Kond District in Yerevan

At the edge of Kentron—as locals call the central district of Yerevan—the cityscape suddenly breaks. Streets slope upward, some fading into steep stone stairways that ascend toward the sky. Towering over the end of Pushkin Street looms a relic of Soviet grandeur: the 1932 Stalin-era House of Musicians and Composers, its weighty silhouette casting a long shadow.

But the hill’s incline is largely claimed by a very different world.

This is Kond—a name that simply means “Settlement”—also known by its older Turkic name, Tepebashi, or “Hilltop.” It is a place steeped in paradox: called by some “Yerevan’s most disreputable corner,” and by others, its “last historic neighborhood.” Once an outer suburb, Kond carries a legacy that reaches deep into the 17th and 18th centuries, when it was home to Yerevan’s meliks—the Armenian community leaders from the Agamalyan family—as well as Turkic peasants and the Bosha, Armenian-speaking Roma people.

It is a city within a city, a living fragment of the 19th century, where crooked lanes twist into staircases, and squat, single-story homes rise from rough, barely hewn stone. Life here is not easy. The infrastructure is crumbling, and modern comforts are few. Yet Kond remains a place of haunting beauty, as if Yerevan’s soul were laid bare in its alleys and shadows. For years, plans have loomed to demolish Kond and sweep it into the path of Yerevan’s expanding Boulevard Ring—but progress inches slowly. The city dreams, but its economic hardships press pause on grand ambitions.

For now, Kond endures. And those who want to witness this living museum of stone and memory—should hurry.

Atop this forgotten crown of the capital stands a church—Surb Hovhannes Mkrtich, or Saint John the Baptist, built between 1680 and 1710. Though ancient in name, its appearance is deceptively modern. Returned to the Armenian faithful in 1979, the church had suffered such decay under Soviet neglect that its exterior and dome had to be rebuilt entirely. In essence, it became a Soviet-era reconstruction of an Armenian church

For now, Kond endures. And those who want to witness this living museum of stone and memory—should hurry.

Atop this forgotten crown of the capital stands a church—Surb Hovhannes Mkrtich, or Saint John the Baptist, built between 1680 and 1710. Though ancient in name, its appearance is deceptively modern. Returned to the Armenian faithful in 1979, the church had suffered such decay under Soviet neglect that its exterior and dome had to be rebuilt entirely. In essence, it became a Soviet-era reconstruction of an Armenian church

There is a corner of Yerevan where time has a different rhythm. The district of Kond draws in travelers with its dreamlike atmosphere and raw, ancient architecture. Here, homes stand shoulder to shoulder, many over a century—some even two—old. The neighborhood is a living labyrinth: a weave of alleyways and crooked passages that climb and twist into steep staircases and narrow turns. It invites you to wander, to get lost, and to rediscover the meaning of place.

Only a few such historic pockets remain in Yerevan—Old Nork, Kanaker, Old Avan, and Kilikia among them—but none preserve such a cohesive and immersive architectural environment as Kond. While the modern capital pulses with energy and movement, Kond flows to a quieter tempo. Children race past on bicycles, their laughter echoing through the streets; parents wash carpets and hang them out to dry under the shade of grapevines; old men repair cars and play backgammon, trading news under the open sky. Kond feels like Narnia—a hidden world tucked within the noisy city, where time seems to slow, if not stop altogether.

The first written record of Kond dates back to 1655. Its name, meaning “hill” in Armenian, reflects its topography. In the 19th century, it was also known by the Persian-derived name Tapabashi, or “mountaintop.” For centuries, Kond was among the most ethnically diverse districts in Yerevan. In the 1800s, it was home to roughly 2,500 Persians and Azerbaijanis, 1,500 Armenians, and 200 Boshas—Armenians of Roma descent. This multicultural fabric shaped the district’s architectural identity. Elegant stone mansions stood beside Eastern-style dwellings adorned with carved arches and ornate wooden details.

