Tim Cahill once said “In good travel writing, something on the trip always has to go wrong.” If this is true, then after my most recent Lonely Planet research trip in Romania and Moldova, I should have a book deal landing on my desk any second. At least I hope it’s a book deal. With the way my luck has been lately, it could just as easily be a talking, vampire gorilla.

This was easily the most calamity-ridden LP research trip I’ve ever had. While this cluster bomb of misfortune, this cyclone of discomfort, continuously assaulted me like starving Venetian pigeons, well-meaning bystanders kept on saying that, hey, this will probably all seem really funny six months from now. So, I’ve decided to write a letter to Future Me to see, in retrospect, how effing amusing he thinks everything was.

Dear February 2011 Leif,

How are you? Did you ever go see “Inception”? If so, what the tap dancing Buddha was that all about?

Oh, and I hope the over-night, lucrative book deal that should have arrived soon after I wrote this letter has gone well and that the film adaptation is progressing smoothly.

Anyhoo, I just wanted to recap that catastro-f*ck trip you took last summer. You know, now that you’ve had time to heal and get your lithium dosage just right so you aren’t drooling too much and your sphincter control has returned to socially acceptable levels, I thought we could reminisce a bit and see if maybe things weren’t as bad as we thought they were at the time.

As you may remember, when you first landed in Chisinau, Moldova, it was about 115 degrees in the shade. This, obviously, was uncomfortable, but since you were cross-eyed with jet lag, you managed to fall right to sleep in your rented apartment that first night.

When the phone rang at 2am, you were understandably confused. After all, you were in a strange place, brain damaged from exhaustion and the ring tone sounded like the hourly siren they use at the sleep deprivation cell block at Guantanamo Bay. When the pounding on the door and hollering in Russian started, including when they bafflingly started yelling your name, it’s understandable that, teetering on irreversible insanity, you scattered broken glass all over the entryway and tried to lock yourself in the refrigerator. We’ve all been there. Bangkok 1991, comes to mind. Anyway, that it later turned out to simply be downstairs neighbors, panicking over a leaky pipe in your bathroom that was flooding their apartment, and that you were able to manually close it and save the day was, in the grand scheme of things, a rather painless outcome.

Three boiling hot days later, during which time you perspired freely without pause, borderline dehydration really shouldn’t have come as a surprise, particularly when every muscle in your body cramped up, your gums receded and your eyeballs turned orange. Yes, I know you drank something like two liters of water every hour, so your deteriorating condition was a bit confusing at first, but dammit Future Leif, you have got to start salting your food in those conditions! How does a veteran world traveler not know this? You really are an idiot sometimes.

I bet after that unpleasantness, those first few days of cool rain in Bucharest came as a relief. Yeah, by the forth day it was a bit tedious. And on the ninth day, you can be forgiven for tearing apart your belongings to see if someone might have slipped a cursed idol into your backpack that makes every wish spectacularly backfire, like that enchanted monkey fist from The Simpsons. Incessant rain has been known to spark a delirium or two. Ask anyone in Seattle.

Then, there was that incident in Sinaia when, for the first time in 30 years of having a cash card, that Banca Românească ATM ate your card and it was still only the first week of the trip so you really needed to get it back, but it was a Saturday and the bank was closed and you had to drive all the way back to Sinaia from Brasov on Monday to retrieve it and the bank manager held your card right in front of you and said she couldn’t give it back until your bank at home faxed a formal request which, with the eight hour time difference and all, would have required you to drive back to Sinaia again two days later from, who knows, Sighişoara?, burning, in total, over two days of critical research time and so in desperation you deluged them with five kinds of identification, including your passport, LP business cards and the LP Romania book itself with your name and picture on the inside until their steadfast dedication to pointless bureaucratic nonsense wilted and you walked out of there triumphant, having only wasted a total of ½ a day.

Nicely done.

And remember two hours later when your car was towed away in eight minutes flat while you were checking prices inside a bus station? Keeping in mind that this is Romania, where, since the beginning of recorded history, parking one’s car has been a lawless, creative art, with sidewalks, parks, handicapped ramps and even the middle of the street being fair game. Do you think they were targeting you specifically because you’re so enviously handsome? Probably.

It was kind of amazing that, the odd food poisoning episode aside, in over 20 years of international travel you had never been extravagantly ill while on the road. So, really, you kinda had it coming when you were struck down with the Transylvanian Flu mere hours after arriving in Sibiu, where you thought that you might, finally, be able to relax a bit and enjoy yourself. Arguably, the 17 bed bug bites that you suffered that same evening, several of which were on your face, might have been just a teensy bit uncalled for.

