Welcome To Moldova !

A Cautionary Tale

By Eddie Barton (an Englishman)

English, Moldovan/Romanian, Russian


The story of my 12 day visit to Moldova and Transnistria (PMR) in May 2005 & return visit April 2006.

Chapters 1 - 19 English original on Marisha's site from October 2005:
www.marisha.net/eddie-moldova.htm

Full story to date in (Microsoft) Word - English, Romanian and Russian on:
www.marisha.net/
For guidance, see:
http://welcometomoldova.net

Romanian and Russian translations kindly by friends in the story as follows:

Part 1 (chapters 1 - 26) written in 2005.
(Visa and registration requirements were simplified in early April 2006).

"Irka" (Irina) first translation chapters 1 - 20.
Reviewed and improved by Diana Valuta in Chisinau and Ioana Campean in Romania
who have continued the translation.

Ioana Campean is a professional translator and interpreter in English and French who
has acted as an interpreter at major conferences. Ioana now works for a major bank in Cluj.

Russian translation by Anna Ustinova in Tiraspol, Transnistria (PMR) -
The Anna in the book.

All photos were taken by me in Moldova and faithfully represent the people, places and events described.

I can be emailed on: eddie.barton@btinternet.com
Preference given to Moldovans and those connected with Moldova.
I only understand English and some French.


Preface - Return To Moldova (April 2006)

Margarita held my arm firmly and expertly as I slipped and skidded around in the dark. How she could tell the firm from the muddy patches in the broken tarmac I just didn't know. It was like holding onto a 16 stone weight lifter. But 19 year old Margarita was smaller and lighter than me.

This was the first evening of my return visit to Moldova. I spent it with very good company, mostly with Margarita's family who I had first come to know in Moldova itself.

The rain was relentless. The light from apartment windows poorly illuminated the misshapen ground on Chisinau's most northerly suburban road. Now I knew why Marisha had said to take a taxi. "You sound annoyed" I said after declining her suggestion. We were welcomed by Marisha at her flat. Margarita politely declined offers of hospitality. She wanted to head back immediately.

Eddie: "We should phone your mother to let her know you're coming back".

Margarita: "She isn't worried about me."

A smile played across her face. Her mother had made a fuss when I said I was walking the 500 metres on my own. Margarita had cautiously tucked the baggage label behind the zip on my green shoulder bag. Gazing up at me she had seemed both happy and sad at the same time. Then her naturally pouting lips firmed together, her big eyes looked bigger still and her sadness faded away.

I had returned to make more sense of what had happened to me eleven months earlier in May.  
 

Comments by friends in the story.

Eddie, thank you for the scripts. They are very nice. I want more !!!
Thank you for describing everything in a good way.
[On receiving three quarters of the book including the part which covered her].

Really... I think you a have a good spirit of observation and a counterbalanced critical sense. Also you are right in your observations and conclusions and it is amazing for me. It's a real pleasure to follow an outside point of view about your country. It makes you think differently about some things. It's something that "openminds" you.

Didn't know you are writing a book about your trip to Moldova, wow, we will all be famous! :) Good job! I loved what you wrote so far. [On reading the first half of the book and impressed with the rest].

Your story is very interesting so for me it will be a pleasure to translate.

I'm surprised at your new ideas. You want to become popular with your writing. I like your ideas.

I like it very much. Great job done! Congratulations!


 

Welcome To Moldova !     Chapter 1. (English)  

I squatted naked in a partly filled bath as the wooden doors of the bathhouse were closed noisily and then secured. I had been taken to an unknown location in the countryside outside Soroca and I guessed it was about midnight. My clothes were behind the doors, my luggage had been taken off me and the hire car was hundreds of yards away behind the locked gates of another property. I wondered: "is the lowest point of my life ?" Nadina had called this a sauna so I wondered whether masses of steam would come pouring in from somewhere. I hated heat and I was trapped. Hurriedly I washed myself. I thought if I am to be found in my underpants by the Moldovan police at least I could be clean. I visualised my mother in front of me with her head slightly on one side: "well, you have been a fool" she said. I reflected on the evening's events.



