Consistency is a tricky beast. Society/people/our expectations of ourselves always seems to be asking us to pick a path, to find a niche, to produce consistently within a certain theme, or hell, even a certain color palate. Everything bears down demanding us to choose a cohesive course. But the thing is, that at the same time, we crave the boundary defiers, the people that buck the conventional rules and don’t overly concern themselves with all of the things they should be doing, all of the ways they aren’t packaging themselves neatly. Digestible has its limits, as does chaos. Travel seems to cut to the core of that dichotomy. That space between the exciting new discoveries of a place that does things differently and the exhaustion, distaste or sometimes even revulsion from the things that you wish it did the same. So far Yerevan has only been a mild dip into these waters but tonight, as I’ve been sucked into the mental drain of comparison, I’m thinking of it as a useful reminder that the contrasts and irregularities are often what are the most illuminating. The things that may not be deemed the most beautiful or most strategic but that catch the eye and spark a sensation of wonder, if only for a wandering tourist.