Remember how 10 days later, just when those bed bug bites were finally fading, suffering six more bed bug bites seemed like a bizarre, but conceivable bit of bad luck?

And, being that our notes get a little frantic here, can you describe exactly how you felt when you were attacked again seven days later and it became rather obvious that the bed bugs were living in your backpack? Was it like a psychosis or closer to full-on hysteria?

On a scale of One to Hilarious, how funny were those last few days of the trip when, instead of unwinding and recovering from the baffling, unremitting torment of the previous five weeks, you spent that time boiling/scalding all of your possessions, scrubbing them with detergent, sun-baking them in black plastic bags, boiling/scalding everything again and generally suffering low-level, jittery paranoia day and night, believing that every itch, every tickle, every single form of exterior stimuli, was a bed bug that was preparing to repeatedly chomp you like a shark on a chum line?

Oh, that reminds me, how go the inquiries that you’ve been making that God may be specifically out to get you?

I think we’ve covered all the key incidents here. It’s difficult to be sure, since our final couple pages of notes have been rendered indecipherable due to the shredding, teeth marks and extensive fecal damage. So, if you could just get back to me with your thoughts on how funny this all seems from the safety and security of February 2011, that’d really help me out.

Sincerely,

Past Leif

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It wasn’t an easy drive, but me and a merry band of Moldovans road-tripped up to Soroca last week and I took some gripping video.

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Using my faithful Dacia Logan, I test the magnetic properties of a notorious hill in central Moldova. There’s really not much more to add. You gotta see it to believe it.

I heartily recommend World Nomads travel insurance

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When researching Romania and Moldova for Lonely Planet, I’m also obliged to visit the self-declared, breakaway republic of Transdniestr (A.K.A. ‘Transnistria’). It’s yet another one of those countries-that-don’t-exist jobbies that you hear about occasionally in the news. Though they haven’t had any headline-grabbing military action since the brief, but bloody 1991 civil war with Moldova ended in a stalemate, they’re nevertheless notorious in the region for being run by Russian gangsters who make a tidy profit in arms dealing and human trafficking. Meanwhile, dirt poor citizens are told they’re living the Soviet-era communist ideal and that this is in their best interest.

Despite rampant rumors of arms dealing, there has been precious little hard evidence that any yahoo could pop over into Transdniestr, load up on weapons and outfit a small army whenever they felt like it. Well, a new video has come out, done by the Italian TV program Le Iene (“The Hyenas”) that appears to not only show a guy successfully closing an arms deal, but also has bonus footage of Transdniestr and Russian border guards doing what they do best: shake foreigners down for everything they’re worth. Moldovan police are well-known for doing this too, but we don’t see any evidence in this particular video.

The two-part video, which was brought to my attention by Elfin Waters who always sends me the very best tidbits coming out of Italy, unfortunately is a little long (about nine minutes each) and almost entirely in Italian, so I’ll provide my own narrative here. I should preface by saying that Italian is by far my weakest language, so if anyone notices that I’ve gotten anything really wrong, please alert me.

In Part I, the guy gives a breathless history about the region, how it’s not recognized by any government in the world (except Papa Russia), but nevertheless has their own currency, police force, army and “borders”, controlled by Transdniestran border guards – with backing from a 5000-strong Russian ‘operational group’ to keep Moldova from getting any bright ideas about taking its land back.

The guy travels to Chişinau, rents a car and heads to Tiraspol, the capital of Transdniestr. It’s right here that he makes two costly mistakes. It appears he’s hired a Romanian woman to be his translator. Unfortunately, this does him little good in Transdniestr, a primarily Russian-speaking region, and we see them frequently reduced to caveman talk in both Romanian and Italian. Also, it’s pretty clear that the translator has never been to Transdniestr before, so there’s no one to stop the announcer guy from walking into a bunch of border scams, including a daring new one (at least, new to me) when they try to leave, but I digress.

They stash all their A/V equipment in the doors/roof/trunk of the car and then proceed to the worst possible border crossing: the hectic and bribe-happy crossing at Bendery. This is a three-part crossing. First you get checked out by Moldovan cops, then a Russian military post and then the Transdniestran border guards. The Moldovans wave them through, but uh oh, there’s trouble at the Russian checkpoint. The Russians use a well-worn scam, saying that our heroes have to go back to Chişinau for some mystery document and then cross at another border crossing about 100 kilometers north, which, with the state of Moldovan/Transdniestran roads, is almost a full day’s drive in all. However, after much frowning and feigned grumbling they reluctantly allow them through after paying a ‘fine’ of 600 lei (about US$55).

