Chişinău

I haven’t been everywhere, but it’s on my list.

Susan Sontag

My arrival in Chişinău (Kish-No) was nothing short of thrilling. The Autogar (bus station) is directly in the middle of the city’s sprawling central market. To say the place bustles would be dramatic understatement. The sound of frenetic Moldavian popular music saturates the thick dance of people and buses pressing through the crowded streets and alleys. Unfortunately, I couldn’t quite capture the right picture to paint the motion of the place (perhaps because my camera bag was in a constant state of being cased by the locals). One guidebook compares the market to Istanbul, but let me tell you, Istanbul has nothing on this place. In fact, more accurate to phrase it the other way ‘round: “Istanbul’s busy markets hearken to more exotic locales, like Chişinău.”
Before I delve into Chişinău, please indulge me in a brief yet necessary rant about my guidebook. I tend to travel with either a Rough Guide or a Lonely Planet depending on which publication is most current. Unfortunately, there is no English language guidebook for Moldova, so I have been equipped with the 2004 Lonely Planet for Romania and Moldova—the last such publication of which I am aware. It’s out of date, yes, but it shouldn’t be that out of date. Bluntly, the book is a disaster. The authors seem more interested in providing snide commentary than useful information. My hunch is that the Moldova section in particular has been little revised since the first edition of 1997. The result for me has meant numerous long hikes to nonexistent hotels or internet cafes, and a certain sense of befuddlement that I’m not vibing the same country that the book describes. Needless to say, unlike most of my guidebooks which I abandon out of necessity, I can’t wait to leave this one in a nice incinerator or squatter stall.

Rant over. Now, Chişinău.

A delight on many levels. Unlike many of it’s contemporaries, Chişinău is stunningly verdant, not just filled with green spaces and civic parks, but it is rather a city interwoven with forest, as if only the bare minimum was sacrificed in the name of its construction.

A lot of European cities seem to have one of these, though they tend to spell it differently. In Rom..Moldovan, it’s spelled Arc de Triumf. While this one isn’t particularly impressive, I couldn’t help but be a bit taken with the goofy Jetson’s style street lights that line the square.

I should take some time to explain some geographical distinctions. Moldova is the country I’m visiting: a former province of Romania. Moldavia is currently a province of Romania, where Iasi, Suceava and the Painted Monasteries are located. The confusion comes in that Romanians refer to Moldavia as Moldova, and Moldova as the Republic of Moldova, or Republica Moldova. Moldavia and Moldova (or Moldova and Republica Moldova) were once a united kingdom before the formation of Romania. Said kingdom was called Moldavia (or Moldova). Aren’t you glad that’s settled? So next time some kids transfer into your Men’s Choir from Moldova, you know what to ask them to find out where they’re from, right?

Here is the obligatory statue of the Moldavian hero Stefan cel Mare (Stephen the Great. Actually, it translates something closer to Stephen the Big, but that just sounds odd). Collectively, Romanians and Moldovans don’t have much in their collective history to cheer about. (This could explain why Romanians in general strut around like tough stuff, but shake hands like sissies. But I digress.) Virtually every city in Moldova (and Moldavia!) has a statue much like this one.
The Moldovan hero’s face unsurprisingly adorns the local currency.
Behind the Arc, is the Orthodox Cathedral. Note the structure in front of the building.
Yes, that’s right. It’s a much larger (nuclear, perhaps?) version of the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch.

I should also mention that one reason I’ve really been enjoying Moldova is that it’s been putting my linguistic skills to the test. While most of the younger generation of Romanians speak at least some English, an English speaker is rare to find here. Like in Latvia, Russian was the preferred language for over 40 years, then suddenly, even native Moldovans have to reacquire their native tongue. As a result, not only do few people speak English here, but many speak Romanian/Moldovan poorly as well…just like me!

This is the Hotel Turist, my home for an excruciating, yet delightful two nights. It looks pretty normal from the outside, and the staff were generally quite friendly. However, the interior décor is something unspeakable. If there were to be a Russian language remake of The Shining, it would be shot here. During the day, the place is so creepy with its long, pitch black, dark woodgrain hallways that one hustles to one’s room, fleeing some imagined pursuer. At night it isn’t much better, with a single low-wattage fluorescent lamp flickering at a regular interval. The key locks the door from the inside, so the process of securing the door seems like it can’t happen fast enough. Once inside the room, the dingy wallpaper, ancient bedspreads, and residual smell of fifty thousand cigarettes remind one of being inside a diseased lung. I didn’t take any pictures for fear of what unseen poltergeists might appear on the prints.
Finally, here are some unexpected finds. The current location of the University Place Clock Tower, and this unlikely bust of John Stein.

Next time, “So you thought Moldova was off the beaten path?”