Chronicles from a Wet Warrior

Today was perhaps the best day of the summer so far, rivaling the very first day, all the way back in Taiwan. It was Vardavar in Armenia! This unique holiday is essentially a country-wide water fight, where every source of water turns into ammunition. Everyone is a target, everyone is heavily armed, and nobody is safe. No man, woman, child, nor grandma. Nobody is safe. There are no rules, except that you can’t stay dry.

Vardavar is originally a pagan holiday, from before Armenia’s adoption of Christianity in 301. It was dedicated to Astghik, the pagan god of water, and thus, the idea of a water fight is pretty natural. As Armenia converted to Christianity, much of its pagan traditions fell by the wayside, but the vibrant, refreshing holiday of Vardavar stood the test of time and religion.

There’s not much actually for me to say about Vardavar—it’s frankly just a big water fight—but I can at least attempt to explain just how chaotic the city was today. I’d been preparing for this holiday for a while, and I bought myself a water gun a few days in advance. In case, you know, they sell out right before the festival. I bought the Water Shoot Game Mk 3, 5 mm. Ok, I kid, I have no clue what model my water gun is, but all I can say is that the 900 dram ($2.50) price tag was probably too much, after I broke the handle on my first shoot. I chose that model because it had a long range, was light on the touch (surrounded by a foam shell), quick to refill (had an option to increase the number of holes so that the filling speed is 5x what it would be otherwise), and had a strong spray. For the most part, I’m incredibly happy with the model I chose. It was more powerful than the more complex guns, had a longer duration of spray than a bucket, and could shoot more concentrated and focused streams than most models I saw.

The second I stepped outside of my Air BnB, I encountered a group of kids splashing each other by a fountain I didn’t even realize had a water source previously. I passed by, and sure enough, got splashed instantly by three different kids with two buckets and a water gun. I didn’t even have time to load my water gun yet! As soon as I loaded up and shot, I realized I’d cracked the handle nearly off the gun already. It would take until about 2 pm for me to break it off clean, but regardless, it was necessary for me to have a weapon.

I continued onwards to the center of the city. Yerevan, as a Soviet-planned city, is rife with parks and monumental architecture. And of course, each of those parks, each of those monuments have a fountain attached to them. Because it would not be grand enough without it. So as I made my way to the center, Republic Square, I passed by a park with some fountains that, though nearly empty in the morning, I knew would be absolutely packed in a few hours’ time. I played with some of the young kids and their families for ten minutes before heading out to the real deal.

The fountain at Republic Square is massive. It’s about four feet deep, and takes up the majority of the city square. By 2 pm, the water level had dropped to half, and by 5, it was empty. Though I got yelled at for sticking my feet in the fountain during the 3-hour fountain show a week prior, everybody was in the fountain today. It was a free for all.

This is where I learned that really, anyone is your target. I can target a dad with a child, or the child with a dad. I can squirt a random guy off the street, and he and his friends will come gang up on me as retaliation. I initially hesitated at hitting the elderly, but after they started attacking me, I lost all hesitation and treated them just as ruthlessly as I treated anyone else.

As I said, there are no rules. Whereas on any other day, swimming in the fountain would get you kicked out faster than you could say shnorhagalutsyan (thank you in Armenian!), today, there were thousands in the fountain. The water was clean and cold in the morning, but by time I returned at 2 pm, it was warm, murky, and filled with the mildew that grew around the water jets and light fixtures. Not to mention, I’m sure, a non-trivial amount of urine, blood, and the Band Aids and cigarette butts I saw floating around. We all tried to not let that bother us, and continued to take shots to the eyes and mouth regardless. If I’m sick in a few days, I’ll know why…

Most people had a bucket. In retrospect, I wish I had one in addition to my gun, but I had no cash on me for the whole day. If you’re in a fountain, the bucket’s frankly too OP. If I’d spray someone with my gun, chances are that I’d have a bucket of water coming my way in an instant. While refilling for me took maybe 2 seconds, a bucket’s refill makes that seem granny-paced. And the versatility…unmatched. Bucket to the face, bucket to the head, and bucket to the body all kill differently. You can have powerful bucket, half bucket, reach-your-fingers-in-and-splash bucket, or even tidal-wave bucket, all with a single bucket. All I had was strong spray and weak spray.

