Chisinau Aboveground

We've spent nine nights in Chisinau, the longest we've spent in one location since leaving New York. Despite that fact or maybe because of it, we still haven't been able to come up with our impressions of the place. Maybe having a more fleeting look at a city helps give it a perspective, maybe it's just a hard place to really pinpoint. It's not really a pretty city, having been destroyed during The Patriotic War and rebuilt in Soviet style. It doesn't feel particularly inviting, unless you're into casinos and nightclubs. Very simply, Chisinau has been 'home.'
On our second day here, Merlin's mac went kaput. So, we brought it into a service center and spent the next three days walking there to check on it and walking back home. (In the end, it was repaired and all charges were covered by his warranty - which was shocking). About a ten minute walk from the service place, we ran into this church being constructed and a gaggle of children in a playground, further was a lake with a beach and a man rocking his boat back and forth to break up ice around the dock. As we walked around some more, we heard the roar of a crowd, which we followed to find a soccer game in process. Our first futbol match the trip.
That particular day was perfect for rambling and we made our way through the awninged tunnel of this flower shop. As we approached, woman after woman would pop out from behind a door and welcome us inside. There were Valentine's Day bouquets on sale and some really beautiful roses. Their windows were opaque with condensation and they all wore some version of a furry wool vest over their outfits. I wondered if all the unsold flowers would wind up in nearby cemeteries.
On the main strip, there are more currency exchange places and banks than either of us ever thought possible in a single place, let alone on a single avenue. There's shopping galore, but only one of the stores had a name we recognized- Hugo Boss - though Mall Dova is filled with them: Swatch, Ecco, a shut down IStore and a Forever 18 (not 21, which is sort of suspect). Dotting the sidewalks are adds for 'beauty salons' which list cosmetic surgery procedures as opposed to the normal mani, pedi, highlights, etc. Our favorite one (not pictured) featured about ten allusions to a stripclub, including a pole, fluorescent lighting and even the "spotlight" of the operating table's overhead light.
Every time we've passed this government building, there's been a small protest. This was one of the livelier groupings. Usually, it was just a small cluster of fairly old people holding signs that read 'death to' something or someone we couldn't quite understand. A police officer always stood nearby looking somewhat bored. If we had spent two days in Chisinau, we probably would have inquired about the protest, but passing it every day made it just another part of the scenery.
Something we got used to in Ukraine was turning a corner and almost smacking into a bust jutting out of the side of a building. This skill came in handy on Tolstoy Street, which we turned onto every day on our way to the city center. We were usually running at a pretty high speed across toward Leo. Pedestrian walkways are marked with white lines in Chisinau, but it's still up to you to just start walking across and trust that the oncoming traffic will stop. It took us a few days to get good at this and neither of us can say we enjoy the thrill too much
Many of the streets here are named after dates (for example,31 August 1989 Street) and buildings often have a year prominently displayed in tribute to some event in Moldovan history. A lot of this is due to the fact that there was a massive wave of remaining things after the country's independence from the Soviet Union. I was going to use this picture as an example, citing the "1430" that was printed over and over again along this wall, but when I looked at it more closely, I realized that 1430 wasn't a date, it was a phone number, just like TaxiBus 1414 and Taxi 1406. But, hey, there's a kid in it. So, I posted anyway.

