Jul 26, 2018
Where laundry flaps between a jumble of power lines, over a communal kitchen garden. Where hitching a ride might mean sharing space with a sheep headed to the butcher’s. Where mouthwatering fruits and vegetables from the nearby farms jostle for space at the grocer’s and sunflower seeds are sold by the flowerhead. Where the leaves and vines of mountain sorrel are sold in braided ropes. It is where sheep wool is spread out on the pavement and ripe plums are apt to bounce off your head if you are not careful. It is where the grocer makes his rounds in a beat-up Lada. Goris has a charm all its own.