Sugar, sugar

There is a trail of ants across my lounge room floor. They walk back and forwards between the couch where I sit and the TV in front of me. They're not feeding on dropped food or dried fruit juice, nor searching my kitchen just in case. Instead they're walking the ant highway from the square to the street behind my place. In the front door, across the lounge, down the steps , along the kitchen wall past the crate of empty stubbies and out through the back door. Back and forth, all day long.

Im not really sure what to do with them. I thought the house being cleaned Thursday wouldve got rid of the scent theyre following. I dont really want to spray them as theyre not being pests. If I break the trail then they might start wandering the house and actually cause trouble. Im actually stepping over them to be sure.

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Ants - sugar - Meghri. My eternal memory of Meghri is waking in the morning feeeling like I have a mouthful of sugar syrup. The reason wasn't the Armenian love of Coke/Fanta, or the ladles of sugar in tea/coffee. Instead it was waking at 3am with a dry mouth after vodka drinking, realising Ive drunk all my bottled water, walking downstairs to get something to drink and finding a choice of Coke or Fanta in the fridge. Then trying to get to sleep during the sugar rush.
(Visitors to Armenia are advised to only drink bottled water or boil water. I shouldve gone the kettle option really, althought it would've woken everyone in the house).

Sleep depravation doesn't help you cope with the primitive side of Armenia. The ugly and dilapidated buildings were one thing. The suspected absence of hygiene/food storage was another. Squat toilets are gross no matter where they are. The haze of pollution, diesel fumes and constant cigarette smoke everywhere (they smoke constantly but mostly long light North Korean cigarettes). The littering was something else. Even away from town, up on top of the hill there was still a couple of Coke and vodka bottles. In town plastic bottles, cans, food scraps and more vodka bottles. The tip was a parking space in a side street next to the police station, plastic bags of rubbish piled high, a couple of stray dogs foraging. You just drive past, throw your bag on the pile and get the windows up as quick as you can. Every week or so it was burnt and the ashes scraped by a dozer.

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I learnt the V-sign isn't rude in Portugal. Or the banks really dont care. Also to watch for passing pilgrims when driving on Sundays (they're strolling up the second busiest highway in the area )Next thing I learnt - "Want education? You pay"