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An Outsider's Perspective Of The Navasartian Festival


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For many Armenians, the Navasartian Games and Festival are synonymous with other Armenian festivals - rife with Armenian music, familiar faces, and down-home Armenian food.

 

But to those who have never attended the Navasartian Games and the accompanying festival, especially if they are non-Armenian, the event may seem, well, weird.

 

As a sort of cultural science experiment, I wanted to journey through the Navasartian Festival with two individuals who have not before been exposed to Southern Californian Armenian culture.

 

I wanted to observe their raw reactions as they navigated through a festival full of cultural nuances that may seem foreign to an outsider.

 

My two eager, twenty-something and very friendly subjects were Jessica Tuttle and Shoghik Kanderian (not their real names).

 

Jessica and Shoghik are both 20-something college graduates, who were visiting Southern California for the July 4th weekend.

 

Jessica is a Midwesterner living in Arizona, and Shoghik is an Armenia native, who works in Yerevan.

 

These two women had never been to the Navasartians or anything similar, so we were ready to explore Birmingham High School, the Navasartian Games, the festival grounds, and al the cultural oddities and idiosyncrasies.

 

Two beautiful women, friendly, well-traveled, confident, educated, pleasant, and with promising futures, find themselves fully submerged into the ethnic Armenian cultural experience.

 

From their first step into the high school grounds, they are confronted by burly men, the festivities, the food, the music, the families, sounds, scents, and sights of all things California-Armenian.

 

The Navasartian Festival acts as a bastion of culture, representing everything from the kitsch to the cool, from T-shirts that read "Proud to be Hye" to jewelry from a business that calls itself "Armenian Secret Society."

 

The two young women are hurled into this suspended reality of Armenianness.

 

Yes, they are in the Valley, "like oh meh gawd," the San Fernando Valley, the Valley of that gave birth to the Valley Girls of the 80s, the Valley from Fast Times at Ridgemont High.

 

But inside the confines of this high-school campus, an oasis has been created, if only for five days.

 

Inside this oasis, burgers and fries are replaced with the charred scents of kebabs drifting like a sweet elixir in the midsummer air.

 

Instead of Duran Duran and the GoGo's, Nune's songs blare from the speakers suspended above.

 

Instead of torn sweats, à la Jennifer Beals in Flashdance, wide-eyed children float amongst Gucci-clad moms and Adidas-sporting dads.

 

Shoghik's first reaction is a question, "Are these people all Armenian?"

 

The Armenian from Armenia is surprised to see so many Armenians gathered in one place outside the homeland.

 

"It's astonishing to see that almost every single person here is Armenian," she says, "except maybe the person over there." She points to the security guard.

 

"I guess we build little Armenias wherever we go," she says.

 

Jessica's initial reaction is excitement and curiosity.

 

"The only thing I knew about Armenians came from my friend," says Jessica. "I knew that Armenians were the first Christian nation and that her dad made us kebab at one in the morning."

 

Jessica says the Navasartians are a solid example that the culture is more than just kebobs and Christianity, that there is a culture that's thriving.

 

The booths lining the picnic area sell everything from books in the Armenian language to children's CDs and DVDs.

 

There are professional societies represented here, political action committees, community service organizations targeting autism and the elderly, and even a doctor selling Lasik eye surgery for reduced prices.

 

Jessica points out young girls in basketball shorts walking with their dads.

 

"It reminds me of when my dad used to accompany me to my basketball games," she says. "Those sweet moments seem to transcend all cultural boundaries."

 

Our next quest for musings was out on the soccer field.

 

Ten-year-old boys are displaying their fancy footwork.

 

Nearby, the stereotype of crazed soccer moms gearing up for a fight is somewhat shattered by the doting Armenian moms.

 

"It's sort of funny," says Jessica. "When I go to kids' soccer games, I'm used to hearing parents screaming names like Brian or Todd. Here, it's a symphony of names like Hagop or Raffi."

 

After one of the teams win, the coach of the winning team roars, "We should make one more goal, so everybody knows that we are the winners."

 

The women start giggling at his comments. Shoghik adds, "We can never be too proud."

 

What's a Navasartian Festival without spending money on Armenian trinkets?

 

I lead the women to the booths. Jessica is drawn to a booth with hundreds of evil-eye charms hanging inside the ten-by-then tent.

 

The vendor tells us that one of these charms around her neck would fend off the lethal tongue of gossipy neighbors.

 

Jessica decides to buy an evil-eye charm to adorn her Chihuahua's collar.

 

Who knows what supernatural evils a Chihuahua has to battle!

 

Jessica says the charms are cute and her dog will love it. "She'll be protected from getting run over by a car or getting stepped on by humans," she jokes.

 

Finally, what better way to be introduced to a culture than to taste-test its cuisine?

 

Jessica and Shoghik fine-tune their epicurean tastes by sampling a few foods that are being sold at the Festival.

 

Each chapter of Homenetmen has set up a booth, and each sells a unique dish: a sandwich, a dessert, yogurt tahns, or jahlab drinks with pinecone seeds.

 

Shoghik comments on how the foods at the games are not all specifically Armenian.

 

She points to the nachos and some of the Middle Eastern fare.

 

What surprises me is that the Yerevani has never tasted zekhter (or zahtar).

 

Jessica becomes an instant fan of the manayish with zekhter.

 

"I love this stuff," she says. "It looks a little strange, but it's addictive. This is something I would want to put on pizza. I love the zing of the first taste, and then I like how it coats the throat with olive oil. What a brilliant concoction. They should sell this at Whole Foods."

 

After the food comes the coffee, because there is no better way to chase down Armenian food than with tepid Armenian coffee.

 

"It sort of tastes like cappuccino, but a little more muddy," says Jessica.

 

The downside about cappuccinos is that you can't read your fortunes from your cup after you are done drinking it.

 

I tell the women that Armenian coffee is not only a beverage, but it also functions as a crystal ball in which fortunes can be revealed.

 

"How can coffee grinds reveal my future?" asks Jessica.

 

I explain that the thick puddle left at the bottom of the coffee cup is like the Rorschach test; you have to read the coffee grinds like they are inkblots. Then you translate the images into future events.

 

I explain that women in the Eastern Hemisphere have been practicing this social activity for hundreds of years.

 

Before there was "Days of Our Lives," there were coffee cup readings, I say. Women would thread together exaggerated episodes of future fortunes, dramatic tales that would rival that of any modern-day television soap opera.

 

I explain that there is a lingua franca of coffee-cup reading, an understood set of symbols that can be interpreted into forthcoming events.

 

For example, I say, birds mean good news is coming. Snakes suggest evil is lurking.

 

"I see a sea turtle," Jessica says as she reads my cup. "I see sea turtles and hippopotamuses dancing," she continues.

 

I tell her that's impossible, because sea turtles and hippos don't really exist in the menagerie of Armenian animal symbols.

 

I tell her to look for sheep and roosters.

 

We take turns taking pictures. Group shots. Individual shots. Couple shots.

 

We've eaten, fended off evil sprits, watched muscles in action, kids tripping over soccer balls, and old women baking bread on upside down woks - makeshift toneers.

 

We've eaten, drank, danced, bought souvenirs and T-shirts, watched people, cheered the winning teams, and booed the referees.

 

Now it's time to call it a day and get ready for the next big Navasartian Festival.

 

What may seem to me the same-old, same-old festival accompanying the annual Navasartian Games is still apparently full of awe, interest, new tastes, and also familiar dynamics.

 

The athletes may be different every year, but friendly faces never run out.

 

Old friends resurface, new friends are made, and what may seem stale and never-changing is still refreshing and new.

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