by Whenever I think of Moldova (which is not often, to be honest), I am reminded of a message sent by a photographer friend when he arrived here a few years ago: “Less than a minute after crossing into Moldova I saw three ones. horses and carts, and goats on a string. My cell phone told me I was in a ‘Zone D’ global destination, it felt like Zone Z.”
And that’s it in a nutshell: Moldova feels like Zone Z. The last place on earth you could go to. And if that is your view of this small state in eastern Europe, hidden behind Romania, lost like a silver penny between the cushions of the Eurasian geopolitical sofa, you are not alone: statistics show that Moldova receives fewer tourists per person than any country in Europe.
Why does no one ever come here? What can it be like? Can you find food that isn’t lard variations?
Well now I’m here, in the small, gloomy, airy capital of Moldova, Chisinau, which is famous… not so famous. Its main river, the Byk, is a rusty stream at the end of someone’s garden. Parts of it, even near the center, feel like you could be out in the countryside: horses in yards, more goats on the wires. It is amazing that 70 percent of it was destroyed during the wars of the 20th century.
The great Russian poet Pushkin was exiled to this balmy corner of the Tsar’s empire at the time (there is a sweet little museum dedicated to his short stay) and found its homes “dirty” and “sinful” as he tried to moved to the more. Odessa exciting; but, it should be said, he was chiefly the sinner, as he diligently worked his way through the Moldavian ladies.
And yet, despite all this, Chisinau has a real charm. Yes, there are a lot of ex-Soviet tower blocks, but the people are friendly. The best hotels are plush and good value. The many spike and span fields can be delightful. And, as my extrovert guide Natalje shows me, there are al-fresco cafes everywhere, making the most of that gloomy weather.
And the food is not “versions of lard”, it is a lively and tasty collision between the Balkans and the Slavs, the Russian and the Turkish, as well as a spicy genius itself. The rich and complex cuisine speaks of the complicated history of Moldova: it was exchanged between empires, conquered by everyone – and they all gave their own recipes. If you want trendy “Chisinau fusion”, try Divus restaurant, it’s really good; if you want comfort food, have a bowl of Zama, a noodle-meat-umami broth with sour cream, chilli, pickles and bread; it is available everywhere and costs only pennies.
Next we go to the next selling point in Moldova: the wine. We are driving through meadows and rolling woods – little Moldova has no coast or mountains – and we are heading for Cricova. The word Cricova comes from the word “scream” and legend has it that the scream was the scream of an Orthodox hermit: worried that the Ottomans would steal his wine. Happily, the Ottomans failed, because below Cricova are 125 labyrinthine kilometers of limestone mines, now the second largest wine cellar in the world. The caves are deep underground, and always 14C.
On your golf cart tour you’ll see famous private wine collections, a thank you letter from the first man in space Yuri Gagarin, and Hermann Goering’s stash of wine – recovered from the Nazi leader’s private train at the end of the Second World War. War. Some of the tunnels are transformed into amazing crystal and neon caves; at the end you get to buy more wine – white, red, sparkling well – at reasonable prices. As I leave the shop, Natalje tells me sharply: “In Moldova, we don’t have any taxes on wine. Because wine is food.” In that case, I’m hungry.
From here it’s a shortish drive to another famous but very different winery – the posh one, Purcari. This is the brand of wine loved by Queen Victoria and every family of the United Kingdom since. Their swish chateau-cum-hotel looks like something out of the Rhône Valley and overlooks its own rust green vines. The restaurant is excellent – especially the crab ravioli. If you stay a night, try the luxe Tower Suite with its mezzanine hot tub, from where you can lie back in capitalist bubbles – while looking out over the USSR.
Yes, the USSR. The next morning Natalje tells me “I have to behave myself,” because “we’re going to the old Soviet Union now. No photos of the guards!” Climbing into the car, hiding my phone, I watch as we cross into the semi-independent exclave of Transnistria: a strip of pseudo-nation still loyal to ex-communist Moscow (and called the FCDO advice not to visit – see below).
