Post arrest/bribe it was time to put our stay in Moldova to an end.

We visited the sushi restaurant below our apartment, eating a few bites under the soft TV glow of Russian music videos (read: dancing strippers in prison settings). We packed up a few things but having our Russian palates wetted we set out to experience the culture first hand. The Russian part that is, not the prison stripper aspect.

Transnistria is a small break away republic of Moldova. It separated from Moldova in the early 90s and aligned itself with Russia. Apparently missing the fall of the Soviet empire, Transnistria is holding onto the glory days and Russia is happy to keep them believing that the CCCP is alive and well. Located squarely between Ukraine and Moldova, Russia still hosts military forces there and considering the then-nascent now un-nascent conflict between Russia and the Ukraine we were a little...

The line goes through my brain with absolute clarity:
“Joey, have you ever been to a Turkish prison?”

The line is from “Airplane!” and if a Turkish prison is meant to imply some sort of deviant sexual conduct of prisoners in remote parts of the world I can only imagine what Moldovan prisons have in store.

The morning after returning to Chisinau I wake up to return the rental. It’s about 9am, Javier is still asleep. Why shouldn’t he be, he only slept for 6 hours in the car the day before and another 11 since we’ve been back at the apartment.

A little sleepy myself I head downstairs to Andy’s Pizza for an Americano and a little morning placinta. This is our first morning back in Moldova so I need to stock up on lei; I draw out 1000 (about $70) at an ATM. Once my coffee and breakfast are downed I grab the car from the apartment parking lot and begin to proceed to the rental location.

I...

The road to Bucharest is magnificent: well paved and built like an interstate. We make great time towards the city, but we aren’t exactly sure what we are hurtling towards. The AirBnB reservation is not confirmed yet, Javier’s friend from his grad school days may or may not join us for dinner, and we have no idea what to do otherwise.

During the little planning we did back in California we saw that there are shooting ranges in Bucharest that let you shoot all sorts of weird weapons that are illegal in the US. I’ve shot AK-47s before, but not Uzi’s and the shooting ranges even advertise some guns that I don’t even recognize. Unfortunately we learn that night that they book up weeks in advance and are designed for large groups so we won’t be able to shoot exotic weapons while intoxicated.

About a mile outside of the city we come to a standstill on the highway. I assume there’s been an...

Hitting the road again. Though I think there is a mountain pass south through Transylvania from Bran the GPS tells us to head north then over the Carpathians and then south towards Targoviste and Bucharest. Given our luck with roads we elect to follow the GPS instructions.

It takes us along the base of snow capped ski resorts, and up mountain roads that are a series of switchbacks straining the four cylinders of our trusty Corolla. Once we hit the peak of the ridgeline it’s a two hour descent into Targoviste. The road is nonstop Roma (gypsy) villages along a river. Horses pull carts with gypsies piled into the back; Javier and I succeed in conversing with one another for the drive using nothing but quotes from “Borat.” There are only about five lines of dialogue that we remember about gypsies from the movie so it’s really just a repetition of the same lines every five minutes or so...

A few moments of levity at this point in our tale:

A French woman, an Austrian woman, and a Moldovan woman are sitting in a sauna together.

The French woman has bruises all along her thighs. The other two ask her where they came from. She says, “They are from my husband, last night he took me to dinner but he couldn’t even get past the second course before he had to have me. We went into the restaurant’s bathroom and he had rough sex with me right on on the counter.”

The Austrian woman has bruises around her wrists, and the other women ask her about them. She says, “They are from my husband, last night he tied me to the bed and made love to me for hours.”

The Moldovan woman had a small bruise on her upper arm, and the other women asked where it came from. She says, “Every night when we go to bed my husbands pokes me on the arm and says ‘I’ll fuck you tomorrow.’”

A Ukrainian man...

The next morning we hit the road early, and it’s time for my chosen part of the trip: Romania. We get some coffee at a place below our AirBnB called “Andy’s Pizza.” It’s a popular chain that we see all over Chisinau. We get some fruit and pastries as road snacks at the adjacent super market and off we go.

The previous day’s drive to Odessa prompted us to refer to driving on the roads as the “Moldovan Massage” due to all the bumps and vibrating. Really should have considered renting an SUV rather than a compact.

The first thing we notice on this day is how much better the road towards Romania is. There has to be some implicit indication with that. It’s only a short drive to the border, but the border crossing gets complicated again. The Romanian guard asks for our Green Card. I’m miffed again, I thought Moldova’s membership to the European Commission would get us some administrative...

Renting a car in Moldova is surprisingly easy. We pick up a little Corolla, and everything we expect at an American rental place is provided for at the rental shop: extra insurance, permits, liability contracts (very poorly drafted by the company – as in it is very favorable to foreign renters, yay!), and a GPS. We’re told the GPS only works in Moldova but we print off some extra maps and off we go.

The road to Odessa is worse than the road to the winery. It’s only 120 miles but it takes us four hours. Pot hole after pot hole and slow moving trucks without enough room to pass. It doesn’t help that we stop every so often to snap photos of the view and the occasional ornate church. This country is poor, but devoutly Eastern Orthodox and the churches are well taken care of.

We arrive at the Moldovan side of the border and I tell Javier to snap a few photos. He wants to keep it procedural...

With a hangover the size of Crimea I rustle Javier out of bed and we get ready for the winery.

The drive out there is through beautiful countryside, but the roads are rough. Apparently we are on a major highway, but as our friends tell us it was destroyed during WW2. The repairs are due any decade now. Thankfully we are in an SUV - a fact that will be much appreciated later in the week.

About 40 minutes north of the city is Chateau Vartely, a gorgeous French-style winery with a large lodge with a restaurant and tasting room. Little cottages line the hills next to the lodge and on the whole the ambience is more inviting than places I’ve seen in Napa/Sonoma.

We still haven’t eaten so we opt for a meal with a tasting. Our friends choose a few traditional Moldovan dishes for us to sample, but the waiter won’t let us do the tasting simultaneously.

The waiter looks like Moby’s younger...

Jet lagged.

The flight legs were broken down into layovers in Chicago and Vienna.

One great benefit to flying with Javier is his membership to frequent flyer lounges that let him bring in a guest. Chicago had a small lounge with complimentary light snacks and alcohol. To help me sleep on the next leg I had two glasses of wine; Javier had two glasses of scotch. I’m not talking about two normal serving size portions, I’m talking two 8 oz. glasses full of scotch.

Javier got us upgraded to an exit row allowing us to fully stretch our legs. Despite the extra leg room the flight was rough; it’s always hard(er) to travel east it seems. We were both initially perplexed at the seeming shortfall of Austrian Airlines in seating design. With the extra legroom, the dining tray that unfolded from the seat in front of us was a good foot and a half away from us when meal-time came around. We had to...