I had signed out of the Hotel Nistru in Soroca and left with Nadina and Sergiu who had somewhere nicer for me to stay. I was a day early and Nadina hadn't expected my call. Nadina was 18 and Sergiu, her cousin was I guess a little older. They were smiling and directed me up Soroca's main road to a cafe on a corner. There in a back room we all had something to eat and drink. They didn't eat much and looked at me expectantly as we had a friendly discussion. After the meal, I was directed down a long narrow unlit track towards some apartment blocks. It was completely dark. Nadina disappeared to see her Aunt but returned to say that her Aunt wouldn't have me. This was worrying. It was 11:15. "Don't worry" she smiled. "I have another Aunt". I was then directed to a shop. Nadina went in and seemed to spend an age in there. She explained she had a friend or relative in the shop. In her emails, Nadina had told me she had a lot of relatives. She returned and we headed out of Soroca into the countryside. The journey seemed to go on and on.

Now very concerned I started to look for signs and landmarks I could remember. All I could see was the road. Eventually they told me to turn up a track and we headed for an unlit one storey house. Sergiu opened the gates and wanted the car keys. I said to Nadina: "that's OK, I can drive it in there". But Nadina said: "there are hidden obstructions". I was deeply unconvinced and for a second looked to weigh up my options. But what choice did I have ? Reluctantly I handed over the car keys and got out of the car as requested. Sergiu drove the car into the space behind the gates. I walked over. What obstructions ? I couldn't see any. I waited. "We need to take your luggage" Nadina said. The gates were closed and locked. They took my cases across what looked like part of a field, not the track which we had driven up. It was pitch black and I stumbled over the rutted ground. "Is it all to end here ?" I thought. As I followed behind them I tried to visualise Nadina's face and remember her words. She had been so sweet, so attentive, so apparently kind throughout. Could such a nice girl really be so wicked ? It couldn't be true. But in the history of the world such things have happened many times. I certainly wasn't the first person to be taken in by such a sweet girl. In any case she was part of a family group and she was expected to play her part. They had been caught by surprise with my early arrival and hastily had to make alternative arrangements.

As I washed myself, I wondered again whether they were gypsies. It might be hard to tell as I had seen pictures of some Eastern European gypsies who didn't look so very unusual. I had found very little about Soroca on the internet. It did say however that the gypsies live in an unmarked, undefined region on the top of a hill. There was a brief article about a red haired girl called Anastasia who had fallen into the clutches of these gypsies. They sold her into prostitution in Russia. There predictably she had a truly terrible time before escaping back to Moldova.

I had another penfriend called Alina who had come from Soroca and was an au pair in Norway. She said her parents live in a new region and there is not yet an address. When I told Nadina this and that I had their phone number, she said she'd contact them. Surely only gypsies would contact gypsies ? I had posted Nadina a copy of "Playing The Moldovans At Tennis", (I comment on this book later) but I didn't tell her I'd sent it. She didn't receive it. With one exception (to be explained) where items were refused, all the many items I'd sent to Moldova proper (excluding Transnistria) had been delivered. So I'd tested out Nadina's credibility. She appeared to have  failed but my ego refused to believe it. Because of the doubts I'd had, I phoned her three times. I hadn't phoned anyone else in Moldova at that time. She had an American accent. She sounded very pleasant. I'd introduced her to my quiet son, William born a few days after her. I read her very nice helpful emails and believed I could trust her. I was now feeling very mixed up.

Mixed up ? When I first contacted Nadina, she had just suffered some terrible personal tragedies. Her cousin had been brutally murdered by the mafia in Moscow and there was no-one to look after the body. Her grandfather had died the day before. Another cousin had just died in the States.

Nadina sent me a picture. It showed the face of her cousin in the States with her face superimposed over his along with what looked like blood stains and a skull and crossbones.

It was possible that such terrible shocks in combination had split her personality. It was not that uncommon. She might be living two lives. Certainly few people who had suffered in such a way would just pick up their lives the week after as if nothing had happened. Or if they did, would they be normal ? I shuddered as I dried myself. I looked at the wooden doors. I reckoned I could break them open if I had to.

It had been in my mind to report my arrival in Soroca to the Moldovan police. I had read somewhere that this used to be a requirement in Moldova. Perhaps it still was if the Moldovan police wanted to be as officious and awkward as they could be. The problem was that I only knew a few words of Romanian. Later when other penfriends heard that I had driven to Soroca on my own they were astounded. "You didn't take a guide ?!" Now I saw my vulnerability and stupidity all too clearly. The Moldovans I had met always expected me to need a guide wherever I went. Even if it was just walking around a few local streets in Chisinau. In my wisdom I had got into a car and driven halfway across Moldova on my own to stay the night at an unknown address that no-one except a relative stranger knew about. Nadina had resisted giving me her aunt's address.

