Chisanau, July 5
After a day of exploring Odessa, Terri and I spent a couple of easy days of cycling from Odessa to Chisanau, through the curious semi-state of Transdniestria. It was Terri's last 2 days of cycling, and I was relieved that finally she had a couple of relaxed, easy days to enjoy the landscape and the cycling.
The ride out of Odessa was pretty flat, and there was, for the first time since Abkhazia, very little traffic on the road. It was a rather dull landscape of sunflowers (not in bloom), wheat and pastureland, and the grey skies didn't help make it look more cheerful. As we approached the border with Transdniestria, it started to rain, and we had lunch in a little cafe on the Ukrainian side of the border while it poured down outside. Terri has gotten me hooked on french fries as the perfect cycling lunch food, and we had a particularly good lunch that day: variniki (Ukrainian dumplings), fries, meat cutlets and beer. Cycle touring burns a lot of calories, and it takes a lot of effort to keep myself from getting too thin; luckily this is generally a rather enjoyable effort!
Crossing the Transdniestrian border lived up to the hype. It's not an internationally recognized country, although it does have its own army, currency and border guards. The border guards live up to all the old stereotypes of Communist borders: big hats and outstretched hands. As we approached the border, we met a German cyclist coming the other way who had only been allowed into the country on the payment of 40 euros for the dubious offence of not having a Romanian exit stamp in his passport. Our offence was the fact that Terri had a Moldovan visa in her passport (as a Kiwi, she needs many more visas than I do). We had a long palaver, dodging the loaded question of "how much cash do you have on you?" by pulling out bank cards. The original bribe request was for 100 euros; we ignored this and sat there, trying to outwait the guards and their mutterings of "problem; BIG problem!" Eventually, one guard gave us back our passports, having entered our details into the border computer, and told us to go "to the police post". We wandered back to our bikes, looked in vain for any police, went through the last custom post and were into the country. We stopped to change 35 dollars (which Terri had set aside for paying bribes) into Transdniestrian rubles, and as we cycled away, congratulating ourselves on getting in for free, a car pulled up and a border guard ordered us back to the border.
This time the border guards had a new offence to fine us about: entering the country without filling in the entry card. This time the bribe request was for 300 euros. Terri pulled out the 380 Transdniestrian rubles and they settled for that. We were given 24 hours to transit the country, and this time nobody called us back as we rode off. The last custom officer asked us why we were crossing a second time, and when I explained that we hadn't filled out the entry form the first time, a huge corrupt grin crossed his face and he asked "How much did THAT cost you?" In fact, 35 dollars for 2 people is cheaper than Russian or Belarussian legitimate visas, and much cheaper than Terri's visas for the Ukraine or Moldova, so it wasn't too horrible. According to everyone we've met, no matter what country you're from (even Transdniestria itself), the guards won't let you go without a good shakedown for cash.
Once through the border, the cycling was great. The highway was wide and almost empty, and we rode side by side most of the way to the capital, Tiraspol. Tiraspol is one of the more surreal places in Europe, capital of a breakaway country which still proudly displays the Communist hammer and sickle and feels stuck in the Brezhnev era. The city is surrounded by the standard Stalinist apartment blocks that disfigure so many Soviet cities, but the construction cranes that we saw here and there were engaged in building more of the same: new Stalinist blocks! The streets were eerily deserted, devoid of cars and people to such an extent that we thought we'd veered into Day of the Triffids or an episode of the Twilight Zone. Compared to Russia or Ukraine, the streets and sidewalks were spotless; in fact, it was a cleaner city than most Swiss towns. There were almost none of the frenetic capitalism that characterizes both Russia and Ukraine; only a few shops and almost none of the ubiquitous Communist kiosks that we had gotten used to further east.
We met up with Lena, the woman whose tourist apartment we were to stay at, then rode off to a Stalinist block where we schlepped our luggage and bikes five storeys up a scary staircase before setting off to see the sights. The city has enormously wide main streets almost empty of traffic (I hear that Pyongyang and Burma's Naypyidaw are similar in this respect), lined by memorials to the 1992 war that saw Transdniestria win its independence from Moldova. Transdniestria has been Russian for 2 centuries, far longer than the rest of Moldova, and identifies itself as a Russian-speaking Soviet state. Big billboards talked about the importance of allying Transdniestria with Russia, and about the glories of the Red Army's victory in World War Two. People on the streets seemed more sedate and content than in, say, Ukraine. We saw plenty of young couples walking their dogs or pushing prams, and none of the public drunkenness and restless undertone of aggression that characterizes so many ex-Soviet states. We passed a curious sight in the form of the only embassies in Tiraspol: those of the equally fictitious countries of Abkhazia and South Ossetia.
