In Iaşi we hired a private car to take us to Chişinău (Kish-i-now, or—a la Russe—Kish-i-nev), Moldova. If you want to know the moral implications of this, write me.
Chişinău is lovely. It’s terribly run-down, but still has beautiful allees lined with trees, and good restaurants, and designer shops. We had an elongated breakfast (eggs, salad, kasha, lots of coffee) at a great restaurant and thoroughly fortified, wandered through the market to the bus station. We found a bus to Tiraspol (remember, that was our goal?), and took it. We were hassled at the border, but not terribly, and got through on 10-hour visas. Emma struck up a conversation with an International Chess Champion, on his way to Tiraspol to coach his Apprentice in a match. Our hold-up at the border had made them too late to compete, so they took us sight-seeing with them instead.
Here intrudes a comical episode, which the champions would probably resent me telling. In his extreme helpfulness, the International Chess Champion, Alexi, removed a bag from the bus that he believed belonged to us. It was a common sports-duffel bag, and Emma and I assumed it was his bag. Thus, he carried it for a good half hour before commenting on its odd clinking noise, and wondering aloud what it contained. We both said we had no idea, and it came out that he’d stolen the bag, intending to be helpful.
Chişinău is lovely. It’s terribly run-down, but still has beautiful allees lined with trees, and good restaurants, and designer shops. We had an elongated breakfast (eggs, salad, kasha, lots of coffee) at a great restaurant and thoroughly fortified, wandered through the market to the bus station. We found a bus to Tiraspol (remember, that was our goal?), and took it. We were hassled at the border, but not terribly, and got through on 10-hour visas. Emma struck up a conversation with an International Chess Champion, on his way to Tiraspol to coach his Apprentice in a match. Our hold-up at the border had made them too late to compete, so they took us sight-seeing with them instead.
Here intrudes a comical episode, which the champions would probably resent me telling. In his extreme helpfulness, the International Chess Champion, Alexi, removed a bag from the bus that he believed belonged to us. It was a common sports-duffel bag, and Emma and I assumed it was his bag. Thus, he carried it for a good half hour before commenting on its odd clinking noise, and wondering aloud what it contained. We both said we had no idea, and it came out that he’d stolen the bag, intending to be helpful.
We searched the bag for identifying marks. There were no papers and no name tag. The bag was filled with empty jars. Thus, the problem how to dispose of the bag presented itself. We couldn’t return it to the bus station, because there was none proper. We couldn’t send it to the owner, as there was no address. Therefore, we (actually, Champion and Apprentice) wrote a clever note and furtively left the bag on the street. 
(five minutes after we left the bag, it was gone)
Then we amused ourselves in Transnistria (watched a decidedly non-communist teenage break-dancing competition, ate pizza, bought groceries).
Street-racing, TransD style
The break dancing competition
Forbidden things at a popular disco....daggers, boxing gloves...the usual
We took a bus back to Chişinău and stayed the night with Alexi, his wife, and Vova (the Apprentice). They lived directly downtown, and we experienced the horrible singing of the Moldovan Eurovision hopeful (in a giant festival) before reaching the apartment. We had tea and magnificently great raspberry preserves and pickled mushrooms before turning in for the night. The bed was perhaps the most uncomfortable I have ever experienced, and I have never slept so well. Ever.
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