Then our heroes walk over to “Transdniestran immigration”, one of whom amazingly speaks Italian, and seemingly without even bothering to invent an infraction or fine, they are ordered to pay 20 euros. FYI – Transdniestr entry permits are officially about US$1.

Finally inside Transdniestr, we are treated to the requisite video montage of Tiraspol, including not one, but two Lenin statues and the hilarious Che Guevara/Putin poster on the city’s main thoroughfare. They touch briefly on “President” Igor Smirnov, and his dubious ties to Sheriff, the company that owns virtually everything in Transdniestr. They even find an unusually candid local that explains that Sheriff (and by association Smirnov) is the republic’s “mafia”. What’s interesting here is that I’m 98% sure that during this conversation they are standing in the lobby of one of Tiraspol’s best hotels, supposedly owned by Smirnov, where all his gangster buddies stay during visits. Not sure if the woman speaking is just some random off the street or if she actually works at the hotel. Either way, I have never, ever heard a Transdniestran speak so negatively about Smirnov. Perhaps the increasingly thin subterfuge and hilarious propaganda passed around in recent years has finally started to lose its effect on the populace.

Finally they head to the market to try to find someone to sell them guns. Through the magic of video editing, they appear to find someone willing to talk guns in almost no time.

In Part II, after decamping from the market to slightly quieter street corner, the prospective dealer quizzes them about why they want the guns and what precisely our heroes want to buy (handguns and kalashnikovs). Then some haggling over prices. Then some idle shop-talk about missile launchers and remote control bombs (Christmas is coming up after all). Then they agree to meet again Saturday afternoon for a viewing of the merchandise.

They meet as planned on the street and retreat into a bar, where the dealer calls in his runner with a sample. More discussion of weaponry ensues. The runner arrives and we see a Russian-made handgun being examined. Then they haggle and the announcer agrees to buy 50 handguns with silencers for 500 euros each (about US$625) and 50 kalashnikovs, also for 500 euros each – so, 50,000 euros total (US$62,500) for a hell of a lot of firepower. They then discuss the route they will take from Transdniestr, through Moldova and into Romania when they have their truckload of guns.

The seller says the guns will be ready in two weeks. They agree that he will call them when they are ready and speak the secret code: ‘the hen with the egg’ (that’s the literal translation, but I suppose it really means something like ‘the hen has laid the egg’ or something).

The announcer quickly sums up how he, just some regular guy that sauntered in to Tiraspol, was able to close a deal for 100 weapons in the space of a few hours.

Having done what they came to do, they wisely decide to get the hell out of TransD. This, apart from the apparently successful arms deal, is the most intriguing part for me. When they get to the Transdniestran check point, the guards pull the announcer into a hut, away from his hidden camera-wearing translator and they somehow surmise that he’s a prime target for a big time shakedown. It’s not said, but I wonder if the guards demanded that “by law” he needed to show them all the cash he was carrying. This is a common trick these guards use to get an idea of how much money they can then ‘fine’ that person for invented infractions later on. For whatever reason the announcer was carrying a large amount of cash (maybe to use as flash money during his arms deal, I don’t know), so, sensing a massive payday for all, the guards decide to give him a breathalyzer test. It appears to show that he is guilty of a DUI. The announcer claims he hasn’t had a single drink. They haul him off to a ‘clinic’ to confirm his blood-alcohol level with a more reliable test, separating the guy from his translator. When he returns, he agitatedly reports that they confirmed his alleged drunkenness and he was fined 600 euros (US$750) on the spot. Ouch.

At the Russian checkpoint, the exact same guy they dealt with last time takes them into the hut yet again for another shakedown. Our heroes’ frustration bubbles over into amusement at the absurdity of it all, as he pays 50 euros for an undisclosed offense. Finally, they are back in the relative safety of Moldova. The end.

I really found this video fascinating on so many levels. Despite some very weak prep work, the announcer manages to uncover all kinds of juicy info during his visit. We get to see guns, we get to see shameless thieving by Russian and Transdniestran officials, we learn that any dingleberry can stumble into TransD and buy/ship enough firepower to equip a small army anywhere in the EU for about US$63,000, not including bribes and presumably various border guard payoffs and we get to see the biggest Transdniestran border bribe scam that I’ve ever heard of.