I had to ask three times. "Trust me" she'd said. I guessed that what she had finally given me was a false address. Her partial explanation for the book not being delivered was that the house she lived in was only partly built. Better and better I'd thought. Sergiu had offered to beat me Russian style with a branch on the wall before he left me standing naked in the bath. Perversely I had nearly accepted on the basis that if I was going on in for humiliation, I might as well go the whole way.

Looking at my situation it was obvious I had broken every rule in the book. Now I was going to pay the price. Even then I thought I ought to publicise my folly as an example to others. It would give them a laugh and they might be wiser travellers themselves. It was so sad as my tour of Moldova had got off to such a promising start.


Welcome To Moldova !     Chapter 2. (English)  

The aircraft levelled out as it had reached its cruising altitude. I was a day late travelling toMoldova having spent a day in Vienna following a baggage mix up. Many people might have regarded this as a bonus but I was furious. I had never visited Vienna before but I am the kind of person who knows what he wants. Would Liliana, Marisha and Irina "Blondira" be waiting at the airport ? Would the hire car still be available ?

I reflected on the previous day. In the coach from the airport I had met two Yanks. One, a high flying lawyer who pursued governments and didn't want his name disclosed or his picture taken. Ed F----, had introduced himself as an "ambulance chaser" to test my reaction.

In Moldova, I had to explain to people that these are the worst kind of lawyers who chase after victims in the US. In the most dramatic cases, the injured party might have an intravenous drip being attached to them when the lawyer offers his or her services to sue the offender who has caused this outrage. Ed went onto explain that he was a human rights lawyer pursuing governments and had to wait 6 or 7 years for his pay cheque.

The girl in the seat in front of the coach was an occupational therapist from Los Angeles.I had started speaking to her first. She was called Brie, a shortened form of her first name.She was running half of a full marathon in Vienna. Ed joined the conversation early on. I explained my situation. He said it would be difficult for me to find accommodation in Vienna at such short notice.

The Russian lady in the seat in front asked me to change seats as her child was fidgeting. I declined, explaining that I wanted to film out of the window with my camcorder. The man sitting next to her moved to the seat next to me. I asked him why he was flying to Chisinau. He explained that he had worked in Chisinau five years before pursuing corruption cases for the European Union. He was returning now to support gay (homosexual) rights in Moldova. He smiled: "we Dutch like to change the world". I smiled: "we British like to invade the world !"

The next day, when retelling the story Liliana asked: "what do we Moldovans do?" Awkwardly I said: "you infiltrate the world". She laughed and made some comment.Liliana had said of the Dutchman: "we don't want those sort of people in our country". I scanned the Dutchman's face wondering if I could have guessed he was gay.

Once we were out of the coach in Vienna we walked through picturesque streets to Brie's hotel. There the hotel manager phoned around looking for a room for me. I should add that was after he said there was a spare bed that could be moved into Brie's room. There had been a pregnant silence followed by Ed's voice: "It's not going to happen". Brie smiled and said: "if I knew you better…" So I ended up walking across the centre of Vienna with a map to find the 15th hotel that the manager had phoned.

The child smiled at me from the seat in front and I wondered whether it was a boy or a girl. The Dutchman didn't know either. I played silly games with it and when it had disappeared asked the Dutchman about the pursuit of corruption in Moldova.He told me that on the United Nations scale, Moldova was the fourth most corrupt country in the world. Nigeria was first. He went on to explain that various arbitary requirements went into assessing this. I asked him about his own experiences and he said that in his time they had pursued a Moldovan government minister who had stolen $68 million. The outcome of this investigation he would not expand on. Most Moldovans I spoke to were sceptical about this fourth worst rating and I was inclined to agree with them.

