The wind is the only thing moving in this village, but erstwhile it is silent, you can hear all item of nature, follow all movement, and take in the picturesque view of mountains covered with lush autumn forests. Our photographer and I drive to 1 of the abandoned villages of Armenia – Karaberd in the state of Lori. Yurik Shavelyan, the head of the Karaberd Administrative Area, is waiting for us. Suddenly, even the telephone connection begins to break up, leaving us in tranquility until a female with her kid passes by our car. You can tell from their appearance that they are not Armenian. We ask them for Yurik’s house, and the boy kindly points us in the right direction.
Finally, we meet Shavelyan, who takes us through the village and yet to the home of Serzhik Grigoryan, a man surviving alone in Karaberd. On our way, Shavelyan explains that there is no school in the village and that he was the last postgraduate in 1973. The only kid surviving in the village is the boy we met whose parents, an Indian couple, moved here a period ago. A fistful of families now live in Karaberd, many of whom spend cold winters in the city with their children. A small vibrancy returns in the summer, but mostly the village stays calm and silent.
Karaberd, with less than 100 inhabitants, most of them elderly, seems like a ghost town. erstwhile a vibrant community founded in the 1720s, it lies only 15 kilometres from the provincial centre of Vanadzor. There utilized to be a Russian military base nearby, and many people presume that was the reason villagers were forcibly removed from their homes. In 1974, there were a fistful of residents, but since the 1990s, people have returned, trying to start fresh lives. In 1992, Yurik Shavelyan was selected as the head of the Karaberd Administrative Area.
“You can imagine, if there’s no school here, how will the children live? Many people tell me that if there were children, the school would be too, but I may have a different view,” Shavelyan says.
As shortly as we scope Serzhik’s house, it feels clear that he lives alone. A thirty-five-year-old coffee cup on the table, an ashtray filled with cigaret butts, a tidy bed, a handmade wooden stove, and a tiny Soviet-style TV: these are the acquainted companions of a villager’s home.
“Sorry for the mess, there’s no female around to keep it in order,” he hurries to explain.
Born in Karaberd in 1950, he left the village at 14 and spent nearly 20 years working as a city bus driver in Vanadzor before returning to his roots. His wife passed distant 4 years ago. Their 3 children live in different places and visit him regularly, and he goes to see them all week. Yet he has firmly decided to stay in the village and live alone.
Serzhik Grigoryan. Photo: Mery Chobanyan
“I don’t feel upset due to loneliness; I got utilized to it. At first, it was hard to be all alone, but there’s so much to do in the village,” Grigoryan recalls.
“I can’t live indoors; my life is in nature. I go for berries and rosehip in the forest; sometimes my friends come to eat and drink vodka.”
As he says, freedom in nature is simply a treasure, and he would not trade it for a comfortable city life. His usual day begins with a cup of coffee and a cigarette, followed by a meal and vodka. Lori state is celebrated for its variety of produce, which he collects for his children surviving in the city. Sometimes he sells what he gathers from the forests.
“If I stay at home, I won’t be able to bear it. I don’t want to get married again. After Siranush, I have no desire to take another woman’s hand,” he says.
Serzhik’s household album. Photo: Mery Chobanyan
In cold winters, he enjoys spending time in front of the tv following the news. If there is simply a good movie, he will not miss it. Serzhik spends holidays with his children, but usually only for a day or two. erstwhile there was even a village club where people would dance or watch movies, feeling connected to the larger world.
“I haven’t seen tourists here like in another Armenian villages they show on TV,” Serzhik explains. “Usually it’s besides quiet here, but for me, this is the best place. Look around – I want to see this view all single day not to miss anything,” he recalls.
Karaberd seemed quietly abandoned during our visit, almost as if the village itself were holding its breath. If you get lost here, there is no 1 around to ask for directions. rather far from Serzhik’s home lives the village’s oldest resident, Hrachik Mkrtchyan, born in 1939. He has spent his full life here, apart from brief periods in Vanadzor. His wife passed distant a year ago, and he now faces life in solitude with his cats.
Hrachik Mkrtchyan. Photo: Mery Chobanyan
“My children are very attentive; they come to visit me often. I never cook for myself, my daughter-in-law does it. But still… No 1 else lives in the neighbourhood,” Hrachik recalls.
“Loneliness is with me; there is no another way. I am like a chaotic person, but I have no choice but to make peace with it.”
Hrachik looks after the animals, renovates the home at his age, and wants to make comfort for himself. Owning a home in the city does not feel safe. He loves his village home, and it seems even more safe here in the silent neighbourhood than in the city. He knows the village perfectly – all sound, all movement – and there is nothing here that may frighten him.
Hrachik’s surviving room. Photo: Mery Chobanyan
Like almost all the remaining villagers, he wakes up with the sun, which acts as a natural alarm at 5 in the morning. The sounds of close cockerels besides calls everyone to start the day. There is much work to do: the animals must be fed on time, the renovation process takes time, going to forests, resting. Village life is never boring unless you are lazy.
“There’s no child, no young people, no school,” Hrachik tells us.