Cave Driving

A few days ago, we drove through the largest wine caves in the world - the passages that they occupy travel some two hundred kilometers underground. What's more, the vineyard has the largest collection of wine in Europe, at over two million bottles. The name of this place is Milestii-Mici, and it was perhaps more amusing than it was impressive.
Before we went underground, we wandered around the vines themselves. They are supported by wires strung between concrete poles, which is common practice here. It isn't so much pretty as somewhat mesmerizing - the lines of poles arrange and rearrange themselves into grey patterns as you pass by. We were alone, killing time before our tour began, enjoying the stillness of the air and relatively mild temperature. As you can see, it was another cloudy day, which is perfect for taking pictures below ground.
Our tour guide, Lilly, got into our car and gave us directions through the passageways. Another group of four people followed in a separate car. The cellars began life as a limestone mine, and the vineyard only uses a small percentage of them - even two million bottles isn't enough to fill two hundred kilometers. We drove past huge metal and wood barrels first, where the wine is aged before bottling, then parked and walked through the deeper, bottle-aging section. The "streets" are convoluted and are named for different grapes and wines. Lilly would tell us to "turn left on Sauvignon Blanc," or "continue on Pinot." It's really kind of tacky - the vineyard website actually refers to the caves as "the biggest underground wine town."
As we drove, our headlights occasionally swept across shadowy figures in the tunnels - mostly older women with headscarves and blue aprons. Hundreds of people work in these caves, mostly people from the nearby town. One wonders if they have exceptional night vision. We could hear them clinking bottles against one another as we walked, too, and sometimes caught sight of somebody down a side passage.
The tasting was accompanied by a fiddler and accordionist - but not by any commentary on the wines. In fact, we were given no more information than "red, white, dessert." The white wasn't very good, the red was palatable and the dessert was fine. Quality isn't really the goal at Milestii-Mici. Actually, the goal - according to the tour guide and the president of Moldova - is to sell "one bottle for every Chineses [sic]".
There are two reasons why Milestii-Mici has so many bottles. The first: it is really a wine collective, with only some of the bottles stored there produced in the town's vineyards. The rest come from other producers in Moldova who can't or don't want to maintain their own caves. The second reason: there is currently a Russian embargo on Moldovan wine, and Russia used to account for nearly all of their alcohol sales. Many of the bottle in the caves are there because nobody wants to buy them.
Partly because of this - and partly because many things are very cheap in Moldova - the wine is very cheap. Especially in the vineyard store, where bottles such as this one - a 1986 Traminer in their "collector" series - sell for 98 lei. That's about $8.25. We bought two very good bottles of sparkling wine for $5. That's $2.50 each.

Urban Spelunking

When we're not on the road in this country, we always seem to be underground. Cave monasteries, underground wine cities, it's really the perfect sight-seeing when the weather is awful. Our hostel in Chisinau is outside the city center, which means that a lot of our walk in and/or out involves crossing highways via underground walkways.
We like these walkways, not only because they are wonderfully logical and safe, but because they let us dip into something that feels a little more 'real' in this splashy capital. That's not to say that the shopping center directly behind our hostel named "Mall Dova" isn't absolutely and totally real. It's not to say that the uber stylish people and cappuccino cafes and congestion of cars isn't an integral part of the Moldovan capital's modern identity.

However, when you're in the poorest country in Europe, where 38% of the GDP comes from citizens working in other countries and sending money home, passing swank store after store feels particularly off-putting. When a huge amount of a country's economy goes unrecorded because of corruption, there's an overwhelming desire to get to the bottom of it. We just take that a little more literally than others.
Most undergrounds are lined with store fronts. There will be a sign for shoe repair, offering a phone number if you'd like to call for the person to come in to the 'office,' there will be a MoldCell shop, there will be a beggar on the stairs walking down and on the stairs walking up and there will be decorative art, either commissioned or organic on the concrete walls.
Other walkways are packed to the brim with counterfeit DVDs, shoddy underwear, hair accessories and the like. These mall caves are some of our favorite places in the city with their barbershops and shoeshines and cafeneas that serve men beer at 9am. (Still better than the vodka breakfasts in Belarus). We've stopped in for lunch, for use of the public restroom, for a head shave.
The food stands may look like they offer hamburgers, hotdogs and tortilla wraps, but they really only have pastries. When I emerge from underground, I never have to worry about my hair smelling like meat or cigarettes, just dough.
I think this potato-ccentric cart is a holdover from Soviet time. It, blissfully, sells not a single potato. In fact, unlike the 'snack shop,' it actually does sell hot dogs. Wrapped in dough.
This is the sort of spelunking that makes me feel at home. It makes me think of the stores under Port Authority and walking under Times Square to avoid walking through it. It gives me that old familiar feeling of disorientation, emerging and immediately thinking, "where the hell am I and which way is north?" Mostly, though, it makes me feel at home because I feel like I'm where the locals are, where other people feel at home, where there's a heart that's not blinking in neon outside some 'poker club' called Nevada.

