Transnistria

An Ukrainian bus rolls leisurely along the M16. It’s just under forty kilometers to the border town of Strasburg. There are only a few passengers on our bus, mostly retirees with deep wrinkles on their faces and weather-beaten skin. Life here seems to be shaped by simple farming and modest circumstances.

The border officials take a look at our passports, check our entry documents, and a short while later we cross the Dniester. We are now in Transnistria, a de facto state not recognized internationally, which officially belongs to Moldova but has been administered independently since the early 1990s and is closely tied to Russia both politically and economically.

For travelers, entering the region can be somewhat confusing. Transnistria issues its own entry documents, which are not valid outside the territory. Since we entered via Ukraine and thus did not pass through a Moldovan border post, we will later have to register our stay with the Moldovan authorities in Chișinău to avoid any difficulties upon departure.

But first of all, welcome to a region where the Soviet Union never seems to have completely disappeared. Statues of Lenin still stand in the squares, the hammer and sickle adorn public buildings, and in many places it seems as though time has stood still for the past three decades.

Statue in Tiraspol Transnistria

We check into our room at a simple Airbnb. Our accommodation is just as bizarre as Tiraspol and Transnistria itself: a cramped room full of knick-knacks, a pole-dancing pole, and a cave-like bathroom. We immediately set off for a walk through the capital, Tiraspol. We encounter an elderly woman wearing a headscarf. She leans on a crutch, her back is hunched, and she leads a white goat on a leash. In front of the concrete-gray apartment buildings, residents have planted small vegetable gardens. The sidewalks are cracked and overgrown with weeds. There are hardly any cars and very few people on the streets.

At the presidential palace, it becomes clear what Transnistria is and what it aspires to be. A large statue of Lenin stands in front of the building. Next to it is another bust of Lenin, and across from it, an old Soviet tank. Throughout the city, the flags of Transnistria – still bearing the hammer and sickle – and the Russian tricolor fly. Soviet Brutalism characterizes the architecture. In many places, the cityscape lacks maintenance, and the country lacks investment and economic prospects. The political leadership cultivates a strongly Soviet-influenced culture of remembrance and presents Transnistria as an independent alternative to the West. A country like a wedge on the edge of Europe, on the border between the past and the present.

Last Man Standing Lenin in Tiraspol Transnistria
Lenin in Tiraspol Transnistria
Tank in Tiraspol Transnistria

On the Dniester River, we find an urban idyll. A small stretch of beach and a golden autumn afternoon, still echoing with the warmth of a fading summer. A few canoes drift by. The paddlers wave to us and disappear shortly afterward around the next bend in the river. On the other side of the river lies the Căușeni district, which is largely administered by Moldova. Only a single village is claimed by the Transnistrian government. The borders are invisible and fluid. They roughly follow the river – but not always.

Soon we arrive at a skate park. A few teenagers are practicing their tricks. American youth culture, as it shaped nearly the entire world at the turn of the last millennium – even this remote corner of the earth.

River Tyra in Tiraspol Transnistria

Night falls and blows the echoes of summer away. It gets bitterly cold, and we put on our thick jackets as we wander through the streets of Tiraspol in search of a restaurant serving local cuisine. Soon after, we hear loud, bass-heavy dance music coming from a courtyard. We follow the sounds and soon find ourselves in a rustic restaurant. The dining room is taken over by a wedding party. The guests are wearing traditional clothing and dancing just as their parents and grandparents did at their own weddings. The atmosphere is exuberant, the alcohol is flowing, and we experience incredible warmth and joie de vivre.

Before we even have a chance to order, we’re served vodka, pickled cucumbers, and a hearty farmer’s sausage. A complimentary appetizer that instantly chases the cold from our bones yet draws us closer together. We’ve settled down under grapevines in a corner of the courtyard. This bizarre little country has captivated us. Our stay here is far too short – we’re practically just passing through. And yet we can only marvel at all the historical curiosities and the still-vibrant connection to their own roots and strong traditions.

Info about our trip