Killing Batteries

Just north of Chisinau, on the road to the Cricova winery, there’s a devious little speed trap in a 300 meter long, little buttfuck settlement, barely large enough to be named and nowhere near large enough to appear on any maps. The two cops in this almost-town have absolutely nothing else to do, but spend their days pulling people over for invented infractions and then intimidating them into on-the-spot bribery. This is a highly successful operation, seeing as how most Chisinau cops putter around, squished inside old Ladas while these countryside swine have relatively swanky Skodas.

Like everyone else, I usually slow to a groveling crawl as I pass cops like this, giving them little reason to pull me over. But this time, I was trying to get around a truck belching out exhaust at a toxicity quantity of about 999,999 parts per million and at the precise moment that I careened around the effing thing, the Lead Swine waved me to the side of the road.

Though there’s no posted speed limit here, the Lead Swine gravely informed that I had broken the 60KPH (37MPH) speed limit on this six lane highway that otherwise has a 90KPH limit by going 72 KPH. Having suffered through Moldovan Swine harassment repeatedly in 2006 when I had the unfortunate notion of driving my Romanian car into Moldova (which is akin to driving around with a neon “Please Stop and Intimidate Me” sign bolted to your roof), I knew the drill and was determined not to pay these swine.

Indeed, I put on a show that would’ve made Daniel Day-Lewis proud and walked away without ever having opened my wallet. In fact, it’s really not too difficult, so for the benefit of future visitors to Moldova and other locales with similarly honorable and motivated law enforcement, read and learn:

1. Whether you speak their language like an angel or only know a few phrases, do not speak a single word to the swine in their language, not even ‘hello’ – the less communication, the less effective the intimidation
2. When you are invited to get into the Swine Mobile with the Lead Swine’s Co-Swine, do so nonchalantly, remaining nonplused
3. Stay cool. Pretend you have all the time in the world, even if you’re trying to cover 300 kms that day for critical guidebook research
4. When the Co-Swine mimes putting your driver’s license in his pocket and leaving with it, show absolutely no sign of understanding
5. When the Co-Swine makes gestures that you go with him and repeats over and over “bank” and “lei” (Moldova’s currency), just repeat the same thing back with a hopelessly perplexed look on your face
6. When the Co-Swine starts ominously filling out a form with all your personal information, remain placid
7. Show no sign of recognition or understanding when the Lead Swine - who meanwhile is still pulling hapless people over, not even bothering to use the speed gun anymore - sticks his head in the window and says “Igor! What the fuck? Hurry up with this guy! If we don’t net another 1,000 lei before the end of the shift, I’m not gonna make my pool payment!”
8. When the Co-Swine, sensing defeat, sighs heavily and slumps his shoulders, do not show any sign of satisfaction
9. Simply say ‘thank you’ when the Co-Swine hands your documents back to you and says ‘goodbye’
10. As you return to your car, continue to look perplexed by everything that’s occurred, maybe even scratch your head for the Lead Swine’s benefit as he watches in disbelief while three months worth of pool payments walks off
11. Drive away carefully as you start mentally composing a blog entry about what’s just happened
12. Post pictures of the swine and Swine Mobile on the internet and mock them mercilessly, maybe adding a little comment about the caliber of swine mother that produced such pitiable swine offspring in their swine trailer park, on Swine Boulevard, in Swineville, home of the “Fighting Swine” soccer team with a record of 0 and 36 because they play like such hopeless swine

[Pictures courtesy of my co-pilot Elfin, who discreetly shot through the back window of our car with her tiny point-and-shoot digicam, conveniently armed with a Swine Filter to better capture swine in action.]

If you missed it, you can check this page for the rerun schedule, but I’ll save you the suspense and tell you that Anthony’s trip to Romania was pitifully conceived, planned and executed. Among other things, totally avoidable eff-ups included:

• Rather than contacting me, he let his bumbling Russian buddy, who’d seemingly visited Romania once for a week in the 90s, plan the whole trip for him, including going to one of the schlockiest restaurants in the country and spending the night at a Dracula-themed hotel in Braşov on Halloween with a tour group from Nevada.
• Spending more than 30 cumulative minutes in that hellhole Bucharest.
• Believing that a professional advance team could iron out any pesky Romanian bureaucratic impasses before he got there and if there was trouble all he’d have to do is present his trusty folder of official papers and everything would be just fine.
• Thinking that driving a Dacia 1310 long distances would be funny, good TV instead of life threatening.
• Not getting a sexy translator.