In the early 20th century, the area underwent a demographic shift. Many Muslims left Yerevan, and by the 1920s, their homes were taken over by Armenian refugees fleeing violence in Eastern Turkey. These new inhabitants adapted and rebuilt the homes to suit their way of life, adding another layer to the district’s ever-evolving character.

It was also in the 1920s that Alexander Tamanyan, the visionary architect tasked with transforming Yerevan into a modern Soviet capital, arrived in Armenia. At the time, much of the city resembled Kond: irregular, organic, chaotic. Tamanyan noted the city still bore “the imprint of Persian influence and provincial remoteness.” His master plan envisioned wide boulevards and monumental buildings in rose-colored stone, and between the 1920s and 1940s, central Yerevan was dramatically reshaped. Yet somehow, Kond was spared.

According to local legend, Tamanyan saw value in preserving Kond as a living museum of old Yerevan—an intention that may have saved it from demolition. Over the decades, the idea of redeveloping Kond has surfaced repeatedly. In the 1980s, part of its northern edge was bulldozed to make way for the Dvin Hotel, a high-rise that still looms over the district. During the 2000s, there were new promises of relocation, but only one tower block emerged on Kond’s periphery.

In 2024, the city launched an architectural competition seeking visions for Kond’s future. While the jury is still out, residents have already been informed that resettlement is on the table. Whether Kond will be preserved or erased remains an open question.

Kond was never built on a grid. It grew organically, without regard for hierarchy—no main boulevards, no secondary lanes. Its sinuous, winding paths are reminiscent of ancient eastern cities: the magals of Derbent in Russia, or the medinas of Morocco and Tunisia. The distinction between Christian and Muslim homes is still visible. Traditional Islamic houses face inward, hiding behind tall walls with no street-facing windows. Armenian dwellings, on the other hand, are more open—featuring internal courtyards, wooden balconies, and carved verandas.

Even the building materials whisper the story of their origins. Slim bricks suggest 17th- to 18th-century Muslim homes, while thicker basalt stones with earthen fill often mark Christian constructions. In the 19th century, Armenians began building with large blocks of tuff—a soft volcanic stone native to the region, tinted with hues of rose and apricot.

To explore Kond is to embrace the unexpected. Forget the map—most houses have no address. Let your instincts lead you; every turn reveals something curious.

A few landmarks will help guide you:

• 76/5 Leo Street is home to the famed Black House, named not for any mystery but for the dark color of its stone walls.

• A few steps away, 66 Leo Street hosts the House by the Arch, boasting exquisite 18th-century masonry.

• 25/1 Rustaveli Street shelters the Khiyusyan family home, part-residence, part-museum. If you’re lucky, the owners may invite you in for a tour, showcasing a treasure trove of artifacts: vaulted ceilings, age-worn stone walls, carved wooden doors, and heirlooms that tell their own version of history.

In the past decade, Kond has also become Yerevan’s unexpected hub for street art. Rustaveli Street, in particular, feels like an open-air gallery. Murals range from abstract geometry reminiscent of Malevich and Kandinsky, to stylized Armenian script and striking outlines of Mount Ararat. Among them, you’ll find scenes from Armenian culture: one mural features a man astride a tiger—a reference to Brave Nazar, the folk hero immortalized by writer Hovhannes Tumanyan, often called the Armenian Pushkin for his role in shaping national literature.

Getting to Kond

Kond lies in the heart of Yerevan, perched on a hill between Paronyan, Leo, Saryan, and Frik Streets. Entry is surprisingly easy—there are 37 ways in, through staircases and arches that cut between buildings. Here are two popular routes:

• Head to 44 Rustaveli Street, next to St. Hovhannes Church. Many visitors start here and follow Rustaveli Street southward into the depths of Kond.

• Or, find the arch between 10 and 54 Leo Street. Walk through and you’ll emerge onto a staircase that spills you directly into the heart of Kond—just steps from the old mosque.