Listen to the author’s reading of the article. 

The scent of khorovats in the warm evening air was sharpening appetites as men hovered over smoking grills. Nearby, women were shaping zhengyalov hats, their hands moving with practiced ease. Others were handling the drink stations, readying bottles and glasses for the crowds. A group of boys were kicking a football back and forth, shouting, laughing, and showing off as they waited for the evening’s festivities to begin.

It felt almost exactly like the start of every summer gathering at our family home. I even found myself bracing for my mom’s inevitable: “Lilith, come help us with the table, please”—a call that always tore me away from playing football with my siblings and cousins to get me to lay out plates and glasses. But the call never came. My mom wasn’t there. I was a guest this time. And more importantly, I was standing in the middle of Tumanyan Street, surrounded by strangers, in front of a big stage at the annual Yerevan Wine Days festival—held every first weekend of summer. It was like our family gathering, only scaled up to a national level, and with a special emphasis on wine. 

I don’t drink. My sole intent of being at Armenia’s biggest celebration of wine was to write something clever about the irony of being sober at a wine festival. 

The setup was simple: the festival stretched across Moskovyan, Tumanyan and Saryan streets. You buy tickets and a wine glass, wander wherever music blares and alcohol lingers in the air, trade a ticket for a pour at any stand, drink, and have fun. But none of that seemed strictly required to have fun. Toddlers darted between legs, babies in strollers required constant maneuvers and I, their sober adult ally, was having a pretty good time. 

Loud music, rising laughter, and an ever-increasing crowd of flushed, tipsy faces filled the air. Despite choosing not to drink, I still felt included. After a brief, spirited chat with a tipsy stranger, a friend and I were each handed a bottle of wine. It was a sweet gesture—granted, the bottle was wasted on someone who flinches at the taste, but the marketing move wasn’t. 

The festival resembled a gallery of creativity. One winemaker had rigged a photobooth to look like you were getting an IV drip of wine. Elsewhere, you could get your photo taken and appear on the cover of a newspaper.

Everyone was having a great time, especially the couple I passed mid-makeout session in the middle of a human traffic jam. As I moved through the crowd, my body adapted to the shifting beats; shoulders loosening, hips gradually swaying to the new rhythms with each block. DJ sets were everywhere, making it impossible to walk far without stumbling into a dance party. 

Somewhere between European and American pop, I heard traditional Armenian music. The crowd around me suddenly shifted, all turning toward a troupe of dancers in traditional costume performing the kochari. Smiles broke out, phones came up, and the audience turned into videographers. 

As the tempo of the music quickened, a woman ran to join the dancers, which led to a whole wave of people joining in. More and more people continued to join the party, with the crowd doubling. The streets felt too narrow. Tumanyan was the loudest, anchored by a big stage and a full concert lineup. Moskovyan and Saryan streets had become a human river in desperate need of riverbanks. 

​​As the crowd swelled, Red Cross volunteers calmly threaded through. They had their own stations but were mostly in motion, ready to offer a hand if anyone got too drunk, danced too hard, or tripped over a toddler.

Launched in 2017 by the event tourism agency EventToura, Yerevan Wine Days began as a modest street festival on Saryan Street, drawing around 2,000 attendees, featuring 25 wineries, and selling approximately 6,500 bottles of wine. By 2024, the festival had spilled over onto Tumanyan and Moskovyan streets, with attendance soaring to over 120,000—a sixfold increase. The number of participating wineries tripled to 75, and wine sales surged by 438%, topping 35,000 bottles. Data for 2025 hasn’t been released yet, but with an average annual growth rate of about 30%, it’s safe to assume the crowds haven’t thinned. I’m pretty worried it’ll reach my house in a few years.

It struck me then, watching people having fun simply because they could. Because why wouldn’t they? In the grind of everyday obligations, we often forget to pause and simply enjoy what we have around us.

So, here’s to Yerevan Wine Days—a festival that reminds us that relaxing and having fun is as important and fulfilling as our daily labor. 

Under the Open Sky

The June issue of SALT explores how tradition and reinvention meet across culture, style and taste. We look at the growing comeback of film photography through the lens of Yerevan’s photo labs, feature a visual story of open-air ballet performances in Tumanyan Park, visit Hummus Kimchi, a restaurant blending Jewish and Korean cuisines, and talk to Syrian- and Lebanese-Armenian hairdressers who are raising the bar in Yerevan’s beauty scene. Plus, a photo essay captures the energy and atmosphere of Yerevan Wine Days.