Ed had guided us to St Stephen's Kirch. Proudly he recommended that we go to the oldest coffee shop in Vienna just opposite the cathedral. There we could have the best of any kind of coffee available. Before we did I took some photos and camcorder footage of Ed & Brie. Ed saw me filming him in the coffee shop and became angry. He couldn't be seen on film with this young girl. He added that he might have to have me tracked down and killed. He had enemies in his business. Brie looked impressed. I was nonplussed. He left the table for a while and Brie said: "isn't he wonderful ?". I looked at her blankly. That was the third time she'd made such a statement. She added that Ed had been very helpful to me. I felt like saying that the price of this had been having him try and take the mickey out of me as part of his ego trip.

Ed returned and emphasised again that he was very sensitive about being filmed. He said that he had been secretly filmed at a night club with two strippers. He brightened up and said to me: "I don't know about you but I can deal with one pair of hands but not two coming at me from front and behind". Brie's eyes opened wide. The strippers had taken Ed's clothes off and this had been filmed. Brie asked him about the film and Ed said his girlfriend still had it.

Later when I examined my camcorder and camera, there was no film record of him or Brie on it or my later filming of the buildings in Vienna. I remember Ed handling them outside the cathedral saying he was a novice with such things…

Ed settled the bill for our coffees and cake, we said our goodbyes outside and went our separate ways. Remembering that I had seen Brie and Ed having long private conversations together, perhaps theirs was only a brief parting.

Finally, I reached my hotel. On the way, I passed some beautiful buildings and monuments. Later that evening after my dinner I wandered into an art exhibition held in a cleared out shop with white painted walls. People were out in the street and inside. I found one of the artists and her friend whose English was so good that she could explain the art clearly. It used paintings next to materials jutting from the walls. It was thought provoking and interesting. One picture looked like suitcases being dumped into a stagnant or polluted pond next to some whirling propellers or a kind of vortex. It looked very real.

There was no message or meaning or purpose behind this art I was told in response to my obvious questions. It was to make me look at things in different ways. I felt like a heretic. We chatted cheerfully for an hour and drank wine. I reflected on how open things are on the continent. I'd never seen such an event in the UK. It struck me that all continentals might have much more in common with each other than us reserved English. If I had seen such an event in England, I would have walked past not expecting to be welcome or anticipating that business would have been uppermost on the minds of those talking to me. These people gave me their time freely and gladly. I gave the artist a 10 Euro note and the response from her and her friend was great surprise. No-one had made a donation before. Partly, I expected that reaction.

The plane dipped on the final approach to Chisinau. I asked the Dutchman for his email address. His first name was Casper. Was this a "dodgy" name ? According to 1970s & 80's English thinking (if not before), some names were considered "dodgy". Quentin and Crispin for instance had definite homosexual overtones.People with these names might most likely be limp wristed artists of some talent – and "queer". This condemned any person with such a name to closer scrutiny. Casper was a dodgy name, I decided. Perhaps there was something in this thinking after all ?

The clouds refused to clear as I waited with camcorder poised. Then they did. I pushed the record button and zoomed in and out on small lakes and tall buildings. I was aware of a ban on electrical equipment while flying but hoped it didn't apply to my Sony Handycam.

We landed and headed by coach to the airport terminal. There while waiting for my visa to be issued, I phoned my wife Barbara and asked her to phone Marisha, Irina "Blondira" and Liliana. My mobile phone couldn't connect to phones in Moldova. Later on I bought another mobile phone in Chisinau. Irina and Liliana weren't able to make it to the airport.

I went through the customs checks. I opened my suitcases and was questioned by a blonde customs officer. I explained that I had 15 female penfriends in Moldova and the books, DVDs and videos were to help them with their English. As I fumbled around in my suitcase she said: "look at me in the eye". I did so and was most surprised to meet her very warm smile.

Marisha was waiting for me in a crowd of people carrying peoples' names. She was only the second Russian person I had ever knowingly met. Marisha had blue-green eyes identical in colour to my own, slightly close together just like mine. I couldn't remember seeing anyone with exactly my eye colour before.

She wore a slightly mischievous smile that I came to regard as her trademark. I soon learned that Marisha combined this with a calculator like mind. She lead me to the Hertz desk a few yards away. Since her email on the subject Marisha had arranged a cheaper deal for my car hire. After the formalities were completed we went to the hire car, a turquoise Suzuki Swift saloon. We drove out of the airport and immediately Marisha pointed out calmly that we were driving the wrong way up the multi laned carriageway. But I was on the right (correct) side of the road !

