My time in Armenia has reached three weeks, and my initiation into Yerevan life seems to be on track. Sure, I have gotten lost, taken the wrong marshutka or bus a couple of times, paid too much at a market, and almost been hit by cars while crossing the street more times than I can count. But I have also given and followed directions correctly, eaten some of the best shaurma and freshest fruit I’ve ever had, experienced some great cultural events, and learned about the history of the city and Armenia as a whole.

And while I am still self-conscious and hesitant to expose myself to criticism when speaking Armenian or interacting with locals, I have been pleasantly surprised by the encouragement and patience I have received from some.

There’s a reason why first impressions are often challenged later, and while mine have been useful in destabilizing my expectations of Armenia and forcing me to look more realistically at what my time here is about, I have since been pleasantly surprised to find many more doors open to me than I had initially thought. If not wide open, then at least not barred and locked. It just means I have to push a little to get through the doorway.

Recently, I saw a musical comedy, The Aunt from Paris by T. Brandon, at the Hovhannes Toumanian Puppet Theatre. I expected to laugh, of course, but I was caught off guard by the types and tone of jokes that I encountered there.

Although I missed some of the more subtle humor and innuendo because of my Armenia language ability, I definitely understood one of the main comedic themes of the play: parodying the pretensions of Diaspora Armenians and the condescending manner of “Hayastanzis” toward diasporan visitors. These jokes received some of the loudest applause and heartiest laughs, but they also demonstrated an awareness of the often-tense relationship between local and visiting Armenians.

By having a local Armenian portray the diasporan “Aunt from Paris” character, the play offered a glimpse of popular conceptions of the mentality, behavior, and social status of diasporans in the eyes of Armenian locals, and in order to make it believable, the aunt had to speak Western Armenian, be wealthy and stylish, and feel compelled to diagnose the problems facing Armenia’s growth and development. I do not mean to take a caricature too seriously, but the play helped me to better understand the reasons for my less-than-warm reception in Yerevan. And it also made me want to look past my first impressions.

Just as I did not want locals to see me as an “Aunt from Paris,” who has barged into this country to take without giving, diagnose without knowing, and disparage instead of being open and understanding, locals probably do not want to be characterized as cold, unwelcoming, and resentful.

While the opportunities available to many diasporan Armenians may seem appealing to locals, diasporans long to see “the homeland” and experience life in Armenia first hand. Stereotypes and caricatures often have a basis in reality, but it’s time to stop basing our relationships on such factors and start looking deeper in order to find ways to overcome barriers and work with instead of against each other. A play like The Aunt from Paris uses laughter to raise these issues, but after the curtain falls, it is up to the audience to examine the role that their conduct and assumptions have in perpetuating such stereotypes.