Now, in fairness, what this video doesn’t show, mostly because it’s off-topic I suppose, is that with the right prep work and avoiding the Bendery border crossing, Transdniestr is really a mesmerizing place to visit. My visit in 2006 was wrought with relatively minor problems (I brought a Russian-speaker with me, but not one that had experience traveling in the region, which may have contributed to some of the social ostracizing we experienced), but my visit in May of 2008 revealed a whole new, seemingly chilled out Transdniestr. If you have any interest in Soviet-era Moscow, there’s really nothing like it in the world – not even Moscow. Well, maybe Pyongyang.

Finally, what you’ve all been waiting for I’m sure, some traveler tips for future TV exposé crews wanting to enter TransD from Moldova: It’s imperative that you bring a Russian-speaker, preferably someone with experience traveling in the region. Also, drive a car with Moldovan plates – a cheap car, so as not to give any hint, valid or not, that you might be rich – and avoid the Bendery crossing at all costs. I crossed through at Grigoriopol in May. This added about an hour onto the drive time from Chişinau to Tiraspol, but unlike the three-part, multi-national gauntlet of greed at Bendery, Grigoriopol simply has two very bored Transdniestran guards. I didn’t see it, but I think my driver had to pay a small ‘fee’, otherwise we sailed right though. You cannot, however, use this crossing if you intend to exit Transdniestr into Ukraine, due to the lack of transit paperwork facilities here.

Though they seem to change the rules every few months, at the time of writing, you do not need a letter of invitation from a Transdniestran local to visit the region. If you’re told otherwise at the border, you’re being sized up for a bribe. Same goes for if you’re told that you need a visa (nonexistent) acquired at the ‘Transdniestran Embassy’ (also nonexistent).

As you see in the video, going through the Bendery crossing means that you will most likely be invited into a hut at some stage to have a sit-down with a few looming, armed men. This is a scare tactic that builds up to whatever infraction you’ve committed and the eventual bribe you’ll have to pay. How much you pay depends almost entirely on how cool you play it. A theatrical performance designed to heighten anxiety and break your spirit will commence. Ominous forms will be filled out. If you’re entering on public transport, your bags will be pulled off the bus, presumably leaving you stranded. Your best defense is calm and patience. Let the bus leave you behind, another will be along shortly. Even the most persistent guards will eventually get tired of dealing with you, particularly if their tactics don’t appear to be working. Worst case scenario, you’ll be stonewalled at a mirthfully small bribe offer (say, five euros) or you’re sent back to where you came from. They cannot hold you, or arrest you or anything like that, so really, their only weapon is intimidation. If that doesn’t work. They’re out of options.

And for the love of Buddha, don’t carry a gangsta wad of cash, stored in your prominently displayed money/document pouch. Bring along just enough euros/Moldovan lei to get you through your visit. The less cash you have on you, the more meager the bribe they can demand. There are no cash machines anywhere in TransD, so if you don’t have serious cash on you, bribe negotiations will be brief.

For more info on run-ins with officials, escaping bribe shakedowns and what to do in case of arrest while abroad, read my recent article in Global Traveler magazine entitled “Who You Gonna Call?” (join the web site’s free 30-day trial to read the entire article).

Agonizing over travel insurance? Maybe I can help…

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As with my Tuscany lists, I’m doing a random (yet totally definitive and quote-worthy) best/worst overview of this summer’s research trips to Romania and Moldova.

One all-encompassing word of warning to start, do not travel here in July or August. Romania has already begun to mirror Western Europe in that heat/crowds/prices become insufferable in the high season. Leave travel for April/May or September/October when the tatty souvenir stands start drifting off, the busses disperse and the prices halve. Also, the debate on whether or not to splash out on a room with air-con will be moot.

Best/Worst of Romania and Moldova

•    Worst street signage: It’s a tie between Bucharest and Constanta. The lack of street signs and even door numbers in these cities will drive new arrivals into a singular rage, especially if those new arrivals are racing around town trying to find 25 addresses in a single day.

•    Least improved city: Sighisoara due to all the horrible, unsightly souvenir stands that they’ve let people set up inside the Citadel. Someone in their city government needs to be fired over that. And probably have their income audited while they’re at it. No one in their right mind would approve those pedestrian disrupting eyesores if kickbacks weren’t involved.

•    Best city for strolling: Brasov used to be my fav, but I’ve changed my tune and Sibiu is the winner. The newly restored historic center is just lovely with the added advantage of having scant screaming/honking cars.

•    Best tourist information office: Timişoara. The English-speaking staff here were so stunningly helpful and informed that I needed to be helped to a chair and fed a nitro pill. Iaşi’s new tourist information office is a very close second – they had less brochures, but more cleavage. For the love of Buddha, why can’t Bucharest do this? Get on the ball you lazy jackholes before I rewrite the book, saying Iaşi was re-named the capital!