There had been no signs to indicate that I couldn't turn up this road. In fact the lack of signs and road markings was a feature of Moldova, I was to become familiar with. I reversed the car to the accompaniment of flashing lights and horns. "Let's hope the police don't see us", said Marisha as calmly as before. I headed onto the opposite carriageway and immediately into a petrol station where I filled up.

I soon discovered some of the many potholes that are a routine feature of roads in Moldova. There were no signs in Chisinau to indicate where we were. Marisha was the first of many guides to tell me to drive close to the centre of the road. There tended to be less potholes there and more importantly you avoided the chaotic driving behaviour of the "maxi taxis" or minibuses that transport most people around the capital. They drop people off on request and when you've been in them you find in practice the requests come with little notice. Despite appearing to be dangerous, the system is very efficient and cheap.

It was getting dark and I was having trouble working out where I should be driving as usually there was no visible white line down the centre of the road…


Welcome To Moldova !     Chapter 3. (English)  

We reached an unmarked crossroads with several cars blocking the way as they attempted to turn in front of us. I slowed down. Marisha said firmly: "you have priority". The cars cleared. I asked Marisha to put on her seat belt but she declined. Instead she sat poised, forward on her seat, watching alertly. We soon reached a similar junction with a similar situation. "You have priority" said Marisha again as I slowed down vainly looking for traffic lights or signs.

Marisha asked if we could pick someone up and rather like a maxi taxi we suddenly ended up lurching obliquely into the side of the road. It was Virginia. Virginia was Marisha's friend and associate who I had been introduced to on the unreal world of the internet. Now here she was smiling warmly as she got into the car. This was unexpected.

It was always amazing for both parties to meet for the first time in Moldova. None of my many female penfriends really expected me to come. Why would anyone want to visit Moldova ?A country described by a Canadian author in one of the few books on it as a "Lost Province". (Lost Province, Adventures In A Moldovan Family by Stephen Henighan). A colleague on one of my contracts had surprisingly met a Moldovan lady working in Brussels while on a holiday there. He told her that I was visiting Moldova as a tourist. She had scoffed: "no-one visits Moldova as a tourist".

Virginia had been introduced in internet world as a very highly qualified and business experienced lady who was currently out of work. She would take on the humble task of placing adverts in local papers advertising my free offering of books, CDs, DVDs or videos. In fact I had not been overwhelmed by the response but had picked up some penfriends. She had copied me in on the adverts placed in the papers. A mass of Romanian with an English block in the middle. Part of what I was offering were free copies of "Playing The Moldovans At Tennis" by Tony Hawks. Virginia had declined any email dialogue on what I was doing but had placed masses of adverts for the $50 sent. In fact one of these was copied by another paper and I gained Eugenia, a new and regular penfriend months later from Colibasi on the very southern tip of Moldova. Marisha had asked on Virginia's behalf whether she could have one of the copies of PTMAT sitting in Marisha's flat. Virginia read it and following another conversational email from me replied simply: "sense of humour ?". In fact Tony Hawks's book produced one of two responses: silence or great amusement. There was no dividing line between Russians and Romanians in this choice.

Virginia had wanted the book to show or discuss with her new bosses at a major Chisinau football Club. She had been appointed its Marketing Manager. The book covered the story of how Tony Hawks, professional comedian and excellent tennis player had taken on a bet to play and beat the entire national Moldovan football team at tennis. Virginia's club was one of the clubs Tony had visited. Some weeks after this I asked Marisha whether Virginia would accommodate me in her city centre flat as advertised and also provide breakfast. The answer came back that Virginia was too busy to provide breakfast. So I booked up Marisha's neighbour Tamara.

A discussion developed between Marisha and myself on what we were doing, where we were going. I was worried that Natalie and her family wouldn't be home to take my suitcase of books, DVDs and videos. I wanted all this sorted out as soon as possible before going to Marisha's place. For the next day I should hopefully be off early to Transnistria. Also it was getting dark and I was on the edge of this strange unknown city with no signs and seemingly abnormal traffic system.

Unexpectedly Virginia got out the car. At the time it struck me sadly that she might have thought she'd been snubbed for not answering my emails. In fact, Marisha had decided we couldn't reconcile so many requirements at once. I didn't see Virginia again.

