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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.

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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.