Drokpa Journal

Dates Traveled: December 2009

Transdniestr

So, first things first - how did Rhona and I end up in a breakaway republic? One only recognized by two other entities – themselves breakaway republics? A ‘country’ that you’ve probably never even heard of? It started innocently enough - I was looking at my family tree.

The Voegele’s originally came from a small town in southern Germany called Nebringen (today Gaufelden). However, Russia had opened up some territories for outside settlement, and my great-great-great-grandfather Michael was one of the many who opted to try their luck elsewhere, leaving Germany in 1811. The German’s established a settlement called Gluckstal, which was home to my ancestors until my great-grandfather sailed with his family, including my grandfather, into New York in 1905. The town of Gluckstal is today known as Glinnoye, and lies on the eastern side of the Nistru (Dniestr) River. That region is sandwiched between Moldova and Ukraine, and is known as Transdniestr, or Transnistria, to those who call it home – and to the people of two other breakaway republics. Everyone else calls it Moldova.

So, reason number one for wanting to visit - family history in the region.

The territory east of the Dniestr River has been bandied about throughout history, though the Russian influence has always been stronger than the Romanian/Moldovan influence. Moldova declared her independence from Russia in 1991, and Transdniestr had declared her independence the previous year from Moldova. I won’t go into the gory details, but a lot of issues finally lead to a civil war between Moldova and Transdniestr in 1992, resulting in 500-700 killed and thousands wounded. The Moldovan and Russian presidents signed a peace treaty, and Russian, Moldovan, and Transdniestr soldiers are still trying to maintain that peace today.

Deciding that we should go check out the fatherland, Rhona and I did more research. On reading about Transdniestr we became more and more intrigued. It sounded unbelievable. Here’s a ‘country’ with its own government, police force, army, and borders. It’s own constitution, flag, national anthem, passport, and coat of arms. It’s own currency, and it’s own stamps - though these can only be used to mail within Transdniestr. We read that they grudgingly let travelers into the region, though only after forcing them to part with as much money as possible. One person had been ‘fined’ 600 Euro for being drunk – he hadn’t had a drop all day. It sounded like it wasn’t going to be easy - especially with neither of us speaking Russian, the official language of the region - but we had to try.

So, reason number two for wanting to visit - it’s a bizarre part of the world that few people visit

Our research indicated we could enter Transdniestr and stay for 72 hours without registering. This would have been the easy option. You know by now we don’t always go for the easy option. If we were going to the region, and by all accounts having to pay bribes to get in and out, we wanted some time to look around. We found the name of a woman in the capital city, Tiraspol, who rented a room in her apartment. She could also help arrange registration for longer stays in the area. We got in touch and told her we were coming. We hid some of our money, bought some bus tickets from Odessa to Tiraspol, and started the adventure.

We eventually got to the border crossing and made sure we were near the front of the line to have our passports and luggage checked. We were asked a few questions, and then the guy told us to put our luggage through the X-ray, but to return to him afterwards – he had some more questions. He kept our passports. Let the games begin…

Rhona cruised through the baggage X-ray, but a bored soldier who couldn’t even bother getting out of his chair asked me to open my big pack. I thought that was strange – it’s the little one that has the electronics. Nope – he wanted the big one. I opened it, he asked me about a few things – never leaving the comfort of his chair, and then asked me how much money I was carrying. There ya go – I knew you didn’t need to see in my pack. Just an excuse to make some ‘polite’ conversation. I told him 20 Euro, closed my bag, and headed back to the guy holding my passport for ransom. I was taking my pack with me, but was told to put it on the bus before seeing him. Another scare tactic – people get stressed because they think the bus will leave with their bags, but without them, and so willingly fork over money to speed up the process. Nicely played…

Bags on bus, Rhona and I shuffled up to the ‘interrogator’. He looked sullen and started asking us a few questions.
“Where are you staying in Tiraspol?”
“Lena’s apartment.”
“What’s Lena’s last name?”
“We don’t know.”
“Oh – that’s a problem.”
“Well, here’s her address.”
“How much money do you have?”
“About 20 Euro.”
He scoffed, obviously not believing it. Rightly so, mind you, all but about 20 Euro was hidden in other places, though.
“You must have more than that.”
“We use ATM’s for money when we need it”
This went on for a short time. He simply wanted to make us uncomfortable, but we remained relaxed and bored with the proceedings – Rhona played with the zipper on her coat. He finally just “hrrrumphed” and told us to go get a piece of paper declaring our official entry into Transdniestr. Score!