On that note, I’d like to formally announce that I have signed contracts with LP to go back to Romania and Moldova to research and update chapters for the same for the next Eastern Europe and Europe on a Shoestring guidebooks.

Some of my heartiest, long-standing blog readers will either be groaning sadly and/or getting very excited for all the pathetic, whiny, bleating, bitchy Romania and Moldova-related blog posts that are sure to follow which have historically been some of the funniest material I have ever written. Well, the joke is on you, jackholes. This is going to be the greatest trip ever and here’s why:

• I’ll be traveling in summer, not the dead of winter.
• I’ll be driving a real car, as opposed to this piece of $hit.
• I’ll be constantly mobbed by crazed fans, carrying the previous additions of the guidebooks, co-written by me, directed by me and starring me.
• I’ve been to all of these destinations before, several times in some cases, and won’t have to deal with things like getting lost while driving, getting lost while walking and getting lost while getting lost.
• I’ll have a sexy translator in tow.

On that note I’d like to formally announce that I’m taking applications for the position of my sexy translator. Ideal applicants will have the following qualifications:

• Speak English
• Speak Romanian
• Be not batshit crazy
• Be sexy

Though my Romanian language skills haven’t deserted me as fast as my Italian language skills, it wouldn’t hurt to have a second pair of ears while I’m interrogating bus station clerks or to have a flirty co-pilot to smooth things over when I get stopped by the pigs for imaginary driving infractions and shaken down for a bribe. I’m looking at you Moldova.

I blast off for the first of two Romania/Moldova trips on May 7th. Bucharest beware, I’m coming to see you first and I’m not happy about it.

Things seem to be getting worse in Transdniestr. 

Trans-Dniester blast kills eight:  At least eight people have been killed in an explosion on a city minibus in Moldova’s breakaway Trans-Dniester region, officials say.

No word on whether the maxitaxi was the target or whether the bomb was intended for another target and went off by accident.

I know all you winos have been on the edge of your desk chairs waiting for this one, breathless with anticipation to hear a first hand account about the famed Moldovan wine by an impartial, articulate wine aficionado.  Well I have some good news and some bad news.  The wine is indeed magnificent, but regrettably I know about as much about wine as a dead armadillo.  In fact, I have the exacting palette of a rock.  I’m nearly useless.  But I saw ‘Sideways’ three times, so I’m going to try my best to describe the experience using phrases more evocative than ‘yummy’ and ‘tastes like red’.

Moreover, today, articulate I am not.  I only just finished sampling most of the wine I brought home from Moldova last night, during a gruelling six hours of food and drink that has left me profoundly fuzzy-headed.  So what you’re really going to get is some semi-lucid vagaries by a guy who, on an average day, can’t pass a blind taste-test between orange juice and coffee.

Ready?  Let’s begin.

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Transdnistria (A.K.A. ‘Transdniestr’, A.K.A. TransD, A.K.A. ‘Cyrillicgobbltigook-cyrillicgobbltigook’) was a memorably surreal experience.  I’m not gonna lie to you, it was by far the dodgiest trip I have ever taken.  In forty countries I have never felt so watched and on the brink of being in irreparable trouble during every waking moment.

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With the notable exception of Monaco, I have never seen a higher concentration of luxury cars than in Chisinau, Moldova.  BMWs reign supreme, followed closely by Mercedes with American SUVs making a strong showing.  The Russian Lada, formerly the unofficial national car of Moldova, is a distant fourth or fifth (all numbers are by my observation and by no means scientific).

