Last day in Armenia, careering through the dustbowl like the Dukes of Hazard. Just needed to make one quick detour and swing via a church. There’s no shortage of churches nor church tourists this neck of the woods in Lori but just the one would do me, and Haghpat Monastery was it.
Wow if every brush with religion could be like this – it was like climbing up to heaven! And the setting like an emerald dropped on top of an arid landscape. And then along came Father Asbed who got the coffee on in the vicarage. What a story – he’s Armenian but just come back from many years in Sin City of all places. Blimey he must’ve had his work cut out there. He then volunteered that his name translates as Father Night Honey. What glee – I nearly choked – you couldn’t make it up! Father Night Honey of Las Vegas. Can it get any better?
We had a good old natter, he wasn’t doing any hard sell. We chatted about deeply spiritual stuff like SFU (suitable for upgrade) strategies – and yes it certainly does help being a man of the cloth, he finds Virgin Atlantic particularly receptive. I still need divine intervention to be SFU!
If you suffer from wanderlust you really could do worse than going into the church – you can travel the world. What a memorable experience, I was nearly sold – I started thinking I can do religion! But I suspect Father Honey is a bit of a one off.