•    Worst located tourism information office ever: The state of the art Piatra Craiului National Park Office in Zarneşti. Or more accurately outside Zarneşti. Like 2km outside Zarneşti, down a dirt road in the middle of an effing field. These people have mountains of excellent hiking information that no one will ever see. What a clusterf*ck.

•    City with worst accommodations value: Tie between Timişoara and Iaşi. These places either need more one and two star hotels built after the fall of communism or they need to open some hostels. Preferably both.

•    City with best accommodations value: Sibiu. Three brand new, fabulous hostels have opened here and they’re all well priced.

•    Best bookshop selling English language books: Anthony Frost English Language Bookshop in Bucharest.

•    Best museum (display presentation): Sibiu’s newly re-opened Museum of History, easily the most modern, professional and swanky museum in the country.

•    Best museum (fringe interest): Cluj’s Pharmaceutical Museum – for as long as the amiable Mr. Radu-Mihai is leading tours, for pure entertainment value, this is the best 5 lei you’ll spend in Romania.

•    Best museum (spunkiness): the Comrat Museum (Comrat, Gagauzia [Moldova]) – the lackluster collection of stuff seemingly rescued from townspeople’s attics is greatly enhanced by the staff who may only see one or two foreigners per year and want to make sure visitors see every piece of their beloved history. Be prepared for thickly accented lectures in Romanian the entire time.

•    Best hostel: the brand new, funky, comfortable and central Flying Time Hostel in Sibiu.

•    Best overall accommodations: for the rare display of swank and good value while having shown heroic restraint by not raising their prices in two years, the award easily goes to Hotel Atlantic in Oradea.

•    Most disappointing accommodations experience: Hellios Inn in Doi Mai (Black Sea Coast). A former ‘author’s choice’ selection (wondering if the author was drunk at the time of visit), I spent a very regrettable night here. The staff were rude when they weren’t totally ignoring me, the beds were awful, something leaked in the bathroom all night and, I was belatedly informed, there was no breakfast included. On an entirely separate note, Doi Mai’s beach, overlooking a shipping yard, is the coast’s worst.

•    Best beach: Vama Veche

•    Most gratuitous, death-defying, habitual display of cleavage in the tourism industry: the clerk at Burg Hostel in Sighisoara. She was the talk of men (and women) on the backpacker trail. It was impossible not to stare at this Elvira Mistress of the Night enthusiast. And you just knew if you looked long enough one of them was going to eventually bounce out. Too bad she was such a sourpuss otherwise.

•    Best restaurant: yet again it’s Bella Musica in Braşov. They keep raising their prices, but I still love them for serving mouth watering ciorba (soup), excellently prepared beef, admirably authentic Mexican dishes and the best salsa I’ve had in Europe. Honorable mention goes to Beer House in Chişinau.

•    Biggest bang for your buck: Any of the Moldovan wine tours. Some of the best and least expensive wine tours in the world.

•    Least bang for your buck: the Black Sea Coast, particularly Mamaia, Mangalia and that over-touristed craphole Eforie Nord where crowds, bad food and ludicrously over-priced accommodations leave one in a perpetual, consternated, unsatisfied state. Everyone from the four-star hotels down to the ice cream vendors took the country’s new EU member status as a signal to double prices without the tedious annoyance of adding any value to their products/services. If this keeps up, bloody Tuscany will be a better travel value than Romania’s Black Coast by next summer.

•    Best drive: as I’ve mentioned previously, it’s hands down the drive between Gura Humorului all the way to Vadu Izei. God help you if you’re the driver though, all that up-down, twisting and turning – if take your eye off the road for a second you’ll pinwheel down the mountain into someone’s hay barn. Also, for pure mind-bending height and driving anxiety, you can’t not mention the Transfăgărăşan Road.

•    Worst drive due to…
o    Road conditions: the E68 in southern Transylvania where over-ambitious road construction has left a single lane for two-way traffic to take turns using every 500 meters or so. With the interminable stop and go conditions, it’s almost faster to walk the 143 kilometers from Sibiu to Braşov.
o    Bad drivers: the entire Black Sea Coast. You get it all here – the usual local drivers invoking the patented Romanian combination of bursting appendix urgency crossed with ringing cell phone distraction. Then you also have the vacationers who are often lost (due to the above mentioned poor signage) and driving like they have all week to get to where they’re going – because they do.

•    Best off-the-beaten-path experience: the villages in Maramureş. On a side note, the new daily super fast ferries out to the Danube Delta villages makes the trip out there much more accessible. The bad news is that it’s now a little too accessible. Four star villas are appearing and school groups are arriving. So much for that little bit of escapism.