We had a few conversations with curious locals (tourists are a bit of a rarity in Tiraspol) and then left the Brezhnev era by walking through the doors of Andy's Pizza, an exemplary fast-food chain that fed us tasty, massive meals at ridiculously cheap prices. A stroll back along the Dniestr River, with a tiny sliver of new moon in the sky, and it was time for a well-earned sleep.
Leaving Transdniestria was far easier than getting in. We rode ten kilometres (TD is a very long, thin sliver of country) to the border outside Bendery and got ready for the inevitable bribe requests. This time our offence was overstaying our visa (our 24 hours was suddenly retroactively changed to 10 hours) and not registring with the police. This time I calmly stated our case in Russian, again and again, and eventually the guard got bored and decided there were easier pickings to be had from Moldovan BMWs waiting in line behind us. We got out for free, and were very glad to be across the Moldovan checkpoints where the border guards just wanted to chat about bike touring, rather than asking for hundreds of euros.
The ride to Chisanau was relatively easy, although traffic got pretty heavy as we approached the capital. The countryside got a bit more interesting: vineyards, lavender and steep riverbanks lined the road. After a delightful picnic in a watermelon patch, we rolled into the endless urban sprawl of Chisanau around 4 pm. The hotel that Terri had had to book to get her visa turned out to be excellent, a renovated ex-Intourist concrete monstrosity, and we settled in for 24 hours of hedonism: microbreweries, a wine tour to the outstanding Cricova winery
(120 km of underground wine cellars and a collection of antique wines to die for, many of them confiscated from Hermann Goehring) and an afternoon sipping fine Cricova champagne and putting Terri's bike into a box for flying. Terri headed back to Switzerland at 5:30 on a night train to Bucharest, leaving me alone to catch up on my blog and contemplate the next leg of my journey, a swing north and west through Romania, eastern Hungary and eastern Slovakia. After my recent bout of relaxation, I'm hoping that my legs are ready for two weeks of non-stop cycling! I'm also excited about the fact that Romania will be the hundredth country I've visited in my travels; I'm about half the way to visiting every country on earth, but I think I've done the easy half first.
Peace and Tailwinds
Graydon
Chisanau, July 5
After a day of exploring Odessa, Terri and I spent a couple of easy days of cycling from Odessa to Chisanau, through the curious semi-state of Transdniestria. It was Terri's last 2 days of cycling, and I was relieved that finally she had a couple of relaxed, easy days to enjoy the landscape and the cycling.
The ride out of Odessa was pretty flat, and there was, for the first time since Abkhazia, very little traffic on the road. It was a rather dull landscape of sunflowers (not in bloom), wheat and pastureland, and the grey skies didn't help make it look more cheerful. As we approached the border with Transdniestria, it started to rain, and we had lunch in a little cafe on the Ukrainian side of the border while it poured down outside. Terri has gotten me hooked on french fries as the perfect cycling lunch food, and we had a particularly good lunch that day: variniki (Ukrainian dumplings), fries, meat cutlets and beer. Cycle touring burns a lot of calories, and it takes a lot of effort to keep myself from getting too thin; luckily this is generally a rather enjoyable effort!
Crossing the Transdniestrian border lived up to the hype. It's not an internationally recognized country, although it does have its own army, currency and border guards. The border guards live up to all the old stereotypes of Communist borders: big hats and outstretched hands. As we approached the border, we met a German cyclist coming the other way who had only been allowed into the country on the payment of 40 euros for the dubious offence of not having a Romanian exit stamp in his passport. Our offence was the fact that Terri had a Moldovan visa in her passport (as a Kiwi, she needs many more visas than I do). We had a long palaver, dodging the loaded question of "how much cash do you have on you?" by pulling out bank cards. The original bribe request was for 100 euros; we ignored this and sat there, trying to outwait the guards and their mutterings of "problem; BIG problem!" Eventually, one guard gave us back our passports, having entered our details into the border computer, and told us to go "to the police post". We wandered back to our bikes, looked in vain for any police, went through the last custom post and were into the country. We stopped to change 35 dollars (which Terri had set aside for paying bribes) into Transdniestrian rubles, and as we cycled away, congratulating ourselves on getting in for free, a car pulled up and a border guard ordered us back to the border.
