Moldova – the near distant
I am always excited when entering a new, unknown country. On the border, in spite of no cue in front of me, I had to wait for 10 minutes to get my entrance approved. When finally was allowed to enter the country from the shadows of the building where the custom officers were standing I got chased by five angry dogs. The custom offices did not even bothered looking. These were my first steps on Moldovan soil.
The countryside, at first, was the same as around Jászvásár (Iași). Hilly terrain, huge pastures, horses and cows (wandering around freely). But the road changed. The sideline was a two meter wide line covered with dust and small rocks, with a line of trees next to it. The asphalt, at the first look, seemed good enough, but in reality at every meter there were potholes which trembled with the bike.
On the roads of Moldova I met every kind of vehicles; you would find here vehicles of old Russian designs till 30 year old German ambulance cars. Ones I saw a car speeding towards me with 90kmh which was driven by a child who was sitting in his father lap. Most of the people are hitchhikers. The main roads avoid the towns and villages. Looking from the main roads you can only guess where the villages are, as everything is so green; the villages are covered by massive forests. I have not seen as many forests anywhere else as at Moldova. It almost looks like people are living in the woods. Even the housing estates looked more like rainforests. The houses in the villages reminded me of Russian design, mostly painted blue or green.
On the 11th day of the expedition I arrived at the capitol of Moldova, Chișinău [kiʃiˈnəw]. The last 30km were terrible, not just because of the pouring rain, but also because of the mad drivers, who drove really fast and near to me. Ones I signalized that I want to turn to the left, so that I could avoid a larger pothole, just to feel my hand bouncing off the front windshield of a car. I learned pretty quick where my place was, and who was meant to drive in the two meter wide dusty line.
In Chișinău I have got good news from Ági. I did not have to hurry to Odessa, because of the windy weather my ferry was delayed by half a day.
This is where I met two nice Moldovan girls, Hanna and Olga, who gave me a small cake as a gift. It was them from whom I first heard of the region between Moldova and the Ukraine, which is called Pridnestrovskaya Moldavskaya Respublika or Transnistria (PRM – Pridnestrovian Moldavian Republic; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Transnistria). It is a region which is thirsts for independence, but no one recognises it; there are different rules, different currency and every person I met in Chișinău advised me never to go anywhere near to it. I still decided to take the shorter route through PRM.
On the last gas station a couple of youngsters still warned me, that on the other side I will meet with hard socialism and if the police will have the feeling that I have money on me they will fine me for whatever they can.
Well, at this point I told myself, if so many people are trying to advice me against it I just have to see it for myself! The plan was to cycle till Bender [yes, there is actually a place called like that], I will tent somewhere around it and early in the morning I will cross to PMR. It was pitch dark when I arrived at a barrier. I was astonished, that I was at the border already. As it turned out, the place, Bender, where I wanted to camp, was already on Transnistrian soil. I could not turn back here. I decided, around 10 in the night, that I will cross to this country, from which I haven’t heard anything but “good” about.