We headed into the deepening gloom, more potholes and more advice to drive close to the centre line. I strained my eyes to judge the width of the road. Starting out from a right hand lane, I found that I faced the block in front as the road ahead was narrower. This was another unusual but regular feature of Chisinau's road system. If this lane was for right turns, well as usual there were no markings or they were too faint to be visible in the dark. I waited for the maxi taxis to pass. There was the usual regular hooting. Sometimes this seemed more like an established social custom than a necessary warning or rebuke.


Welcome To Moldova !     Chapter 4. (English) 

We arrived outside what I hoped was Natalie's apartment block. We stepped into the dark corridor. There was no smell or graffiti or rubbish. "Well this is Chisinau, not an English inner city block of flats " I reflected ironically as we got into the lift. It clunked into life and clunked to a halt as someone else got in a few doors up. Then it clunked and jolted vigorously when it reached the eleventh floor. We got out. I was confused looking for the right door. It all looked so plain, drab and anonymous. Marisha rang the bell while I was looking around. It was quickly opened by a blonde girl who said "hello", smiled shyly and backed away. This had to be Natalie. I tried to match this girl with the two similar photographs she had emailed me. We went in. We were introduced. Marisha's face broke into a very warm but seemingly familiar wicked smile. I felt a strangely strong pleasant feeling amongst all parties. The effect was like an adrenaline kick. Again a little voice inside said: "Eddie, what have you let yourself in for ?" Mr Donets apologised for the "reparations" in a seemingly long description. It was probably very short. I was introduced to his wife. The dog barked fiercely. This was the Rottweiler kept locked away in another room. But wasn't it supposed to be just a puppy ? That was the picture Natalie had sent me.

Our penfriendship had got off to a very bad start. I had unwisely emailed Natalie with information about the Dangerous Dogs Act and the newspaper coverage that had resulted in it. Natalie was just 15 and soon to become my most regular penfriend. I frequently remembered the moment I'd first seen her entry on a purple coloured language site. "15 ? for God's sake, where are you going to draw the line ?". However I had read that a large part of the middle aged population was out of the country working, mainly in Italy and Russia. They'd left behind children who had to look after themselves.

They would appreciate some kindly moral support and a book or a magazine. Somebody cared. Two of my first penfriends fell into this category. But it was a distorted picture as the problem was not as widespread as I had supposed. Yes, it happened, but not most of the time.

Natalie would be 16 on Sunday. My agreement to attend her birthday party along with her information that the school term ended at the end of May had made me chose that time. I wanted to visit some schools. Hers was to be one of them. Also as a contract accountant I needed to pick the end of a month for my holiday. It should be a quiet time if I was involved in a typical assignment.

During the following conversation it was agreed that I would stay the night in the Donets' flat rather than go to Marisha's place. I was lead into a long room by Natalie. That is where I would sleep. Like the rest of the flat it appeared to be furnished in a simple 1950s or 60s style. But it had a comfortable easily liveable feel about it. I was concerned to contact Liliana to confirm that she would arrive the following day so we could go to Transnistria. How would I get to her ? Mr Donets assured me that they had a very efficient transport system. "Don't worry, Liliana will come tomorrow". The arrangements were made by phone. Liliana would be there at 10am. I was very relieved. Marisha had a busy schedule and had to leave. We said our quick goodbyes.
We sat down to eat. Mr Donets had a large downturned Mexican style moustache. He looked as if he might have been able to secure a bit part in a spaghetti western but his accent may not have fitted. His wife was a quiet, relaxed and very pleasant lady. As Russian people they did not fit the western stereotype. The acting in those Cold War films now seemed as credible as a spaghetti western. [A fictional film story from the days of America's Wild West, produced on a low budget by an Italian film studio and usually filmed in Spain. Some have become popular film classics].

So Mr Donets should have had his bit part. In fact in the real world, Mr Donets had been a doctor which perhaps explained his reassuring manner. He was now a sports journalist. It didn't seem appropriate to enquire about this.

They were just a very ordinary family. There had been some concern amongst my family that I would meet so many Russians. Thinking about that increased my enjoyment of the meal and the accompanying conversation. The first thing I had been introduced to was pelmeni. 


Welcome To Moldova !     Chapter 5 (English) 

Then I was given Borsch. There were a variety of things to eat and all the food was delicious. As I was to discover in Moldova, the produce is grown organically in fertile soil and expertly cooked. By comparison English supermarket food often seems synthetic and tasteless. It is an absolute requirement for the woman in the Moldovan household to cook well. She will buy fresh produce in the market from the "peasants". Peasants just means farming families. Western connotations of the word "peasant" have no relevance here. The town and the countryside are but different parts of one seamless whole.

