Moldova

Given what little we knew about Moldova's past and present, it is fair to say that we approached our visit with some trepidation. In the early 1900’s, Russian-led pogroms targeted Jewish communities throughout Bessarabia (the Moldovan territory west of the Dniestr River), prompting Jewish families to flee to Europe or to the Americas. Lesley’s Zaida was from Bessarabia, and left for Canada when he was a young teenager. Little is known about his childhood. All we know is of a village or shtetl called Sucaron and that he took a ship from Hamburg, perhaps with a cousin, perhaps with some of his brothers and sisters, sometime in the early 1920’s. His parents died when he was young—his mother of influenza in Bessarabia, and his father in Brazil where he was exploring moving the family given the Anti-Semitic climate at home. Zaida never spoke of Bessarabia; Lesley’s Bubby and father could not believe why she would want to visit.

Current Moldovan events continue to be grim---after years of occupation by Russia (and Romania before) and an ugly civil war in1991 after the breakup of the Moldovan S.S.R., the news typically focuses on the drug and arms trade and human trafficking of young women. In looking up the train schedules to Moldova on a travel website, we came across a bleak statistic in a blog entry about the high percentage of young women missing from rural villages. We also read that the mafia presence looms large, as seen by the large new BMW’s and Mercedes cruising around Chisinau. An old guidebook warned you to carry your passport at all times, as not having it on you could warrant a steep fine from the police (though there is technically no law prohibiting this).

It should also be noted that though there is little tourism in Moldova, the few pages in our guidebook spoke of lively people and bucolic fields of sunflowers and wine grapes.

This is the context in which we boarded a train from Kiev to Moldova’s capital city, Chisinau. We both believed that as part of the purpose of this journey, Moldova was an essential place to visit. As you will learn, our time there proved to be very special—we experienced the beauty of a fertile countryside, the most delicious apples we’ve had outside of Washington, and warm, welcoming people who made our visit truly memorable.

Three Moldovan muses: Larisa
At 8:30am Wednesday morning we boarded a15-hour train to Chisinau. The train had traveled from Moscow throughout the night before, and our car was bustling with these passengers waking up and new passengers settling in. The train car was massive, with couchettes to accommodate four sleeping passengers in two double bunks, and two more passengers in one double bunk across the aisle. During the day the upper bunks were folded away and the lower bunks were used as seats. Across from us was a petite, middle-aged red-headed woman who was busily tucking in above and below the seats far more bags than she could carry. We soon learned from watching her that one purchased sheets and towels for the journey from the car steward. We made our bed and tucked ourselves in for a nap to begin the long ride.

We were shortly after woken up by a smiling young man touching Joe’s beard (!). If this were to happen on a train in the States, you might freak out. In this case there was an obvious harmlessness to this situation, and even though we could not communicate with language, it was clear that it was a friendly gesture, if a bit bizarre. Our seatmate soon explained that the young man was very happy (and a bit drunk) because he was returning home to Moldova after working in Moscow, and that his beard-stroking was typical Moldovani. By explained, we mean that through hand gestures and a mix of German, Moldovan and Russian, we learned Valentin’s story. And this is how we met our first muse, Larisa.

The rest of our train ride was spent getting to know each other through stories, photos and food, lots of picture drawing, and some back and forth with our little phrasebook. We soon learned that Moldovan and Romanian are very similar languages (according to some Moldovans, they are the same language; to others, the distinction is important for their national identity). Vasil (another man on leave from working in Moscow and returning to his family) and Larisa helped us put together a little dictionary of key Moldovan words and phrases, from dedushka (grandfather) to svadba (wedding). As we went through the phrases, we were reminded that Romanian is a Roman language, and therefore, similar to Italian. Suddenly we knew some Molodvan, like buna siera (good evening) and come ti chiame (what is your name?). Woo hoo! We knew there was a reason we learned Italian (besides Italy and all its bounty, of course). We also learned that Larisa and her beloved Deema (who she spoke of throughout the trip, giddily, excited to see him) had been together the same amount of time as we have (16 years). Larisa’s many bags were full of family treasures that she generously shared: carvings off a 3-foot long piece of smoked sturgeon, homemade strawberry compote, preserved lemon jellies.

Heading south, we passed through many small stations (here’s one in the Ukraine).

Shortly before crossing into Moldova.

In between getting to know each other, we relaxed with crosswords and writing.

Who doesn’t get a kick out of seeing the front of a train round the bend?

At the Ukraine-Moldova border. Crossing into Moldova in the late afternoon quiet, Lesley was struck by the emotion of the moment, of returning to the country of her grandfather. Without warning, tears well up at times like these--the sense of place is unexpected and beautiful.









Our first Moldovan video (note Joe’s comprehension of Russian and Moldovan).


Pulling away from the border, through Moldovan countryside. The radio that you hear was playing for the entire journey. It was surprisingly quite nice, providing an appropriate soundtrack.