What I had on a bucket, though, was range. I could hit someone from far away, stop the spray, divert my gaze, only to watch them mercilessly attack an innocent bystander for the crime I had committed, all while knowing that I was too far away to even be touched. I suppose all choices have their pros and cons.  

At around 11, the firetrucks showed up. In Armenia, they drive around with their full load of water (seems like a pretty significant free surface effect...naval architects, back me up here). They don’t connect to hydrants. That meant that they could drive around and spray everyone as they came. The water was cold, and though it would be quite high pressure, they used the spray nozzle head, so it was more like a misty rain than it was a jet stream straight to the chest. I followed a firetruck from one side of town to the other, using its mist to cool me from the summer heat.

Walking through the city, you really get the idea that Armenians will never miss an excuse to party. Speakers were set up all around, with folk songs blaring so loud that you could hear them from blocks away. Circle dances were done in the streets flooded inches deep in water. Each step made a distinctive splash, marking the beat as strongly as the drum. I recognized several of these dances, and even joined in in a few.

From one front to another, you’re not safe. Armed gangs of friends or families make their way between fountains with loaded guns. I learned my lesson the first time—I never left a fountain on empty again. One wrong step, one weird look, and you’re soaked. To add to that, at any point, a storm could rain down on you from a balcony above, usually as either a hose attached to someone’s sink or a set of pre-prepared buckets filled with water.

Businesses weren’t safe either. All stores, all restaurants had a line of first defense—an employee standing at the door with a water gun locked and loaded, either to greet you to the restaurant, or to keep a psychomaniac from shooting up the store. While I was having lunch, my delicious gyro was violated by a reckless kid who shot right at my sandwich, filling it with water. I, luckily, had a loaded gun ready to retaliate. He ran away real fast…

Not even the cars were safe! Most cars had passengers in the front and back armed, shooting through barely opened windows at the very-suspecting pedestrians. And don’t even dare leaving your sunroof open…I saw a business owner point a hose right into someone’s car through the sunroof. One guy, stuck in traffic, even opened his door to hunt down someone who shot into the car.

Every fountain, every street, every source of water was turned into a war zone. There was no escaping it. As I’d wandered the streets for a few days, I had a map of where all the fountains and ponds were. And I can confirm I have now bathed in every single one of them. Honorable mentions include Swan Lake by the Opera, 2800^th Anniversary Park, and the Moscow Theater fountain.

The streets were flooded with water. Staircases became waterfalls, and cars drove through puddles as if it had just thunderstormed. All the water that used to be in fountains is now running unchecked through the streets.

By 5, I was cold, pruned, and the little water remaining had gotten gross enough that I no longer wanted to be standing in it, so I headed home. I was greeted with one final hurrah as I entered the building, with some water raining on me from a balcony above.

I, regrettably, do not have many photos or videos, as I left my phone in a friend’s office right outside of Republic Square. I wish I had a Go Pro or something to fully capture the madness. But that means all the footage I have is from there and from my walk back to my place, and certainly doesn’t include me instigating anything. I can assure you, however, that this is the craziest, most spectacular, and just most purely fun holiday I’ve ever witnessed. I headed back with the biggest smile on my face, refreshed by the quality of lighthearted, innocent fun I had for the day.

I think Varvadar is the kind of holiday we need more of. The kind of holiday that is just fun. It’s not about tradition, and it’s not about history. Though it’s enlightening to know about the history, it’s not at all necessary to partake. You don’t have to be Armenian, nor of Armenian descent. You just have to be ready to get wet. The holiday could not possibly be divisive; it just brings people together, strengthening community despite all the play fights and faux rivalries it causes. It’s just a day for everyone to forget about life for a while and have fun, cooling off on a hot summer day. It’s the only day that I can have just as much fun with a little kid as I could some random middle-aged guy I met on the street. It’s the only day you can play with someone else’s grandma in the same way their grandkids would. The holiday broke any kind of social barrier that ever existed. It put everyone on an even playing field—everyone’s a target, and it’s every man for himself.

I would not be surprised if I made it back here for Vardavar again in a year or two…this certainly was a highlight.