Moldovans in Chisinau happily decamp to the countryside to swim and pick fruit in the summer. The difference is the standard of living. Town and city dwellers usually live better lives. Natalie's grandfather had a dacha near the river Nistru at Vadul Lui Voda. They often went there on weekends.

I was served some deliciously sweet white Moldovan wine which was identical in taste and  appearance to the Spanish Moscatel wine from Valencia we used to buy. Natalie's grandfather had been wounded in the eye in the war. This had resulted in years of pain and many operations. Despite that he had become "The First Doctor" of Moldova and was mentioned in official historical records. He was obviously an inspiration to Natalie who had some health problems and carried on stoically.

We finished the meal with coffee and sweet snacks. Conversation was easy as Mr Donets and Natalie spoke good English. He explained that I would be wise to move the car to a proper secure parking compound. This was my first introduction to what was a regular feature for Moldovan car owners.
It was unwise to leave your car on a public street. Mr Donets' faced creased into his familiar genial smile as he pointed out that otherwise the car might not be there in the morning or its wheels may have been removed. So he guided me to a car compound but it was full. So we went to another one.

We drove up a short heavily rutted muddy track and stopped outside a large sentry hut and a man came out. A brief conversation followed seemingly in Russian. I handed over some lei worth a few pence. We drove the car over heavily rutted ground relying mainly on the headlights to see where we were going.. As the car slewed about vigorously I wondered what the compound would be like following heavy rainfall. We found a space next to a rope on which the number 65 hung. Mr Donets advised me to memorise the number. How safe was the car there ? I enquired but then noticing more expensive cars, pointed them out in answer to my own question.

Mr Donets characteristically shrugged his shoulders and made a comment reflecting the uncertainty of the situation. I thought of Vienna where I had noticed how old the cars and motorbikes were relative to those in the UK. How prosperous England had become. How fortunes can change ! As I trod slowly and carefully passed some prestige vehicles I reflected on the strange nature of wealth and peoples' living standards that economists try to assess with their arbitrary measures.

We crossed the road onto a dark pavement and walked by the regularly spaced trees and the occasional small huddle of people. It was not far to the Donets apartment.

Mr Donets showed me the bathroom facilities. The dog sometimes barked loudly when I passed the frosted glass door of the room in which it was kept. I went to my room where Natalie joined me. Her parents called her "Natasha". She sat upright like a 1960s English Public School girl. (Confusingly perhaps, a Public School is an elitist fee paying private school for teenagers which uses rigorous selection testing).

I showed Natalie the contents of my suitcase, books and DVDs which I was happy to leave for her use for a few days and a few things I wanted her to keep. But she just wanted to talk. Natalie paused thoughtfully between questions. Her head would dip, partly hiding her eyes behind her long blonde hair. All the time she tried hard to suppress a smile. Like some other Moldovan girls I would meet, her chest would heave as she took a deep breath while straightening up to recover a dignified pose. I hadn't seen this for a long time. It was my turn to try not to smile.

I remembered I had to make a call. I was expecting a pass to bypass the requirement for foreigners to report to a police station within three days of their arrival. I would have been happy to make that visit but for the fact that I didn't know where I would be staying every night. Also by then I simply didn't have the time. The system is mainly geared for foreign visitors staying with friends in one place or at a hotel for their visit. I was not entirely unsympathetic. There are some nasty foreign criminals who prey on young women and children. Like everything in Moldova, the police service is under resourced. However the hotels charge exorbitant prices which are not advertised. Until the late nineties the Romanian authorities required hotels in Romania to charge foreigners six times the rate for Romanians. When Romania applied to join the EU, one of the first requirements placed on them was to scrap that policy. No doubt the hotels had also been heavily taxed. The Moldovan taxation system is influenced by the latest crazy methodology which President Putin's Government used to replace a more workable system. This rigged system backfired as a number of hotels closed in Chisinau while the business in private flat rentals took off. I asked to use the phone and spoke to my penfriend who at the time was a receptionist at a hotel in Chisinau. She turned up later with a pass from the hotel. It recorded my name and the fact that I was staying for 12 days at that hotel. I handed over 15 euros and was mightily relieved. She had to rush off and sadly I wasn't able to see her again.

