It was a calm February evening, one of those you enjoy sitting in front of… well, I’d like to say in front of the fireplace in a Gothic house, but we are not in England of early 20th century, and I’m not Arthur Conan Doyle getting ready to tell you another story of Mr. Holmes. I was sitting in front of my laptop browsing the web, when all of a sudden an unexpected journey began. Somehow almost just as it happened with Bilbo Baggins, perhaps, with the only difference of us being not in Shire, but in Armenia. Anyways… It was a matter of 15 minutes. In a short Facebook chat me and two of my friends we decided to take a trip to the mountains… to drink tea. Yes. To drink tea. As if there’s no other place left on this planet except the snowy Aragats mountain about 20 km north of our town. The tea was in the thermos, the cameras were in our bags, and we were in my friend’s Toyota, approaching the 13th century Tegher monastery, located on southeastern slopes of Mount Aragats, when… the car got stuck in snow… with only about 50 meters left to the church.