Trans-Dniestr: Where the hammer and sickle are still the rage

By Carsten Rave Aug 31, 2010, 10:50 GMT

Tiraspol - Vadim is a talkative type, one who speaks passable English. The 25-year-old Moldavian wheels his car around with elan, elegantly swerving around all the potholes in the road from the Moldavian capital Chisinau, and talks enthusiastically about football.

But then, as the car approaches to within just a few kilometres of the border, Vadim clearly becomes more quiet. He admits he has never been 'over there' - meaning Trans-Dniestr.

In the middle of the landscape of green fields, a turnpike is lowered across the road, suddenly interrupting the journey. Two containers, one blue, the other white, line the sides of the road and a green-uniformed border policeman waves the vehicle over to the side.

The soldier looks inside at the tourists and asks 'you speak Russian? Any money with you? How much?'

The Trans-Dniestr Republic Moldavia, as it calls itself and which is only recognized as such by other former Soviet republics, has battened down the hatches. A visitor must have a lot of patience. Forms have to be filled out. Passports are not stamped but a fee is required: about 2 euros - allegedly to help shorten the waiting time.

'The largest communist open-air museum,' as the travel guide Lonely Planet describes the patch of territory with some 550,000 residents, is an oddity on the European map.

The flag bears the communist-era hammer-and-sickle symbol, and the border police uniforms bear the insignia of Soviet communism on their upper sleeve. But then this unsocialistic picture: a female border soldier uses her mobile phone as a mirror in order to apply eye makeup.

Tiraspol is the name of the capital. On the streets one sees upmarket European SUVs as well as small delivery vehicles which have seen their better days, with signs like 'Hirschmann Lubricating Technology' or 'Maschi Upholstered Furniture' on the sides.

Head of government is Igor Smirnov and there is no escaping his presence. Everywhere one looks there are huge billboards with his image, or showing him and Russian President Dmitry Medvedev together, or with Abkhazian or South Ossetian leaders.

Tiraspol with its 180,000 residents is quiet and by far not so lively as the Moldavian capital Chisinau 70 kilometres to the north-west. A Soviet-era T-34 tank recalls the liberation of the area 65 years ago. Banners admonish people to show solidarity with Russia. A giant Lenin statue stands proudly in front of the government palace.

Despite the proximity to Russia, only about one-third of the Trans-Dniestr population are Russians. One-third are Moldavians whose mother tongue is Romanian and the other one-third are Ukrainians.

Progress seems to have come to a standstill. Heavy industry factories are virtually dormant, there is little construction activity going on, and two passenger ships which appear ready for the scrap heap lie at anchor on the Dnister River.

Work is still under way on a new tall building. 'Purchase price just 300 euros per square metre,' says Vadim, saying this is about half the going price in Chisinau.

But even as small as this isolated spot is, Tiraspol boasts a restaurant with a German-language menu. The restaurant is called 'Eilenburg' - the name of a town in the eastern German state of Saxony. Why this is, is something the waitress doesn't know.

The menu lists such dishes as 'Berlin Leber' (Berlin liver) and 'Hannover Schnitzel,' while for dessert there's an item called 'Karussell der Liebe' (carousel of love) - ice cream topped with fruit.

At the turnpike on the return drive to Chisinau, the same female border guard is still there, fooling around with her mobile phone. On the other side, there are no Moldavian officials waiting to process travellers.

And why should there be? - For Moldavia, the neighbouring state called Trans-Dniestr simply does not exist.