“But we saw a kid on our way to your home,” I say.
“Yeah, an Indian couple moved to our village. It’s strange, I’ve never met them before,” he replies.
Curious about the couple, I ask Yurik to arrange a meeting. Yurik does not talk English, and the Indian couple does not talk Armenian, but someway their telephone conversation ends with an invitation to their home. Though the couple declined photos, they were welcoming and shared their experience.
“I had no clue about the village due to the fact that we moved here just a period ago. We utilized to live in Vanadzor and were planning to decision to Georgia erstwhile a friend told us there is simply a guesthouse for sale in Karaberd,” Vishal says.
In 2023, Vishal Sabar, his wife Manisha, and their boy Agastya decided to decision from India. Vishal owns a business in India and a startup in the US. He had visited Armenia and, 1 morning in Yerevan, saw Mount Ararat. He could not believe his eyes, specified a mind-blowing sight.
“I fell in love with Ararat and that’s how we ended up in Armenia, lived in Vanadzor, then bought a home in Karaberd,” Vishal laughs.
Vishal and his household are learning about their fresh environment and culture. Armenian hospitality greeted them immediately: all journey to buy milk or eggs ended with invitations for coffee and sweets. Google Translate is their interpreter if Agastya is not with them. Agastya attends an Armenian school in Vanadzor and speaks Armenian.
“We want to research and investigation the environment. Everything is new, from language to customs. We take our time to integrate authentically. We have a home here, so we don’t want to escape; we want to affect ourselves in Karaberd’s life step by step,” Vishal explains.
While Karaberd lies mostly silent, far away, the village of Karashamb bursts with life. Here, young voices, laughter, and the hum of regular activity fill the air. Among them, a young couple from Yerevan highlights the striking difference between a slow emptying village and 1 being reborn.
Karashamb is in Kotayk state and about 742 people live there. Karin Grigoryan and Garegin Alexanyan moved to Karashamb, Kotayk Province, in 2016. The couple opened a guesthouse called “Zov”, meaning “cool” in Armenian, right next to their house.
Garegin works in Yerevan, while Karin mostly works remotely. At the time, houses in Karashamb did not even have addresses. For instance, if individual wanted to send a letter, there was nothing to compose on the envelope. Now, Google Navigator finds their home easily.
Karin and Garegin were renting a tiny home in Yerevan, but erstwhile their kid was born, it became besides small. Karin, raised in a private house, never adapted to flat life. Then Garegin said the magic sentence: “Let’s decision to a village.”
They searched for a village home for 3 months. On a December day, in the cold of minus 30 degrees centigrade, they moved into the home they found online. another options were rejected after they saw this one, which Karin knows was designed by an architect. The house, built in the 1960s, had been abandoned from 1990 until 2016. Soviet-style walls now harmonize with the modern furniture they brought, an improbable combination that someway works beautifully.
While we spoke, a neighbour’s kid entered due to the fact that the door was open. In Armenian villages, doors are seldom closed, and Karin follows this unwritten rule.
“You can see the architectural detail; it’s done meticulously, you feel the architect’s hand,” Karin recalls.
Karin Grigoryan. Photo: Mery Chobanyan
Karin wanted to escape mass consumerism, advertisements, and utmost urbanism. Now, many of their friends are following their example, moving to Karashamb to build a community.
“I’m happy that the road is not only for people but besides for animals. You feel it in all step,” Karin says.
The most crucial thing she appreciates is the cycle of nature: each period brings colour and life. In spring, the land flourishes; in autumn, harvest begins; winter then slows life, but the rhythm continues.
Comfort in the village may be harder than in the city, but Karin is not upset. Her children may have less private classes, but they grow up in peace and harmony.
“I know my children will go to the city to study, but they will return. Many of us follow our roots at any point in life,” she recalls.
When they bought their house, fewer city-dwellers were curious in permanent village life, but COVID-19, the war in Nagorno-Karabakh, and the Russian-Ukrainian war impacted housing prices. Now not everyone can afford a village home. Initially, friends visited to see the results of their risky move, but over the years, many became inspired to decision themselves.
When the couple came to Karashamb, their first imagination was not to change the villagers’ minds. Rather, they aimed to have an impact on village life.
“Who said that a newcomer from a city is simply a missionary who should change the villagers? They don’t request to be changed,” she says.
“We made a brochure about Karashamb, which represents 2 years of our work. We want everyone in the village to know our village better. I hope this is not a change, but an impact,” Karin says.
While saying goodbye to the couple, Karin stops me and grabs a quince from their tree — a small, yet profoundly meaningful gesture, the kind you most likely only see in a place where humanity is always in style.
From the quiet of Karaberd to the vibrant Karashamb, the communicative of Armenia is written by those who stay and those who arrive, each carving a space where life, in all its rhythms, can flourish.
Kushane՛ Chobanyan is simply a freelance writer and documentary podcaster. Her work focuses on the human side of violent conflict, social issues, and inclusion. Since 2020, she has been researching the food memories of displaced communities, utilizing food as a lens to research deeper human stories.
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