The Monastary at Orheiul Vechi

We found ourselves in a very remote part of the world the other day, walking along the spine of this long ridge above the Raut tributary to the Dnistr. To say that we found ourselves there, actually, is a little misleading; we drove there to see the cave monastery at Orheiul Vechi. We weren't entirely sure how to reach the caves, though we had been able to see a few window-like openings in the cliff as we drove into the valley. There were few footprints ahead of us in the snow, and a church building in the distance, which we headed towards.

The door to the church was closed and locked, though we could hear people on the other side. After we knocked, a young monk came and opened the door. He didn't say anything to us, and let us walk around for a while, unhindered. The church was sort of interesting, but it wasn't in a cave, and we weren't sure what to do. Before we left, we offered to help the monk unload a van that was parked in the churchyard - he smiled, declined our offer and took pity on us. He pointed us down to a belltower that we'd passed earlier, and made a motion that seemed to indicate going down.
This is the belltower and the door to the monastery. The wood was difficult to move, and it protested quite loudly when we did get it to budge. Inside: a long stairway carved into the rock, descending into blackness. As we stood there, unsure of what to do, we heard an angry voice from below. An old, short, broad-shouldered monk came running up the stairs. He moved much more quickly than I would have thought he could, and he was much angrier than I hoped he might be. We were keeping the door open too long, it seems. He shut the door behind us, throwing the stairway into near-complete darkness.
There was some light below us. It was strange to see sunlight buried deep within the hillside - it gave me a kind of vertigo. The faint glow was completely insufficient for navigating the irregular steps. The monk barked at us to move, only grudgingly cracking the door when he realized that we couldn't see. We stumbled and shuffled down into the rock and found ourselves in an otherworldly place.

The monastery was cut out of limestone between the ninth and twelfth centuries by early Christians who were drawn to the valley, believing that it was a sacred place. There were some caves here which were enlarged, and others that were created entirely by man. The complex isn't all open to the public - only a few rooms. One of which is this spare "sleeping chamber," which was barely four feet high and divided into eleven small alcoves. The light is entirely natural, coming from a few windows cut into the cliff face.

It's difficult to describe the light in the caves - it is very thick, as though the air was swirling with humidity and dust, which it isn't. It has a golden tint, and feels ancient. Water dripped slowly into a jar set on a stool, castling rippling shadows around the room. A woman mopped the wooden floor with a rag that she held in her hand, and the monk sold candles to place in front of icons. A small nook was piled with thick, red cloth - a little sleeping nest, it's nightly occupant unclear. To the right, an altar adorned with a good amount of gold.
We were shown out through a door onto the "balcony," where the monks hid from the Ottoman army in the middle-ages. It is said that they were perfectly concealed there, able to hear the voices of the Turks above their heads, searching for them. It was almost perfectly still, and the valley felt vast and timeless.

Getting into our car was strange - the engine and the heater seemed so new and different suddenly. As we drove off, the sun began to come out behind the mountains skirting the monastery, which was quite pretty.

Castle Hunting: Soroca

Sometimes, this is what castle hunting is. We drove three hours north of Chisinau and found an old cement-block hotel to stay the night in. The woman who ran the hotel walked us (in her slippers, through the falling snow) to a "cafenea" nearby for dinner - the waitress made us "pelmini" dumplings and cabbage salad, which seemed to be the only things she had in the kitchen. We woke up to heavier snow, grey skies - and a castle that is closed until May.

