Inside the Ancient 13th Century Ruins of Matosavank Monastery

Armenia is riddled with ancient things. To the point where it's as if the country doesn't really know what to do with at all or point its focus towards. These ancient things are scattered around current Armenia and in previous Greater Armenia which were taken by its neighbouring nations Turkey and Azerbaijan, some even ending up being present Iran. These locations are found within the strangest places. Some atop the largest mountains, a symbol of being as close to Heaven and God as possible. Though often enough the most difficult of places to get to, especially without a car. Others remain within similar strange locations, which require quite a bit of walking to get to. Mostly tucked away and hidden within the overgrown and dense forestry of Armenia's green mountains. This particular ancient location is an old Monastery from the 13th century. The century of the Mongol Empire and Genghis Khan. The United Kingdom was starting to (in its traditional fashion) economically stagnate and inevitably lead to the Black Death. But in Armenia, it was the start of many series of occupations, but ones that never did manage to really break the nation's spirit. Something very much visible to this day.

This 13th century Monastery sits hidden away in the mountains of Dilijan, now northern Armenia and not too far from the border with Georgia. This terrain is full of beautiful rivers and lakes, large mountains and forests that span on seemingly endlessly. Home to many hiking trails and other sports due to the beauty of the landscape. It was a day as hot as ever, and with some hiking trails already in mind, we chose the pursue the one that offered the most shelter. Not really knowing that it would lead to some incredible aspects of history; plus a walk along a river that ran through the mountain was a nice touch given the cooler air. Primarily, this was an accidental find that came with just wanting to escape that intense heat. Walking through the forestry, feeling the dampness from the humidity of the region, the walk up felt brutal. Incredibly unforgiving on a rocky terrain that had been battered by rainfall and cars attempting to find their easier way up. Not a possibility anymore. Though the sounds of birds was beautiful. No more chaotic city noises, just the natural sounds of wood creaking and the life of a forest.

About halfway up the trail a diverging path appeared, so we turned left. And a little more of a walk down we saw the ruins appear. A large group of children accompanied mostly by women sat outside, having a picnic. Suddenly in this remote area, we saw life beyond the forest's inhabitants. A perfect spot to sit and eat before I assume their descent back down. This old Monastery looking more like ruins, covered in moss and with bits of stone scattered around. A small entrance that required a little bit of a ducking of the head to enter. Upon doing so, I noticed a man standing more in the shade, where it was significantly cooler inside. This would turn out to be a local man that would hike up and down to spend his days here attempting to sell candles to the few people that would come, to which you could then light then inside. A common practice in Armenian churches to this day. Accompanied by either a little prayer or wish. For the low fee of 100 dram, we got two candles and figured it would be nice to light them in such an ancient place, keeping its tradition and spirit alive.

It was a small place, one that certainly wouldn't have kept many inside at any moment. I loved the dampness inside, its rooftop covered in moss, with the landscape around leading to some seeping water inside on the walls. A slimy looking place, but perfect after such a long and unforgiving walk up to it. The floor now uneven, large slabs misplaced and pointing in different directions. It felt like a forgotten, magical place out of fantasy. The home of a druid. The type of place muttering forgotten languages would conjure up an ancient spirit. The light inside perfect, a strong glow from the forest making its entrance seem like the first light of a person's life. The little holes in the walls or from the hole in the ceiling above keeping you in that feeling of the natural world. Both the church and the forest now one. No longer separate entities. 

It was lovely to see that nature had been slowly reclaiming the church, rather than becoming victim to vandalism and other forms of neglect over the centuries. I didn't see anything that implied harm had been done to the church despite it sitting alone up there in the forest. And the forest itself was clean for the most part. There were no etchings into the walls, nothing that spoke of the many other travellers that had made their way down to the location throughout the years. Everything that spoke of decay came from time itself, where windows had slowly collapsed, the ground beneath the slabs full of roots from the trees surrounding. Even that rich green of moss upon of the stone itself. While there were still candles being sold to be lit inside, I was more surprised at the little papers and pictures of religious symbolism that remained. And noticing the little details within the church itself, even crosses that had been hiding within the walls that were only noticed after the wall had started to crumble.

I couldn't really find any information online about the church specifically. Some information that I already mentioned regarding the Mongol Empire and its arrival in this region, and how it had influenced the church to some degree. Though that was about it. So, this little location remains mostly lost in time. Few names to be attached to its walls. Few stories around to be told that unfolded in and around the building.