The sign on the pharmacy reads 36°C as women glide past, immaculately dressed with pink peonies and blood red roses in the crooks of their arms.
The scent of fresh cherries swirls in the sweltering summer air. The tinkle of piano keys trickles onto wide boulevards lined with mulberry trees.
A few streets away, bunnies and ducks shuffle in cages, waiting to be sold in an open-air market.
On a hill overlooking the city, a memorial to the more than one million people who died in what just about everyone calls a genocide.
Beyond that, glacial valleys; herds of majestic Karabakh horses; mountaintop monasteries and a vast, high-altitude freshwat...


English (US)