the capital of Armenia and the first stop of the flight, was printed clearly in black ink. I wondered again whose idea it had been to set off for a two-month Caucasus adventure as an Italian-American journalist. The idea was mine, of course. What better way to dispel the post-graduate Great Recession doldrums than work as a correspondent for ArmeniaNow?
Armenian News
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