As the Armenian Areni Wine Festival takes place

• As the wine festival is held in the Armenian Areni

Every year on the first Saturday of October all the peasants of the village of Areni, in the blessed Armenia, as well as the surrounding villages zagashnikov removed from the bottles of wine, and the smell of him on all sides are flocking crowds

I prepared, trained on the eve of the liver: one day stopped drinking almost nothing to eat since leaving Karabakh checkpoint.

Elderly summed tubes to bottles and aquariums wine harvest last year. I responded to the treats and stick to the aquarium. Because this is Armenia going wild with her hospitality, and everyone is glad to you to pour a cup yes.

Barbecue smoke envelops the road from all sides. Here and there the smoke of the barbecue conjured hairy arms. Here and there through the smokescreen put your world-famous Armenian noses. Here and there, from time to time out of the mist police officials with skewers in their hands. Even our driver for the first time travel week wearing a white shirt, and before that the maximum allowed himself Adidas suit.

Backyards immersed in tonir dough for pita. The resulting article can easily cover the entire Sharur valley. Pepsi logos on awnings spread over the surrounding mountains. Thick Armenian in the gazebo tucked into his mouth shashlik-roll. This meant one thing: holiday started!

Music blared from each column. From there to "shout down each other" singers competed on "Ararat my love, my sweet home Karabakh. I'll take you at night, you will know it all. " The words in each of the songs changed, but the meaning remained united.

holiday close to the central square filled that it always fills: taekwondo demonstrations, athletes, clowns and children in traditional costumes.

Grandmother separately.

Grandpa separately.

I eat corn.

Athletes compete in weight such positions that seem to dance, they go just like that, without lowering the weight ...

Full cylinders yet, but I'm already on the way.

We arrived Armenian "The Beatles". Rumor has it that somewhere behind the curtain hiding the Armenian Celentano. He will crush the grapes. But I had already not live. My legs carried me to a tasting of fine wines.

Then skewers, again homemade wine, bought at any roadside grandmother, apricot vodka, cornel vodka: Peach vodka, raspberry vodka, sea buckthorn vodka ... in short, I slept Celentano, Yeltsin once slept stop in Ireland.

And this to us some of the Armenian village of Khachik shows his friend the doctor, who four people raised from the grave. And all of them are now living in Hachiko. Terrible place)

At the same time organized and female parallel competitions.

And then we went to the first house, where hospitable hosts just did that drew wine from the barrel for us. And nothing tastes better from alcohol I have not tried ever.