What Happened

•    Number of days on the road: 49

•    Number of rest days in that time: 2.5

•    Distance driven: about 4,028 kilometers (2,502 miles)

•    Number of cities/towns/villages/destinations visited: 47

•    Number of times I was honked at for obeying the law: 57

•    Number of times I did laundry in 49 days: two

•    Number of rain days: 2.5

•    Number of times I parked ‘creatively’: 76

•    Number of parking tickets: zero

•    Number of teeth fixed: two

•    Total cost, including x-rays, to fix teeth: $91

•    Number of guidebooks that I autographed: six

•    Number of times I was told to “come back tomorrow” by lazy schmucks that didn’t feel like giving me the information that I needed: 6 (down from 126 when I did this in 2006)

•    Number of near-car accidents: 17 (down from 372 in 2006)

•    Number of actual car accidents: zero

•    Based on my Romanian language skills, number of times that people ever so briefly thought that I was Romanian: four

•    Number of times that I was lectured about the failings of the current Romania guidebook by normal people: three

•    Number of times that I was lectured about the failings of the current Romania guidebook by batshit crazy crackpots: one

•    Number of times that I was pleasantly surprised about how Romania has improved in so far as customer service and infrastructure in the past two years: 34

•    Number of times that I was shocked at how abysmally bad customer service and infrastructure in Romania still is: 12

•    Number of times I wished I had a decent hamburger and a cider and a mattress that wasn’t made out of old tank parts: four

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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.]

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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.

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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.

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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.

I visited a large number of wineries in Moldova and, contrary to what was reported in my book, not all of them had tours or wine to sell on site or even a desire to engage in conversation with hopeful strangers speaking pig-Romanian.  Ultimately, I came away with bottles from five wineries; Cojusna, Cricova, Acorex, Milestii Mici and Ialoveni (sherry).

Buying Moldovan wine in Moldova is like buying oranges in Florida.  It’s cheap as.  Bottles start in the neighbourhood of US$2 and go up to about US$13 – though classic vintages can skyrocket up to prices that I didn’t care to investigate. The $2 bottles are all right, better than what I was feeding myself back in the US when I had the thirst.  The $13 bottles, however, probably sell for something like US$50 (retail) or more in America, meaning of course that until now I have never had the opportunity to taste wine of this quality because there’s no reason for a palette-deficient guy to invest more in wine beyond what won’t induce vomiting.  That’s really all I ask normally, but these circumstances were special and I dropped some big Moldovan coin when I had the chance.

At Cojusna I bought a bottle of, um, red something or other. You see, I was having a bad Romanian language day at the time – like a bad hair day, but with worse consequences – and the bottle was written in Russian, so I wasn’t ever able to identify the exact varietal I’d acquired.  However, I was assured that it was a top quality bottle, costing about US$12, and it certainly looked the part.  All dusty with the top dipped in wax and taped up with some kind of official grading tag. It also came in a decorative box, so I knew I was getting something all fancy, worth an honoured place in the collection of someone who knew better. It had a 10% alcohol content and was so smooth, ah, yummy, that I had to cut myself off after two glasses or it was all going to disappear in an hour. Most reds that I buy have a bite to them, merlots, cab sauvs and such, giving me goose bumps the first sip or two until my tongue adjusts.  This wasn’t like that at all.  Just pure pleasure from the first sip to the last.

Next was Milestii Mici. Not only did I get two bottles here, but I was able to tour their massive underground labyrinth of cellar space, carved into limestone, extending for over 200 kilometres of gallery space, 55 of which are being used as storage and tour space, burrowed to a depth of up to 85 metres below ground.  Despite what you’ve heard from those Cricova guys, this is the largest wine cellar space in the world and they’ve used that space well, having a collection recognized by Guinness as the largest in the world, over 1.5 million bottles of wine.  They’ve built a fancy restaurant at its deepest point, which is the last stop on a lengthy tour, done by car, down countless ‘streets’ lined with house-sized barrels and tourist oriented attractions.  The whole tour is executed in a very pleasing and interesting way.  Here I bought a bottle of their codru (about US$13), with a waxed top and wrapped in intentionally aged paper, stamped with a wax seal and hand labeled with information about the wine (made in 1987, bottled in 2000, bottle number 754).  I haven’t cracked this one open yet.  I’m saving it for last, but I have high hopes.  I also bought a bottle of their sparkling white wine (~US$2) which was nothing fancy, but I enjoyed it despite a general distaste for sparkling anything. 

