It Could Be Worse

Do not underestimate the road to Tatev.

"I don't know what to do!" sobbed Rob, at the end of his tether. I pulled apart his backpack, but there were no drugs to help. He was losing fluids, electrolytes, and sleep, and all I had was water. It was 3am and we were in the middle of nowhere.

Less than 24 hours earlier, we were at a car rental agency in Armenia's buzzing capital, Yerevan. We had hoped to hire the classic Russian 4x4, the Lada Niva, but none was available for the time we needed. Instead, we started our six hour cross-country journey in a black Kia Rio; our first night was to be Tatev, a remote village of less than 900 people. Most visitors to its nearby cliff-top monastery arrived by the record-breaking 5.7km cable car "Wings of Tatev" and we learned why. "Well, she said the Rio could do it!" Rob sighed, recalling the rental agent's remark. The road had deteriorated into rocks and water-worn pits after the second switchback. The only evidence that there had been a road once were a few small bitumen islands that created threatening high points. I cringed as a large rock clunked against the underside of the car, my fingers fatigued from gripping the seat. We had seen the mountain from across the valley and knew there was another 6km of the same.

The rocky switchbacks leading to Tatev.

I grimaced again at the thought of a return trip on terrifying roads to reach any medical centre or pharmacy, but looked over at Rob, restless, weak, and in no condition to be moved. For now, I could do little but wait out the night, and encourage him to have sips of water. The next several hours would determine what needed to be done. Meanwhile, I would need some sleep.