As an expat living and (not) sleeping in foreign climes, I’ve developed a thing about mattresses. If you’re a globetrotter I’m sure you’ve had your own adventures bedding down on various monstrosities. Armenia is a country of many lovely things, mattresses not among them. Trout and sturgeon, however, are first class. Look at this picture of a sturgeon fillet. I ask you, is this impressive or what? I lived in Armenia for 6 years, and here’s a story involving fish and a mattress and an evening brimful of excitement. Yes, I know, you’re wondering, how exciting is fish, a mattress? Well, read on. (I posted this tale some years ago, but I’m sure you never saw it because, well, my blog was brilliant in its obscurity and nobody saw it.)
FORTY KILOS OF FISH AND A POSTUREPEDIC MATTRESS
You may wonder what fish and a mattress have in common and the answer is nothing. Except I like them both and it so happens that an order of forty kilos of trout and sturgeon arrive in our little house the same time our brand-new mattress is delivered. The fish takes over the kitchen and the mattress dominates the narrow hallway.
No, the fish is not all for us, but the mattress is. It’s our third one in two years and this is it! We’re spending our children’s inheritance on the Real Deal: A Sealy Posturepedic mattress, available here in Armenia in one shop only, at this time.
For a moment my mate and I stare at the mattress is silent adoration. Then the bell rings and my friend Christine arrives to pick up her two kilos of trout.
Christine gapes at our Sealy, rendered speechless by its majesty. “Wow,” she says finally. “Where did you get that?”
We tell her.
“You mean, it’s for sale, here?”
Indeed it is. At a price, of course.
“I gotta tell Paul!”
She’s about to run out without her trout. We stop her and calm her down enough to deal with stuffing fish in a double plastic bag and her paying her part of the bill.
The fish, let me explain, is a group order from a commercial pond fishery that exports trout fillets, trout caviar, and sturgeon fillets to Russia. The way you normally buy fish here is fresh and alive from certain shops with aquariums. You check out the various specimens on offer and pick the one you want. The fish guy catches it, clubs it to death, and cleans and scales it for you while you watch. He does not fillet it; that’s a Western thing for spoiled people.
Since most spoiled Western expats like eating fish in their dead and filleted state, but do not find pleasure in watching them expire, we’ve found a solution: We put together a combined order and buy the fillets straight from the pond fishery. The whole lot is then delivered to our house.
The bell rings and more fish is being picked up by a friend’s driver who knows our address because we are the Fish House, aka The Yellow House. I get on the phone to tell more people the order has arrived and my mate starts ripping the clear plastic wrapping off the Sealy to expose in full its fluffy blue promise of nocturnal bliss.
Years ago, in Kenya, we started our nomadic expat life together on a coconut husk mattress (no padding, just filled with scratchy fiber). In Indonesia we had a lumpy kapok mattress. To my shame I must admit that, corrupted by comfort and materialism, all that I want now is a Sealy or facsimile.
When our next fish friend arrives, we open a bottle of wine and he helps us with a nice toast to much happy sleep on our new mattress. For good measure we follow this with a libation to the gods of sleep and dreams. Really, you have no idea what this mattress means to us.
Our first mattress here in Armenia was bought with the assistance of our landlady in Furniture Street (which has since been converted to Casino Street). This mattress hailed from China and was hard as a slab of cement. At the time it seemed so much better than anything else that was available, but we never got used to it. We felt battered and bruised in the mornings, which didn’t do our day much good, so after a few months of valiant suffering we went in search of a better one.
This was a quest of major proportions since soft and saggy Eastern Block mattresses covered with dark velour upholstery are all the rage here. We searched the town and its environs, along with a scout/translator, finally to return to Furniture Street with its open-front stores and sidewalk displays. Rumor had it that there really was a merchant selling the type of mattress we wanted. After much talk, coffee drinking and handshaking, we finally located our man. He proudly showed us a mattress that had the appearance of a western-style affair with proper blue ticking. It was neither pillow soft nor cement hard. It hailed from Turkey, a non-Eastern Block country, which was promising.
We tried it out by lying down on it, drawing looks of surprise from a number of solemn bystanders and passersby. It was a shockingly undignified thing to do, to just lie there in full view of every chain-smoking, black-clad Armen, Arson and Arten sauntering by. Not to mention their wives and mothers. In moments like that I try to imagine myself a cultural missionary. I pray my behavior might plant a thought-seed that will eventually help the Armenians liberate themselves from the stranglehold of propriety. Honestly, what’s morally wrong with a little practical lying-down on a mattress you might want to buy?
In spite of sacrificing our dignity while testing the mattress, we were not rewarded. Yes, this Turkish affair was a big improvement over the Chinese slab of cement, but it was still bad. Another year of nocturnal suffering and we said, the hell with it, we’ll get the Real Deal imported from America. So we are weak and spoiled. Our backs are grateful.
In between people picking up their fish, admiring our mattress, offering toasts and sipping wine, my prince and I slip into our bedroom and tear the sheets and blankets off the Turkish reject. We cannot get rid of the thing fast enough. We cannot wait to test our new one, but first we need to dispose of the fish.
You should know that the trout looks gorgeous, the pink fillets neatly arranged on plastic platters. Not a bone in sight – such luxury! It’s the best trout I’ve seen anywhere, the best trout I’ve ever tasted. So if an Armenian ever tells you their trout is the best in the world, he’s right. The sturgeon fillets, at more than twice the price of trout, look, well, unsavory (see photo). Sturgeon in its un-filleted state is prehistorically ugly, which is not a surprise, since, as the cockroach, it has dwelled on the earth unchanged since the time of the dinosaurs. Devoid of head and skin, it still looks lethal, with its glimmering greenish fat and thick grayish flesh. However, trust me, it’s scrumptious when barbecued.
In the bedroom we wrestle the Turkish wonder off the bed, place the Sealy Posturepedic on the frame and low and behold it fits, close enough, anyway. Now we don’t have to struggle through dealings with the non-English-speaking carpenter to get it adjusted. We want this bed saga to be over. I can think of a thing or two more worthy of my psychic energy.
People come and go, bedazzled by our mattress, delighted with the trout and shocked by the sight of the sturgeon. When finally all the fish has been picked up and the wine is finished, we settle on our new mattress in blissful relaxation. Life is good. We have lovely fish fillets in the freezer and a glorious mattress to sleep on.
How much more spoiled can you get?
Note: Don’t panic if you’re moving to Armenia and do not have an inheritance to spend: Shops selling Western-style mattresses have arrived, so no worries.
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Do you have a bed or mattress adventure you’d like to share? Do entertain me, please!