That same day I stopped at Ialoveni, known mainly for their sherry.  I’ve never much liked sherry and people who have seen this bottle in my apartment have openly questioned my manhood, but I was there and it was cheap and, well, at the end of the day it’s all alcohol, so why not?  I was coached into buying the Armonios (18% alcohol) which was far less potent than their Gloria line (33%), but it’s powerful enough for me.  I’ve been nipping at it as an after dinner drink for a week.  A little goes a long way.

Finally I stopped at the neighboring Cricova and Acorex wineries.  Cricova is probably the most renowned winery in and out of Moldova, also sporting world famous gigantic cellars and extravagant (and pricy) tours that take days of determined work, bordering on harassment, to arrange directly. Most people are expected to book through a tour agency, paying even more of the pleasure.  Cricova is going through massive renovation work at the moment and I arrived quite late in the day, so there was no tour to take and no one around for me to schmooze.  The only people on site besides security were the husband and wife team manning the shop with a TV on at a thundering volume which they did not bother to turn down when I came in to ask questions and make a purchase.  This impertinent sentiment was representative of Cricova’s all-around dedication to public contact.  The four emails I’d sent to them prior to my trip went unanswered as did five phone calls to two different numbers (I finally got someone on the phone using an unlisted numbered passed to me by Marisha).  They seem to feel that they’ve become too cool to bother with customers, all but demanding that visitors book tours through expensive agencies.  Not an endearing group. In any case, their wine is much celebrated and I bought two bottles; a codru from 1990 (~US$6) and a sauvignon blanc (S$5) from 1992.  Yum and yummer.  The codru, like Milestii Mici, was so smooth and easy on the tongue that I lost all control and drank it all in one sitting. 

A stone’s throw away is Acorex which has no tours, wisely not trying to go head-to-head with the marvels available at Cricova, but they have a shop and a collection of awards to fill a conference room wall, so I zipped in minutes before closing to add to my plunder.  I’d already sampled their most expensive Reserve line, so I just grabbed an interesting merlot and a white that I consumed so fast that I never took the time to record it.  But yeah, total yummers.

Well, rereading this essay, I see that it is completely devoid of information that might be deemed useful or insightful by actual wine drinkers.  Sadly, I’m just a guy who, despite a raging oral fixation, can’t identify or describe flavours at even a basic level.  The big picture is that wine in Moldova is as delicious and cheap and plentiful as you will find anywhere in the world.  It’s a wine-drinkers once-in-a-lifetime experience, bordering on Eden.  Even wine morons like me will be in awe.  Buy my LP book, release date June 2007, (in fact, buy two in case you spill wine on one) and get here for an adventure in inebriation that you’ll never forget, if you remember it at all.

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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.

The social, economic and political situation in TransD has never been rosy, but since the Ukraine started their trade blockade in March of this year  (with devilish support from Moldova) the situation has bottomed out.  Being unable to ship their goods to the outside world and being incapable of civil negotiations with Moldova (who are no angels themselves) TransD is heading for renewed domestic turmoil.  No exports, means no money.  No money, means no pay for workers.  No pay for workers means even more poverty in a place already renowned for poverty. More poverty means desperation.  And desperation means an eventual showdown with Moldova and with the wounds of 1992’s civil war still wide open, nothing good is destined to come from this.  The locals are decidedly edgy.  All train service to and from TransD has already stopped – Moldova owns all the trains, TransD just maintains the lines in their territory.  Buses and private transport are the only way in and out.

TransD has never been particularly fond of visitors.  Indeed, if the border guards didn’t have a vested financial interest (bribes) in allowing visitors through, I’d hazard a guess that the area would still be largely inaccessible to all but the most determined of souls.  In the weeks before my trip I’d read and heard several accounts from other visitors, some of whom reported being followed by poorly disguised members of the Ministry of State Security (a modern KGB), harassed at the border for breaking imaginary laws or being the victims of creative interpretation of existing laws.  Others had been detained for speaking English or, ridiculously, giving blankets to the poor.  And God help you if you linger at or even look sideways at any location of ‘military importance’…

So, on the whole, not a welcoming place.  A visit, particularly for a solo tourist, is guaranteed to feature one or more of the following events; multiple bribes, lengthy questioning, usually while trying to exit, suspicion or outright ostracism by merchants, hoteliers and people on the street and possible detainment.  Indeed, when asked the reason for your visit at the border, if you say ‘tourism’ you just bought yourself a trip to a tiny interview room in a hut where several guys happily intimidate you while mentally calculating a generous shakedown price for your release.

