You know the feeling. You are on a holiday in a foreign land on the other side of the world, doing whatever it is you do when you are on a holiday in a foreign land on the other side of the world. Pro tip: eggs with mushrooms in Valencia comes with shrimp. Who knew? We strolled over and a sprightly something woman approached, said something in Spanish and offered us a table with an open palm.
The woman put her hands to her mouth. With her eyes wide open, she nodded. The hint of a grin appeared behind her hands. We exchanged pleasantries in Armenian and sat down after ensuring they served vegetarian meals. Something about egg plant. Her name was Loucig and she had come from Yerevan five years earlier to work in the restaurant that her son had opened five years before that.
She worked 15 hours a day, every day. She disappeared inside. Apart from a vegetarian dish I had no idea what she would come back with. In the meantime we introduced ourselves to her Yerevansti-looking son and ordered two Estrellas to kick things off. Thirty minutes and some mild hunger pains later, Loucig returned. She brought with her an exotic-looking vegetarian platter for my friend and a plate of succulent kofta-kebabs with a bed of mushrooms and onions for me.
A plate of salad and chips were thrown in for good measure. I had been away from Australia for about three weeks; which meant three weeks of hot dogs at American ball-parks and stilton burgers in English pubs. I was keen to chat to Loucig, but she again disappeared inside.
She returned minutes later with a glass of Estrella for herself and pulled up a seat. We started talking about a range of topics. She expressed that very few Armenians lived in Valencia, nowhere near enough to justify an Armenian church or an Armenian day school. She was clearly a very patriotic Armenian and spoke glowingly of our culture, our history, our character.