The bus pulled into Tiraspol after dark. Rhona and I set off walking in the direction we hoped was the main part of town, armed only with a poor map. We asked a few people along the way, and received varying answers as to where we were, until finally one lady we asked must have figured there was no way we’d make it on our own, and proceeded to walk 20 minutes out of her way to show us to our non-descript apartment block. I love when you encounter that generosity while traveling.

The following day was Sunday, market day, so we wandered around in the brisk air for a few hours. It seems the main item of interest there was us – Tiraspol doesn’t see a lot of tourists. We enjoyed checking out what was for sale, buying some random music, and seeing live fish being sold from a water tanker. Entertaining. We also popped into the museum, and wandered the main street of town. It turns out there may be a reason people don’t go to Tiraspol – there wasn’t much there. Most interesting was simply the feel of the place. It was as if we’d stepped back in time to 1980’s communism.

The following day we hopped a bus across the river and out to the village of Kitskane and the Noul Neamt Monastery, only a few kilometers from Tiraspol. It was the scene of some pitched battles during the war in 1992, and some alleged human rights abuses afterwards. It was a cold, clear day when we explored, and we had the grounds mostly to ourselves. Two monks who spoke a bit of English showed us around – albeit one rather reluctantly. As soon as he could he made his break, but the other monk tried to explain as much as possible in his broken English, opened locked doors, showed us the crypt, and then flagged down a car so we could all go to a memorial commemorating the battle in the area. He was really enthusiastic and went out of his way to ensure we had a good experience at the monastery.

As we spent longer at the monastery than expected, we were too late to leave Tiraspol that day, and so delayed our departure. That delay meant we had to pay a bribe so someone would extend our registration in Tiraspol by a day. The following morning we woke to fresh snow and cold temperatures. That was the norm for the next month-and-a-half, with the temperatures dropping steadily.

Our destination after Tiraspol was Dubasari. As mentioned previously, Transdniestr doesn’t get a lot of tourists, but those that do go typically only see Tiraspol, and that generally as a day trip. I don’t think Dubasari sees many foreigners. We got off the cold bus at a station…somewhere. Unsure of even which direction to walk to find the town, I had a bit of a ‘talk’ with a shop owner. Fortified with the knowledge I’d gained (understanding approximately every tenth word and mostly watching hand movements for directions) we managed to find the large, gray, concrete hotel she’d mentioned. It had seen better days. Once the friendly couple working there got over their surprise at seeing us, we started the charades to book a room. Sorted….easy! Ah, but now how do you act out the fact that you have to go to the local police station because you have to extend your registration in order to stay longer in their country-that-isn’t-a-country. That took a bit more effort, and they eventually gave up and called someone on the phone who could speak a bit of English.

Once it was explained to them they were eager to help, so we hopped in the guy’s car and plowed through the ever-deepening snow to the local police station. The policeman who met us at the gated doorway took us straight in – past the line of people who looked as if they’d been waiting forever. We filled out our paperwork, and then it had to be checked against our passports. I can’t remember which passport Rhona used, but I suspect it must have been German because it really confused them. Something about being born in Hornsby (Sydney/Australia), but with a German passport, which was issued in Beijing, and we may have given a permanent address in the States. After going around in circles with Rhona they were happy to see that I answered all questions with only one country. We crossed the street to stand in a new line where we paid some small registration fee, and we were good for a few more days in-country.

Later that day we simply walked around town through the deepening snow – seeing parents towing their kids behind them on sleds. That night we tried to find a place to eat dinner – to no avail. We ended up with snacks from a small shop. I believe that was dinner the following night as well.