This time the border guards had a new offence to fine us about: entering the country without filling in the entry card. This time the bribe request was for 300 euros. Terri pulled out the 380 Transdniestrian rubles and they settled for that. We were given 24 hours to transit the country, and this time nobody called us back as we rode off. The last custom officer asked us why we were crossing a second time, and when I explained that we hadn't filled out the entry form the first time, a huge corrupt grin crossed his face and he asked "How much did THAT cost you?" In fact, 35 dollars for 2 people is cheaper than Russian or Belarussian legitimate visas, and much cheaper than Terri's visas for the Ukraine or Moldova, so it wasn't too horrible. According to everyone we've met, no matter what country you're from (even Transdniestria itself), the guards won't let you go without a good shakedown for cash.
Once through the border, the cycling was great. The highway was wide and almost empty, and we rode side by side most of the way to the capital, Tiraspol. Tiraspol is one of the more surreal places in Europe, capital of a breakaway country which still proudly displays the Communist hammer and sickle and feels stuck in the Brezhnev era. The city is surrounded by the standard Stalinist apartment blocks that disfigure so many Soviet cities, but the construction cranes that we saw here and there were engaged in building more of the same: new Stalinist blocks! The streets were eerily deserted, devoid of cars and people to such an extent that we thought we'd veered into Day of the Triffids or an episode of the Twilight Zone. Compared to Russia or Ukraine, the streets and sidewalks were spotless; in fact, it was a cleaner city than most Swiss towns. There were almost none of the frenetic capitalism that characterizes both Russia and Ukraine; only a few shops and almost none of the ubiquitous Communist kiosks that we had gotten used to further east.
We met up with Lena, the woman whose tourist apartment we were to stay at, then rode off to a Stalinist block where we schlepped our luggage and bikes five storeys up a scary staircase before setting off to see the sights. The city has enormously wide main streets almost empty of traffic (I hear that Pyongyang and Burma's Naypyidaw are similar in this respect), lined by memorials to the 1992 war that saw Transdniestria win its independence from Moldova. Transdniestria has been Russian for 2 centuries, far longer than the rest of Moldova, and identifies itself as a Russian-speaking Soviet state. Big billboards talked about the importance of allying Transdniestria with Russia, and about the glories of the Red Army's victory in World War Two. People on the streets seemed more sedate and content than in, say, Ukraine. We saw plenty of young couples walking their dogs or pushing prams, and none of the public drunkenness and restless undertone of aggression that characterizes so many ex-Soviet states. We passed a curious sight in the form of the only embassies in Tiraspol: those of the equally fictitious countries of Abkhazia and South Ossetia. 
We had a few conversations with curious locals (tourists are a bit of a rarity in Tiraspol) and then left the Brezhnev era by walking through the doors of Andy's Pizza, an exemplary fast-food chain that fed us tasty, massive meals at ridiculously cheap prices. A stroll back along the Dniestr River, with a tiny sliver of new moon in the sky, and it was time for a well-earned sleep.
Leaving Transdniestria was far easier than getting in. We rode ten kilometres (TD is a very long, thin sliver of country) to the border outside Bendery and got ready for the inevitable bribe requests. This time our offence was overstaying our visa (our 24 hours was suddenly retroactively changed to 10 hours) and not registring with the police. This time I calmly stated our case in Russian, again and again, and eventually the guard got bored and decided there were easier pickings to be had from Moldovan BMWs waiting in line behind us. We got out for free, and were very glad to be across the Moldovan checkpoints where the border guards just wanted to chat about bike touring, rather than asking for hundreds of euros.
The ride to Chisanau was relatively easy, although traffic got pretty heavy as we approached the capital. The countryside got a bit more interesting: vineyards, lavender and steep riverbanks lined the road. After a delightful picnic in a watermelon patch, we rolled into the endless urban sprawl of Chisanau around 4 pm. The hotel that Terri had had to book to get her visa turned out to be excellent, a renovated ex-Intourist concrete monstrosity, and we settled in for 24 hours of hedonism: microbreweries, a wine tour to the outstanding Cricova winery 
(120 km of underground wine cellars and a collection of antique wines to die for, many of them confiscated from Hermann Goehring) and an afternoon sipping fine Cricova champagne and putting Terri's bike into a box for flying. Terri headed back to Switzerland at 5:30 on a night train to Bucharest, leaving me alone to catch up on my blog and contemplate the next leg of my journey, a swing north and west through Romania, eastern Hungary and eastern Slovakia. After my recent bout of relaxation, I'm hoping that my legs are ready for two weeks of non-stop cycling! I'm also excited about the fact that Romania will be the hundredth country I've visited in my travels; I'm about half the way to visiting every country on earth, but I think I've done the easy half first.
Peace and Tailwinds
Graydon