Soroca is a border town, sitting on the edge of the Dnistr across the water from Ukraine. The castle sits right on the water, and is hemmed in by trees and buildings, making it very difficult to photograph. We considered crossing the border to shoot from the opposite bank, but thought better of it. It isn't all that spectacular, though we've heard that the interior is worth seeing. The walls form a perfect circle, which is unusual, and are bolstered by five bastions. It was rebuilt in stone during the same period as Khotyn, which is not that far to the west, during the expansion of medieval Moldova's fortification system.
Today, the town of Soroca is a little run down. The park around the fortress was littered with garbage. Stray dogs prowled around and fought with one another. Nearby, the main street was crowded with maxi-taxi's (private minibuses) and sunday pedestrians. We had coffee and a slice of cake - the only option in this particular cafe, it seemed - nearby, before getting back in our car and heading south.
I wish I had been able to take a few good pictures here, but it didn't seem possible. It's sad because this isn't a country with a multitude of castle options. This little fortress is one of their primary landmarks - it even appears on the back of the 20 Lei bill. Driving back towards the capital - through bleak, wintery vineyards - it was hard not to feel a twinge of guilt, as though I was doing the country a disservice.

Why Don't They Have This In America?

Sometimes, something seems so simple that you wonder why it isn't commonplace. Take, for example, the Moldovan beer cap (or beer top?). It has a very functional pull-ring attached, for easy popping.
It really is simple, and it makes bottle openers seem clumsy. Why not have this in America? A patent issue? A matter of taste?

On the Moldovan Road

We've spent more time on the road in Moldova than we planned or we'd like. We've been here for seven days and a full one of them has been spent driving. Twenty-four hours is a modest estimate, really, and it was completed in a four day period. The reason we've driven so much, is that there is no tourist infrastructure outside of the capital. We have encountered four places to sleep in all, two of which were directly across from each other on the highway, three in which we slept. Fortunately, Moldovan countryside isn't flat or boring. There are rolling hills and vineyards constantly on each side of the car - just no inns.
The weather has digressed since Ukraine and the new-fallen snow has made things interesting. With a lack of plowing, drivers rely on the treads made by cars past before them. Even on a two-way road around the bend of a high cliff like this, cars from each direction move along the brown tire tracks, dodging each other at the very last minute.
Luckily, there really aren't many cars on the road at all. Outside close proximity of Chisenau, automobiles are few and far between. Mostly, it's just us, people walking to bus stops, van taxis and horse drawn carts. Mostly, the horses pull loads of lumber or hay, but sometimes they have more precious cargo. This is the first time we've seen pigs (that aren't on a plate) in a very long time.
Now and then a lawnmower will pass by on the highway or a motorbike with a sidecar. Since Ukraine, we've seen more single person motored vehicles than we ever knew existed and no two have been exactly alike. It's amazing to see them put-put by slower than the horse pulling the guy pulling a dozen tree trunks. Slower, even, than the old woman with a cane pulling her wagon-load of apples.On the Moldovan road, this is our snack. A piece of cake and an ultra sweet instant coffee is pretty delicious in a what-the-hell-am-i-putting-in-my-body sort of way. This is just from an 'alimentara' (grocery) and cost a buck altogether. The combo is served on very pretty china in actual 'cafeneas,' which adds an extra comforting touch. At more popular joints, you'll find couples of twenty-somethings flirting or small groups of teenagers gabbing over their cake slices and hot beverages. Sure, you can buy your own instant coffee packets at the market or pastry at the bakery, but it's nice to have a reason to go out and sit somewhere that isn't your kitchen or your room or your car.
Driving to Soroca, we noticed this wall of graffiti. We hadn't seen anything like it in the country and with the virtual white-out of a sky, it was particularly striking. Consulting our roadmap, we realized that just beyond the mural, over the Dnistru River was Ukraine. We waved hello to our last home and continued on our way.
Driving around in Moldova, we noticed that Saturday must be laundry day. All of a sudden, there were lines filled with clothes in front of every house. When you're driving aimlessly, looking for accommodations on Moldovan Laundry Day, all you want is to feel at home somewhere you can do the two loads of laundry that are festering in a canvas bag at the back of your car.
After three days of driving, this is the fur coat our car got. It added to our laundry quite a bit, as it's next to impossible to get in or out without brushing our legs against the mud-ice shield. I'm not sure you can tell from the picture, but it's really pretty impressive. Inches thick. Somehow, no other car looks as dirty. We just like to think they're less adventurous.
We got to feel good about being incognito for a while, until one person after another told us that cops stop cars for having illegible plates. So, we dutifully and regretfully cleaned off our informative rectangles, making their glaring New Yorkness more obvious than ever. Then, got back on the road.

