Scratching the Surface: 2 Days Passing in Odessa
Transit Through Transnistria
Of all the strange corners of the world I’ve wandered past, Transnistria has to rank among the top 5 destinations. To put is succinctly, it is the last bastion relic of the USSR. Straddling no more than a small strip of land east of the Dniester river, this minor territory is effectively an independent country with is own president, parliament, independent laws, currency, postal service, military, etc. Although it’s not recognized by any UN member state (in fact, only 2 other breakaway republics recognize Transnistria), it has it’s own border control and a Russian military contingent. Everything is in Russian, but many people hold both Moldovan and Ukrainian passports.
When Moldova declared independence in 1990, Transnistria remained aligned to the USSR and did not want to separate from mother Russia. This internecine tension led to a declaration of independence and a military conflict. Today, Transnistria is sort of a oxymoronic zeitgeist, a time-warp of strange oddities and contradictions; a place where “CCCP” and hammer and sickle appear besides modern infrastructure and a small splattering of brand names. The streets of Tiraspol are named after Marx and Lenin, Soviet symbols abound (the hammer and sickle is still on their official flag), there are at least two massive statues of Lenin, uniformed military (unarmed) can be spotted on the streets occasionally. Across the parliament building there is a war memorial to the fallen during the “war of independence”, with a massive tank hoisted on a monument with its barrel aimed directly at Moldova proper.
Under the Warrens of Modolvan Wine Country
On a Lark: Adventures into the Path Untrodden
I’m boarding on Air Moldova flight 746, bound for Chisinau from Istanbul. This drifting, nomadic lifestyle often times does not have a set aim or fixed direction. In retrospect, even a week ago I while parting Bucharest, I only flirted with the notion of venturing to Moldova…or, even further into Ukraine (given the current geopolitical situation). Yet, some how, all paths have lead to this: seated on 27A, window-side heading over the Black Sea.
Some one lounging at the hostel courtyard asked me this morning where I was heading. Upon being informed of “Moldova”, he logically followed with: “Why?”; to which I had no better answer than: “Because I’ve not been there, and it would be interesting.” considering I knew next to nothing about the region and country other than its historical association with Romania. He then proceeded to inform me that he had read an index of “saddest” countries — Moldova topped the list. Perhaps I’ve seen too much to know that hearsay rumors about countries and cultures are largely unreliable, or perhaps I’m glutton for melancholy; but, his comment barely registers in my mind. I only replied that I didn’t expect much from Air Moldova, and would be happy if they didn’t misdirect my luggage. However, boarding the plane itself, the first observation was that there was a pungent smell of…armpit…shall we say. On that note, let the adventure commence.
Respite for the Weary in Istanbul
Ah, so many miles have I roamed — and, as yet, still finding myself neither here nor there. I find myself pausing for a few days respite in Istanbbul, Turkey to sort out some technical and equipment failures; but above all, to allow this weary-worn body to some much needed rest at this junction of East and West.
This proverbial road is long and winding; every bend leads to further vistas, prompting the adventurous spirit to seek further the unknown and untried. The folly in this, if there be any, is that the tried experiences become increasingly less interesting and one tends to seek out more daring and precarious adventures, unique cultures, and less ventured paths. For good or ill, such is the predicament and I welcome the unknown journeys without reservation.
The Remains of Constantinople
Ode to the Bulgarian Rose
In a distance valley, hidden by hills and shrouded in mist, there lies a mystical rose. In a vast valley of common flowers, legend speaks of one eternal amarinthine with spellbinding fragrance. It’s existence is much rumored, but seldom, if ever confirmed. At most, passing travelers occasionally claim to have sighted it at a far distance, or caught a waft of its scent. For centuries, poets have spoken only of it in verse as some fanciful legend; and in time, this legend, too, faded to myth.
I wandered through a valley in a distant land; and there in a most unexpectant of circumstances, chanced upon this most enchantingly recherche beauty. Well-hidden below the prosaic blooms, it bares no distinctive tincture nor distinguishing mark; indeed, one can easily pass and not notice its presence. Yet, it emitted an exquisite fragrance that is at once alluring, entrancing, enthralling. Oh, did its fragrance enchant the vastly fields between heaven and earth.
I thank fortune and fate for the breeze that chance to blow my way; for never could I have imagined a bloom so rare nor scent so sublime. For long did I linger enchanted by its beauty and inebriated by its fragrance. And though I much admired its rarity, a wild rose it is, and none for the keeping; for this wild beauty belongs in the verdant fields under the sun, moon, and stars with no names. Sweet
Driving the Transfagaras Road
In the Land of the Thracian Kings
Arrived in Nessebar, Bulgaria today via Sozopol.
An Ancient Stage Come Alive
Serendipitous Misadventures
Or, the day in the life of a footloose wanderer.
In the Land of the Eagles
Hugging the Coastline of Montenegro
Explorations Around Bay of Kotor
A Stroll Through Trebinje