Throughout the train journey, people roam the aisles selling beer, phone cards, battery-operated toys, Christian amulets, and magazines. The woman selling the latter dumps a stack on your table, gives you a few minutes to peruse, you take what you want from the pile or leave them be, then she comes back and takes them away to dump them on the table next to you. In the late afternoon/early evening, bubushkas sell local grapes, grape juice, and apples from their villages, and plates of food at dinnertime. At one stop, Larissa jumped up and ran excitedly off the train, returning with a bag of small crayfish (raki). We had learned this word earlier in the day during one of our many food discussions. The raki had been boiled in a light herb broth and were salty and sweet. We also enjoyed the local grapes—wine grapes with thick skins and seeds that you sucked the juice from. Washed down with pivo (beer), delicious.












When we got to Chisinau at 11:30pm, we were full and happy. Larissa’s kindness continued as she and her husband (a taxi driver) gave us a ride to the apartment that we rented nearby. It was only a 5 minute walk from the station but arriving at night to an unfamiliar city with swarms of taxi drivers and a dark, concrete apartment building with no clear entrance…it was a blessing. We hugged and kissed and she left us with her number should we need anything.

Thinking back, it’s kind of amazing we chatted for hours without sharing a common language other then food, family, beer, travel, love, cats, and friendship. We fell asleep grinning.

Kiev

After a week in Vilnius, we headed south to Moldova. Without visas to enter Belarus or Russia, there was no direct way except 2 days on a train. So, we decided to fly to Kiev then take the train into Moldova's capital city, Chisinau (pronounced Kishinow). Whereas Vilnius reminded us of Zafarelli's Romeo and Juliet, the airport in Kiev conjured up Russian mafia a la Eastern Promises. Broad-shouldered men in long black leather jackets, slicked back hair, shades, strict customs officials, women in 3 inch patent leather stilettos, aggressive "taxi drivers" at the airport. Maybe it's because we woke up at 5am in Vilnius to catch the flight, but our arrival in the Ukraine was a bit startling. Then, when we got to the Kiev train station, it turned out that our train did not leave until the next morning. So, we ended up spending a day in Kiev--which proved to be an extraordinary metropolis and reminded us of the beauty of making up this trip as we go along. Kiev was memorable.

After leaving all but the bare necessities at the train station, we headed into Kiev to find a hotel and explore. It was here we had our first encounter with the Cyrillic alphabet. It's fairly straightforward once you get the hang of it---a B is a V, a P is an R, and a lower-cased b with a little tail on it is pronounced "tvyor-dizank", and so on.

Soon we were strolling up majestic boulevards in the heart of Kiev. We were immediately astounded by the scale.









The Hotel St. Petersberg, as the sign clearly reads.









Do not judge a book by its cover.


















Our first Ukranian meal. These cafeterias are a popular, cheap way to get hot, good food. This place was filled with businessmen and women taking their lunch break. We probably over ordered, but since we were only in Kiev for a day....Lesley had to try the chicken kiev because she is sentimental (this version was made with a potato pancake-like breading), mushrooms and bulgar (also traditional), and a Greek salad (which are all over Europe). Joe had a bowl of 'cilantra' soup (a beef broth with tomato, cabbage, and smoked sausage, a Russian soup that we found throughout the former Soviet Europe), a seaweed and fake crabmeat salad (left untouched, he didn't know what it was when he pointed at it), a plate of stewed cabbage and pork (didn't know there was pork in it), and a chicken cutlet covered with an egg batter and served with potatoes and gravy. While all of these dishes were traditional, an order this large was not. While we ate, we observed others' trays to try and learn the customs. Everyone enjoyed fairly balanced meals--always soup, then maybe a piece of meat or fish, a grain, veg, dessert, perhaps a pivo (beer).












In this part of the city, the buildings are old and massive. We want to read more about Kiev, we had no idea.












Kiev's famous independence square, Maidan Nezalezhnosti, where over 500,000 people gathered just hours after the November 21, 2004 fraudulent election.









November 22, 2004









At 2pm on a Tuesday afternoon, the square was full of people of all ages, walking through and hanging out. Many were drinking beer like you see people drink water bottles or cokes in the states, men walking home from work with a beer, two girls sipping a brew and chatting on a bench. The glass domes in the photo below are skylights for a large underground shopping mall. This efficient use of underground space was also seen in the pedestrian underpasses (underground crosswalks) of the large boulevards, with small shops selling flowers, coffees, underwear, you name it.









Video of Kiev's metro, taken at 3pm on a Tuesday afternoon. It was built in 1960 and has that era look and feel. It costs 10 cents to ride (our very large lunch cost $15 for the two of us). The escalators to the subway tunnels are really deep beneath the streets, reached by long escalator rides. We later found out that one of the stations we visited, Arsenalna, is the deepest metro station in the world at 102 meters.


