As all good things, my time in Armenia has come to an end. During the last two weeks, we have done so much. We have walked through the ruins of the pagan temple of Garni. We have stopped to enjoy the dried fruit and sweet bread handmade by a family who has lived on the same plot of land for six generations. We have taken in the breathtaking views standing atop the hill at Lake Sevan. We have heard the hauntingly sweet sounds of the duduk performed by friends in the ancient monastery of Geghard. We have climbed down into the same hollowed pit at Khor Virap where Saint Gregory the Illuminator was imprisoned for thirteen years. We have stumbled upon a private family celebration and been welcomed as on of their own, greeted with music, dance, and toasts. We have felt the joy of a four-year old excited about having six new friends to kick his deflated soccer ball to. We have shared bread, coffee, and vodka — oftentimes all in one sitting — with friends from different lands and generations. We have witnessed the pride of those who keep the rich culture of Armenia alive through song, dance, music, and art. We have stood side by side with a family as we helped build not only a new home for them, but a new life. We have created lifelong memories, not just of the food we ate, the music we danced to, or the places we visited, but of the many beautiful people of Armenia.