Monomad: Abandoned Yak-40s, Resorts, and Dry Landscapes

In the middle of a small town called Ashtarak, located outside of Yerevan and with a small population that clearly once relied heavily on the production of various goods in the nearby abandoned factories, there sits an old Yak-40 military transport aircraft. Few know about this, all the locals I told about it had no idea that this plane sits idle on the edge of a cliff. I found it online one day while searching for various Soviet locations that could be interesting to photograph. I took a lot of photographs and videos with the drone that I intend to post at a later date once I have a bit more motivation to edit, but the first image of this post features this incredibly odd space. Finding the exact location was a bit difficult, it wasn't on the maps, and I had to search manually through the landscape for it online to find a way there. Tucked away on a rocky road. The plane itself in incredible condition, certainly a little weathered and gutted, but free of graffiti and general damage from over tourism. To say there would be any tourism in this area is a stretch. I'm the alien in this area. I love these places, they're so odd. Such unique history to the point in which locals are barely even aware of these spaces.

Well, the model is a Yak-40, it saw use in the ministry of defence during the last years of the Soviet Union before being dissolved and left here. There is no airfield here. So it must've been transported here manually at some point and left. Not enough space to land it.

Not too far is a resort, this space has a large design and interesting swimming pool. A rarity here in such a dry landscape. A small river ran through the area. But it was incredibly small. I found it odd to see a resort here, but it makes sense that a little more out of the city would be found a place considered a little more luxury and quiet. Not for the tourism side of things, but clearly for the business side. A retreat for business meetings and work. A few little luxuries for those who attend the place were present. But it didn't seem like it was all that active still. Perhaps waiting for summer to kick in, or just simply not that popular. Both make sense to me given most people pursue the area of Dilijan, a more natural environment for their getaways and work meetings. I briefly flew the drone over the area, and all I saw were people working on the pool.

I felt that interest to go swimming. The dry, rocky landscape just crushing me as of late. The lack of moisture in the skin from harsh sunlight each day. Even more torturous to fly the drone up high and only see more rocks and empty land. That inevitable thirst that follows at the thought of water under such heat.

You can see the horizon here. The mountains that sit in the distance, looking so close, but actually so far away still. A little bit of snow sitting at their peaks. With the drone, and without, it's almost like you could just walk over there within thirty minutes. Everything feeling so much closer than it is. Much of Armenia is like this. The feeling that it's very small, so enclosed within a bowl of mountainous horizons. In some ways, that's true. In others, that scale of mountains can only be really witnessed once you're in them. The descent down them as you experience the temperature shifts. The changes in landscape. I remember this from the trip to Georgia which held a long trip through the mountains. That temperature drop and suddenly snow all over. Moments before being surrounded by rocks and the orange, dry fields which deep cracks within the land. I often feel the interest in walking out into these empty spaces. The desperation to escape some more of civilisation and enter the realm of the unknown. The wasteland, in some instances. Relics of former industry remaining. Unique designs and broken down windows. Landscapes that hold nothing but a sudden factory followed by more nothing. Then maybe the odd former Soviet bus stop with a brutalist design.

Empty markets scattered. Faded text of Russian hint at the former life that was once lived here. The stories now barely kept alive with whatever remains.

There's a deep sadness in the landscapes of Armenia. The mixture of old and new. Mostly old as you escape Yerevan. The broke down, unfinished projects. The barely kept together towns of aged populations. Rustic fences and breaking walls. Old cars dominate the roads. Ladas mostly well-used and crumbling. Pipes scattered around. Empty compounds and foundations speak of even deeper historical relevance. The years before the Soviets. The villages that collapsed. People dying off or leaving for better opportunity. Some farms remaining as people fill their Ladas with produce and head over to the nearby towns and markets. Some even stop by the roads and try to sell from there. A common sight. There's an old way of life here trying to adapt to the chaos of the modern life. But much of this is an ignorance, even refusal for the modern way. Disinterest in adapting and clearly preferring the simplicity of the old way. The Soviet Union's convenience being the better option for survival.