We had read in the guidebook about a massive metal statue of a Soviet woman looming over the city. To get there, we walked along the Dnieper River east of the main square, then climbed through a forested park. The statue was surrounded by a giant memorial site and Museum of the Great Patriotic War (WWII). We continue to be overwhelmed by the massive scale of seemingly everything in Kiev.









Video: These large bronze scenes line both walls of the concrete entrance corridor shown in the above photo.


Video: In the large piazza in front of the museum.

Serious.












The memorial grounds. the large satellite-looking dish in the distance is a torch! Imagine.









The entire area was so thought out and well organized, and the scale and quality of the sculpture so impressive. It felt simultaneously like a memorial, patriotism, and propaganda. The overall effect was quite powerful.









In the piazza in front of the museum.









Back in the city, in the piazza in front of St Sophia Cathedral.









The cathedral, dating back to the 10th century.









The bell tower.












Entrance to the funicular station (our second of the trip, yay).









Outside the funicular station.









Back in the main square.


















Enjoyed a second large cafeteria meal for dinner then off to bed. One day is too little to spend in Kiev, all the same it was one terrific day and we are eager to learn more.

Catching an 8am train to Moldova...

Art and Artifacts around Vilnius

Nice bronze figure on a really tall pedestal. Great shadow.












Cool stencils like this were everywhere.










This looks like a laser cut drop used as a stencil, left as a sculpture.










Bronze









Bronze work above the theater.










Tiled concrete relief









Big bronze on main boulevard












beautiful iron work

History

The Jewish history in Lithuania dates back to the mid 14^th century, when Jewish communities migrated there after the Grand Duke Gediminas invited foreign artisans and merchants to come to Lithuania. At that time, Jews were famous for being fine tradesman and artisans, and were leaving Western Europe due to plague and the persecution that resulted from being falsely accused for the plague’s beginning. This migration is the reason that what is now Poland and Lithuania had some of the largest Jewish communities in Europe from the 1300’s until WWII. In Vilnius, the Jewish community totaled 100,000 at its largest, over a third of the population. In the 19th and early 20th centuries, Vilnius was known as the “Jerusalem of the North”, experiencing a cultural flourishing with over 100 synagogues, secular and Jewish study centers (yeshivas), arts, theater, and was known as a world center for Yiddish learning.

What happened next is complicated and very sad. During the Holocaust, 90-95% of Lithuania’s Jewish community was lost. Most were not sent to concentration camps but were killed in Lithuania, in or outside their villages. A dark spot in Lithuanian history is that like elsewhere, the Nazi's use of psychological warfare and physical force resulted in most of the murders being carried out by Lithuanians. There is a subtle but palpable shame about this part of Lithuania's history, and some anger and Anti-Semitism still lingers as well. You can sense the country is moving forward, our visit to Vilnius, this history aside, was filled with food and beauty.

We learned about much of the Jewish history of Lithuania at the Jewish State Museum’s Center for Tolerance. In addition to their detailed exhibition on Jewish Life in Lithuania, they have many beautiful artifacts and artwork on display.

A photo of the old Great Synagogue of Vilnius

An old photograph of one of the main streets in the Jewish neighborhood in Vilnius.

This neighborhood today.









The remaining synagogue in central Vilnius.












10km outside of Vilnius is the small town of Panerai. In the forest outside of town is where over 70,000 Jews were murdered during the Nazi occupation of Lithuania. There are monuments spread throughout the otherwise beautiful forest. The scale is haunting.

A video of the Panerai forest memorial.



One of over a dozen memorials placed by individuals and organizations over the past 60 years.









Today, Panerai is a small train station, a market, and a cluster of modest homes.

We also visited the Museum for Genocide Victims, which chronicles the occupation of Lithuania by the Soviets from 1940-41 and 1944-1990 and by the Germans during WWII. The small museum is located in the old KGB headquarters and jail—from the outside, a neoclassical stone structure taking up an entire city block in the center of town. Lining the walls of the exterior are bricks with names of Lithuanians that lost their lives in that building, it was like a huge gravestone. Inside, hundreds of artifacts from the time period are displayed and described in dozens of small chambers that were originally used for KGB offices, interrogation rooms, etc. The number of artifacts made an impression on us, ranging from small pieces of cloth embroidered with slogans of freedom and perseverance, sent to family members in Siberian labor camps, to hundreds of photographs of partisan fighters, young men and women who literally lived in bunkers in the forests of Lithuania and fought a guerrilla war with the Red Army for 10 years following WWII. It was a war of resistance and half lost their lives. Today, anti-Soviet sentiment still exists, as the country recently passed a law banning the use of Soviet symbols.

A farmer turned newspaper editor and military chief for the partisans. Here you can see the day-to-day existence of the partisan resistance in this photograph.









Young partisan women in their leisure time, 1950’s.