Undendorsed Endorsements

It's pretty common to see celebrity images reappropriated to hawk the goods of a small business. In New York, I always loved seeing Jennifer Aniston with the Rachel cut on salon windows and Jennifer Lopez circa Selena on the sign for a jeans store. Oversees, those women are just as popular and remain forever frozen in their mid to late 20s. Joining them in the ranks of the most used are Beyonce and Angelina Jolie. So, it really wasn't surprising at all to see Angie puckering down at me from this sign on the main shopping street in Chisenau, Moldova.
However, when we ran into the Governor of California on his way to fix a sink, I was a little more surprised. The Terminator's head was definitely airbrushed onto some other dude's body. Poor model probably thought he was getting his big break, only to be chopped out like an old boyfriend in a high school girl's locker picture.
This is definitely my favorite undendorsed celebrity endorsement ever. I looked up at this billboard and went, "Modern Family!" The show seemed far too new and irreverent to have been picked up in Moldova. Then, I looked closer and realized it was an ad for 40% off a trip to Turkey through Robinson Tours. What's great about this is not just that the cast of characters are neither Moldovan nor Turkish, but that no one here even knows they are a cast of characters. This isn't so much using celebrities to sell a product as it is literally ripping a photo of attractive Americans sitting on a beach in faux 1930s garb out of a magazine and throwing it up on a billboard. Then again, what says Antalya, Turkey better than two gay men, their adopted Vietnamese baby, two Colombians, five ethnically ambiguous white people and the dad from Married with Children?

Castle Hunting: Khotyn

When we were in Kamyanets-Podilsky and Kolomyia, we were told that Khotyn castle was THE place to go in the region. After having such a great time taking pictures of the beautiful Kamyanets-Podilsky fortress, we were skeptical and curious about this other place. It turned out to be more magnificent, but less photogenic, than our first Ukrainian fort. Sitting on the banks of the Dnistr river, it's walls towering over the valley, it was quite a sight. Unfortunately, the day was grim and the light was difficult. We shivered our way through the light snow, climbing on frightening paths around the surrounding rocks.
The building is massive, with towers that stand over 120 feet high and walls that reach to almost 100 feet. A wooden fort (which was partly reconstructed in stone during the 13th century) stood on the site before the current castle, but the region was fairly remote and not often threatened by invasion. In the 15th century, though, the area began to become more strategically important, with Polish and Ottoman armies encroaching upon the Moldavian principality. The waywode Stephen III ("Stephen the Great," apparently) erected three large scale, modern castles in the region to defend his land's independence. The largest of these three was Khotyn, which was built over a period of seven months during 1463.
The courtyard was empty except for a bunch of scruffy dogs that barked at each other and us. Most of the doors were locked, and we were too cold to stick around for long. The little building in the center is the well house.
There are outer walls that protect the castle's flank, running along a high slope for about a mile. We spotted one other couple walking along them, but never got within shouting distance of them. The snow made the recently burnt grass very slippery, and we had to do some creative scooting to make our way down some of the slopes.
The rear castle wall (away from the river) is cambered outward quite steeply, which looks a little scary but is intentional. There is an interesting red pattern laid into the stonework, apparently in an "averting" design that is called "the holy Tetractis." The large wet spot on the castle wall has existed almost from the time that it was built, and has never been fully explained. There is an ancient legend that tells of a local girl who was built into the wall alive - her tears seep out continuously, creating the mark. People now believe that an interior ditch (the castle yard is much higher than ground level) drains at that point, accounting for the moisture.
As we were leaving, a big tour group came clomping down the hill. We stopped at a little, rundown building near the gates for a cup of coffee, served to us by two old women bundled in bright wool. The sun was beginning to poke through the clouds, but the wind, people and chill dissuaded us from going back for better photos.