Natalie and I discussed things happily until just after 11pm when she had to leave to go to bed. I looked around the room when she was gone. Like the other apartments as I was to visit, along with the 1950s style sofa which adapted as a bed, there was a smart glass fronted bookcase. In it was a large paperback book which Natalie had asked me for. She had read it very quickly. I reflected on the expectations I had of Moldova before leaving England. I had expected to see some terribly drab and sad places. I hadn't expected the lifts to work. The reality was much better than anticipated.

I awoke early on my sofa bed, set about organising my things, and gazed out the window at the other apartment blocks in the Riscani district. I took some photos and my first camcorder film footage since leaving the airport. I had breakfast in the kitchen and anticipated Liliana's arrival. I walked into the hall and there she was.

Liliana looked very foreign and different from the two photos she had emailed me. Her gaze settled on a point low on the opposite wall. She looked slightly worried. Liliana was one of just three girls who would get into the hire car alone with me, a foreigner and a stranger known to her through the world of the internet. Like Marisha, Liliana had met English people before. This may have reassured her in my case. Additionally, as well as the emails I had sent, she like Marisha and Natalie had received webcam footage of me reading Playing The Moldovans At Tennis. There was another thing. We had nearly bought a place together in Moldova. To show my sincerity I had sent Liliana a recording of myself on a webcam CD proposing this.

She and her mother were to be the tenants for $1 a year. Liliana obtained permission to use the College's digital camera. She went around taking photos of various plots of land and houses. Huge unreduced pictures came through over two days while I was sitting at home between contracts.

There was a frantic email exchange.

The problem was that I had very limited capital I could commit. One of the pictures contained a strip of land on a slope with a long windowless workman's hut or toolshed. We had agreed that we might try to build on land so I suggested this site. Indignantly Liliana replied that she was not prepared to live in this hut. It was not even safe. I immediately replied with equal annoyance. This was a low point. One of those incidents that looking back makes you laugh and nearly cry. In the end I realised I couldn't afford what Liliana and her mother needed. That was April and after this mad scramble I thought it best to calm things down a bit.

Liliana spoke. Her accent neither English nor American sounded unusual. I felt another strange sense of excitement. This was good. Later I was to meet Ana a very bright and eloquent Moldovan girl who could even have passed herself off as an ex English Public School girl. Ana did everything perfectly and with a warm mischievous smile seemed to suggest: "look I'm the best, do you need the rest ?". She said as much in a tongue in cheek sort of way.

Mr Donets offered to guide us out of Chisinau in the direction of Transnistria. The behaviour of other car drivers was crazy at times. It reminded me of banger races I'd seen as a teenager. [Banger races – old cars with windows removed and internal steel cages added racing around a dirt circuit]. He said the Americans refused to drive in Chisinau. That made me feel much better as I consider that British people usually have more natural courage. Mr Donets added: "you are the brave Englishman in search of adventure". I wondered whether there was some ambiguity in this statement. Was I to end up as the Moldovan equivalent of the missionary in the cannibals' cooking pot ?

We pulled in at a bank and I was directed passed a large queue straight into a large cubicle where I changed some of my dollars into Moldovan lei. I commented on this and Liliana grinned broadly. "You have special treatment", she said mischievously. When she smiled enthusiastically she looked like a completely different person. I wondered whether Moldovan women lost the ability to smile broadly as they became careworn with years of worrying. We drove off.

Mr Donets' words intruded into my thoughts: "We have to turn left here" followed by: "the traffic turns from two places". There was some dialogue between us as I edged towards an unmarked spot on the unmarked pitted road judging that I was just to the right of the centre of the road. In the mirror I could see that cars had stopped about 15 yards behind me, well back from a normal turning position. This was unreal. There was only one lane to turn into. Mr Donets thought it was normal. At the right moment cars from the back turned very quickly into this road. "Turn" shouted Mr Donets. "I can't, I'll crash into them". "Turn" he shouted again and again as I shouted back at him. He was obviously enjoying himself. For a second I thought of the famous Russian tank riders in the Second World War who had taken massive casualties. Well, courage should be contained within the bounds of sense I thought.

Mr Donets guided us onto the main route towards the airport and Transnistria and said goodbye.