So how is it, you may ask, that the poorest country in Europe has so much four wheeled flash?  Well, that’s a touchy subject.  The “shadow economy” phenomenon has allowed certain businesses to prosper in a tax-free orgy of profit, allowing their owners for such excesses.  Arms dealing, human and organ trafficking and other organized criminal ugliness is surely a factor.  But with the staggering number of luxury vehicles on the street, it’s difficult to imagine, even in Moldova, that all these people are somehow associated with dark dealings.  Another aspect is foreign money filtered back into Moldova.  About 1/3 of Moldova’s economy is driven by money sent home by Moldovans working abroad and wiring the money home to their families.  In some cases the understandable aim of seeking a better life has lost all grip with reality.  College students take money meant for tuition and buy clothes and the aforementioned slick rides.  Then of course there are government officials, bureaucratic heavies and the ubiquitous money-hungry police all collecting second and third unreported salaries that double or triple their pay checks.

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Chisinau (ki-shi-no), the capitol of Moldova, ascended to the top of my list of all time favourite cities within 24 hours of my arrival.  Strangely, there are very few items of tourist appeal to indulge in here (even less now as they have closed one museum and merged two others), yet I deeply enjoyed myself.

To start, the people are just wonderful.  Friendly, helpful and genuine.  Ask directions from someone in Bucharest and you probably won’t get much more than a grunt and a head nod in a vague direction.  In Chisinau, the person you’ve beseeched for help will come out of their store, take your arm (like the Romanians, Moldovans can be very tactile) lead you to the street and give you specific, careful instructions.  This would have been endearing enough as a traveller, but as a guidebook researcher, this mentality saved me untold time and hardship.  Merchants, hotel staff, museum directors, strangers at bus stops, whether there was something in it for them or not, they all dropped everything, offering me information, coffee, the use of their telephones, whatever.  It was an absolute joy to work there.

Also, they have a restaurant and nightlife scene that is so grand and extensive that it’s going to kill me to have to cut those sections of the book down to a reasonable length.  The downside is the hotels are absurdly expensive and not all that great.  But there’s a number of ways around that, namely home stays, which brings me to yet another Chisinau rave.

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I leave for Moldova in the morning and I’ve gotta admit, I don’t think I have ever been more nervous about going somewhere. Usually Moldova can be challenging and the breakaway region of Transdnistria, which I’m also obliged to visit, is one step above chaos, but things have worsened recently making the overall picture none-too appealing for an American journalist, travelling alone, in a Romanian car that’s not in his name and insured by a third party, without a single word of Russian in his vocabulary.

Relations between Transdnistria, the Russian-backed country that doesn’t exist, and Moldova have never been great but various moves by self-absorbed fat-heads, resulting in consequences largely felt by the already long-suffering citizens of both regions, have hit a new low and Transdnistria has called for Russia to send more support - the bulk of their defence is supplied by Russian troops, sympathetic to the region clinging to old Soviet ways. I’m already being told not to drive the car into Transdnistria, though if I do, don’t dare go without a smooth talking local in the passenger seat or the guards will have a field day with my sorry ass. I’ll have to see if anyone in my large group of contacts in Chisinau will be willing to take a short road trip with me. Guides are surprisingly expensive (15-30 euro per hour), so that will have to be a last ditch option. Hopefully, there’ll just be a friendly local in Chisinau, preferably with relatives in Transdnistria, who’d like to come along for the ride.

With Communist ways in full force in Moldova and people extra touchy right now, I imagine that fact gathering will be even more difficult than here in Romania, where paranoid suspicion of questions, no matter how benign, particularly by older, Ceausescu-era generations can be like pulling teeth from a starving crocodile (e.g. Q: “What time is it?” A: “Why do you want to know? Who are you?”).

The good news, as I’ve already mentioned, is that pre-trip emailing has brought me a windfall of excellent contacts in Chisinau. I’m in touch with two motivated guides, a dedicated blogger, the enthusiastic host of my LP predecessor, the business partner of some acquaintances of mine and a Fulbright scholar from Arizona, teaching a journalism class who I’m meeting en masse to talk about freelance travel writing in America. My cup runneth over with help and hopefully all the local wine my liver can endure.

I’m planning to stay 10-12 days. No more than 14, as my insurance will run out and I don’t need to give anyone additional excuses to harass me at the border.

Updates here will undoubtedly be scant and brief. If I go silent for more than two weeks call the embassy, stressing of course that I’m too cute to die.