To be honest, it’s not as dramatic as I expected. The border guards yawn, the sun queue is three minutes long, and then we are in the Soviet Union time-warped, passing the mighty Bendery Fortress – once Ottoman, then Swedish, then Russian, a central place of military history. It’s a good place for great views, outdoor movies, or a summer swim in the big bend of the Dniester (but be careful, the waters are fast).
And Transnistria? Yes, they have a statue of Lenin. But they also have a statue of Harry Potter. Yes, they have an old Soviet tank T34, but they also have a lively market where you can buy the best cherries, the freshest herbs, as well as pickled tomatoes, smoked river fish, wild chamomile honey and cups of cold kvass (weak bread beer) buy. it is oddly refreshing on hot Moldavian days.
For lunch we stop at “Back in the USSR”, a Marxist cafe that serves excellent grub – especially the amazing borscht, unlike any other theme restaurant in the world. It costs £2 a bowl, and you eat it while staring at Stalin Bakelite.
From Transnistira, we return to the deep history of Moldova – and Orheiul Vechi. Here in this Edea valley, full of wonderful wooden lodges and “nationalized walnut trees” (according to the ever-entertaining Natalje), I eat fresh cherry pie for breakfast. Next to a 19th century farmhouse. Next to a 16th century cave church. Next to a 14th century Tatar caravan. Near the 3rd century BC “Geto-Dacian walls”. Next to 20,000 year old neolithic remains. They are all made of rocks containing 20 million year old fossils. I am surprised that it is not on the Unesco list: perhaps, like so much of Moldova, it is being overlooked.
The last stop, the best stop. It is a residence below the banks of the Dniester owned by a very friendly couple named Sergiu and Emilia – and their various offspring. After Emilia shows me, in her Hansel and Gretel kitchen, how to make “smallest sarmale in Moldova” (delicate cabbage rolls) we think about hiking, boating, cycling or maybe horse riding – all available – but because it is flowing smoothly. , Sergiu takes me to his man cave: a glorious moldy cellar filled with everything fermented, barrel and distilled, including 118 types of homemade vodka.
Sergiu doesn’t speak any English; I speak even less Moldovan, but Sergiu explains – via Natalje – that this will not be the case at all if I drink a lot of alcohol. Well, it must be worth a shot. Ahem.
It turns out that he is right. As Sergiu offers shot glasses of peat vodka, pine needle vodka, strawberry vodka, “medicinal” vodka, “78 percent proof” vodka and “at this point I forgot to take notes” vodka, we start talking on some vodka. A special drunken Esperanto before eagerly breaking into urgent country songs, and then finally I go home, shouting, to my rustic wooden room – and when I wake up I can hear roosters crowing, donkeys coughing and Sergiu’s extended family . On the sunny balcony, Emilia is serving warm homemade bread: with rosehip jam and fresh cottage cheese.
As I sit there nursing a mild hangover and good strong coffee, staring at the silver mist rising from the Dniester, Sergiu comes up and shakes my hand and hands me a cheap bottle of raspberry vodka. Which apparently was my favorite (my memory is hazy). And as he does this I think: what a nice man he is, what a nice family and a nice country. Because it’s true: everyone I’ve met on this trip has been beautiful and that’s something really special.
In a world where tourists are chased, ripped off, taxed, cursed and industrially processed through sterile resorts, Moldova is a place that makes you feel very welcome, because they don’t have many tourists, and because they want to see you. Put it another way, visiting Moldova is like going home to the warm and funny family you forgot about. Amazing.
How to do it
Regent (www.regent-holidays.co.uk; 0117 453 3001) offers an eight-day Moldova Vineyards and Villages tour that covers the rich cultural heritage of Chisinau, the enigmatic allure of Transnistria and the rural charm of Moldovan villages, with wine. tasting and ancient monasteries along the way. It costs from £2,825 per person sharing and includes flights, three nights in a four-star hotel in Chisinau (one at the start of the trip, two at the end), a further four nights accommodation in a range of family accommodation. guesthouses or boutique properties, as well as some meals and guided tours.
Note that while the Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Office (FCDO) has no warnings in place for Moldova, it advises against all travel to Transnistria. Ignoring FCDO’s advice could invalidate your travel insurance.
