"Illegal visitors in an illegal country"

An impressive red-green sign welcomed us to the Moldovan Nistrean Republic ( =Transnistria=PMR). Grains and grapes adorned its colorful coat of arms, which ironically reminded me of the coat of arms of communist Romania... Between trees, I could see the communist blocks of Bendery ( Rom. Tighina), the only city on the right bank of the Nistru that is controlled by the PMR.

A border officer approached us. It was now time for bribe games. Looking forward to them, as Lonely Planet warned about this special delicacy of travelling in the area. Where are these people from? What are they doing here? "Well, we are visiting Moldova with all its sights: wineries, Orheiul Vechi, now Tiraspol" said S., the organizer of the Summer University. "Tiraspol is not part of Moldova" mumbled the officer. S. and the driver dissappeared in the building next to the road with our passports. Twenty minutes later, after constantly reminding the Spanish guys to be quiet and not take photos, as this was pretty serious, S. came back. "They said that the newest rule of the PMR is that only foreigners with an invitation from a PMR citizen can get in..." However, after negotiations, S. managed to get us in with a bribe, the first in her life, as she witnessed. They were writing the names in a big book and then started typing them slowly in a computer. "You want faster? We need incentive!". Eventually, we just went in without having the official registration. As one of the Spanish guys put it : "We are illegal in an illegal country."

And we went on. The road suddenly became more potholed, the blocks of Bendery followed, tall and sad, but the proud presence of a new church, defiantly placed at the crossroads, made me question the anti-religious policy of communist Transnistria, the last bastion of the Soviet Union. And indeed, parallel to all the funky monuments of tanks, mother heroines and other communist paraphernalia, there were quite a few crosses, troikas, and renovated churches around.

The Tighina fortress, the one Stefan cel Mare erected, followed on the left of the road, big, covered with grass and desolate, though signs of some contemporary military activity were to be seen. And then we crossed the Nistru. The border of pre-1940 Romania. Welcome to Parkany. Trilingual welcoming sign, all three in the cyrillic alphabet. One was in Romanian, spelled the Cyrillic way.

And then, Tiraspol. Great surprise. Nice socialist-realist buildings, even some older buildings, all renovated, well kept, flowers everywhere, well dressed people. Stores, bars, restaurants, a general impression of prosperity. Big surprise.

Thoughts of an excellent Potemkin village.

We walked around the communist monuments and the numerous reminders of the independence of the PMR. A peaceful afternoon. Only some five women and two men resting on the side of the road, under the eternal flame and a military tank which functioned as a monument. They were visibly surprised to see us and asked " Pa russki?". I said "Pa rumunski?" and surpisingly, I got an answer. they all spoke Romanian. "Where are you from?". Bla. Then I asked the difficult question " How is it here?". "Oh, well, really well! Like in Romania!" a woman answered. They either believed or she was afraid of saying otherwise, I still don't know. The place looked too well though. Much better than any town I've seen in Moldova, better than even Chisinau. No sign of garbage.

Two 20-year old women approached our group, visibly excited about the presence of foreigners. Their eyes were sparkling with curiosity and they asked, in Russian, how do we find Tiraspol. Luckily one of the Moldovan organizers was there to translate. On the other side of the street, young people were eating at Andy's Pizza, the ubiquituous Chisinau-based pizza chain...

I got panicked at one point: a soldier was walking faster and faster after us. Oh God... We got scared, only to see him running by to an undisclosed location... maybe he was jogging...

Time was short here, but other adventures continued. In any case, Transnistria left me quite startled, and as some friend commented, this is how probably the Soviet Union looked in the 1970s, Swiss-clean, with flowers everywhere, armies of street cleaners , and a placid, frozen athmosphere. Except that in Tiraspol there is Andy's Pizza.