The snow continued to fall throughout the night and into the following day. Which was unfortunate, as that was our day to go check out Glinnoye/Gluckstal – the motherland. A couple of buses later and we were dumped in an extremely quiet village – nobody was around. Nothing was stirring. Everyone was inside out of the cold/snow/wind. I’d read online that there was a small ‘museum’ set up to the German settlers in a school somewhere in Glinnoye. At least I thought I’d read that. Not far from where we were dropped off was what looked like a school, so we simply walked in – towering over the kids. We ended up in the directors/principals office, who took us down to a small room with information on Gluckstal. We looked around a bit, but really weren’t getting much out of the experience because of the language barrier. I knew that groups from the States with my same history had often traveled to Glinnoye, so I was hoping there was someone on hand who could speak a bit about that history. Sometimes there is, but that person wasn’t around. It seemed like it would be a short, frustrating visit, until the local German teacher showed up on the scene – she spoke to Rhona in German, and Rhona translated into English for me. This went on for over an hour.

We saw a map of the town which indicated there were still some Voegele’s around in the mid-40’s, but we were told that nobody in the town today speaks German – except the German teacher and her students. I asked about a cemetery, but they said it was destroyed to build the school. There was a new cemetery on the outskirts of town, but quite honestly it was too cold with the snow and wind blowing in our faces to bother walking out there. We did eventually steel ourselves, put our heads down, and go for a bit of a walk around, but there really wasn’t anything to see. We snapped a few photos, and caught the last bus back to Dubasari. It was interesting to see the area my family called home for 100 years – an area of flat farmland. It would be nice to go back sometime when it’s not below zero and blowing snow, so we’d have more time to wander around.

We only spent 5 days in Transdniestr, but it was certainly an interesting glimpse into another world. There was the feeling of traveling back in time, but also the issues stemming from their declaration of independence - which virtually nobody else recognizes. You wonder if the people themselves are happy being their own ‘country’, or if they’d prefer to be part of something bigger, with all that entails.

Moldova

On the day we caught the bus from Dubasari to Chisinau, Moldova, we readied ourselves to once again do battle with the corrupt border guards. We needn’t have bothered – we never had to get off the bus. We simply handed in our little registration paper and were on our way to the capital of Moldova. We were actually a bit disappointed that the guards didn’t try harder for a shakedown – entering or leaving Transdniestr. Granted, because of our strange route we ended up not going through the most corrupt border crossing, but these guys didn’t put forth much of an effort.

Chisinau was reeling from several days of heavy snowfall, with the bus station a mess of stuck cars and buses. We made our way to a hostel and then called a CouchSurfer in the area – Kaatya. She hadn’t been able to host us, but still wanted to meet up to show us around town. Meeting that afternoon it was as if we’d known each other for years – we got along great, and the laughter flowed.

That first afternoon she showed us the main area of town – cathedral, park, historic statues, and some of the more important buildings. As it was only a few weeks before Christmas, many tents lined the streets offering various snacks and drinks – one of which was mulled wine. The hot wine tasted so good on a cold night that we had several, before finally deciding to head back to Kaatya’s place to snack and make our own. And that was the script over the next few days – Rhona and I would wander around during the day, braving the biting wind and snow for as long as we could, and then we’d head to Kaatya’s at night for some great conversation/laughter, snacks, and some hot wine. On one of those nights we were having such a good time that before we knew it the clock read 5 AM. How well did we all get along? As I type this Rhona is staying with Kaatya, who is now based in Prague for a year of studying.

Rhona and I weren’t overly inspired to go farther afield in the cold, snow, and wind, but to be honest, from the reading we did there didn’t seem to be much of note outside of the capital. Moldova seems to be known for it’s wine, and we sampled a lot of that. Still, I’m sure we’ll head back when we’re based in Europe to see what the rest of the country has to offer.

We did have a fantastic splurge at a restaurant on our last night in town, as it was our 9-month anniversary. We decided not to travel on that day after the 33-hour train trip on our third anniversary, and the 55-hour van ride on our sixth. Nope, it was safer to simply stay in town, eat, drink, and worry about getting to Romania the following day…..

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