So why do people go to TransD?  Well, if you have any curiosity about life in Soviet times, it’s a 3567 square kilometre museum to that effect.  While there are a few forlorn museums and a celebrated brandy factory to visit (but not tour!), the real attraction is just walking the streets, particularly in Tiraspol, and absorbing the sociological spectacle.  It’s as bizarre a sensation as you’re likely to encounter without a time machine.

The streets are wide, very clean and orderly.  Police stand watch at intersections like overlords, monitoring their minions.  At night, the city is largely deserted, save for teenagers dry humping on park benches.  I stopped in at the liveliest club in Tiraspol at 10:30PM on a Friday and there were only three people huddled in one corner.  Generally, it’s not a locale that invokes visions of unbridled merriment.  I’m told that economic restrictions force people to stay home, socializing with neighbours on the weekends rather than going out and boozing it up in a club.  I certainly hope so.

I had been dreading my visit to TransD for weeks and admittedly I was primed for anxiety episodes.  A Westerner wandering around, snapping a few pictures is usually enough to peak stares and suspicion on the street, but a guy running from hotels to restaurants to the bus station, asking questions and taking notes is an outright threat. I was only 24 hours away from going to TransD alone after my Chisinau host had fallen ill when a new acquaintance, Tanya, volunteered to go with me.  She had never been to TransD and, being a journalism student, she seemed keen to shadow an LP author and learn about the electrifying drudgery and tedium of my coveted job.  I would have preferred to have a TransD veteran at my side, but I was in no position to be picky.  In the end I have Tanya to thank for, well, everything.

On the way in, we dodged the first imaginary infraction (“You’re supposed to stop there, not there!”) and bribe opportunity at the first check point because the officer noticed that he and Tanya shared the same last name. She sweet talked the border guard, who was hinting at turning us away due to us not having a supposedly required letter of invitation to enter TransD, and got us through with a stunningly small bribe (US$7 for the two of us). After tense moments at the first hotel, she took over, did all the talking for the rest of the day (Russian is all but required to function in TransD) as I hung back, taking mental notes that I would later furiously tap into my Palm in a quiet corner.  It was deception all the way.  The mere mention of ‘tourist guidebook’ would have probably landed us in the hoosegow, so stories were fabricated about us wanting to see rooms which we might like to book later on.  Restaurants were the same.  We’d retreat with a menu on the pretext of ordering something, Tanya would translate, I’d note the prices and then we’d skedaddle before anyone was the wiser.

Tanya had already regaled me with the tale of when her friend visited TransD with her American boyfriend.  When a busybody on the street heard him speaking English, she called the police and they were held for hours.  After lots of stares in the street, I ceased speaking English whenever anyone was in earshot.  Later, I was barred entrance to a café that I needed to review after the owner spied me taking a quick photo down the street.

The situation in Bendery, the second largest city in TransD and the border town with Moldova, is strangely more relaxed.  I found this odd as this was where some of the worst fighting took place in the early 90s.  Buildings are still pocked with bullet holes.  Nevertheless, people were out strolling, street cafes were busy and (hardly) anyone gave me a probing look.

Despite a slightly less paranoid end to the day, I decided not to push my luck by taking a short drive through the Transdnistrian countryside, as I had originally planned, in favour of heading straight back to Moldova.

We got a little turned around and rather than leaving TransD the way we came, an infrequently used, two checkpoint affair, we somehow ended up at a different, much more rigorous border crossing.  There were four checkpoints in 300 metres.  At each checkpoint, seeing my Romanian license plates, officers stopped us, performed a thorough search and did their darndest to intimidate and scare us.  We were pulled in for an attempted interrogation at one point, four guards, Tanya and I in a room the size of a train compartment, but Tanya was ready for them.  Earlier she’d removed the long-sleeved shirt from her ensemble and was now wearing the daylights out of a half-length fuzzy sweater, revealing an eye-popping amount of stomach and shoulder.  In less than a minute, the subject of conversation switched from what we’d done wrong to how beautiful her eyes were.  We were on our way five minutes later without so much as a hint of a bribe.  I was in total awe of how she played those guys.  She’s going to be one hell of a journalist.

To be fair, people have insisted that my TransD experience was not typical and that usually this level of harassment and personal anxiety does not occur.  They may be right, but equally, I maintain that the tension levels in TransD are skyrocketing and my experience was just a sign of things to come as the blockade situation worsens.  Of course, Lonely Planet will (almost) never write ‘don’t go there’, but I’m not going to pull any punches about TransD.  It’s only fair that travellers be prepared for the worst.

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