Back in the USSR. No, not the Beatles song, but a statement, for I’ve just been there. And yes, I know it’s 2013.
Let me welcome you to Transnistria, population 700,000. Never heard of it? Not surprising really. Not recognised by the US, UK or by most of the world, this country doesn’t officially exist. But believe me, exist it does.
On the very edges of East Europe, sandwiched between Moldova and Ukraine, this little Soviet time-warp was born in 1992 (following the breakup of the USSR). Not wanting to be part of the Romanian-leaning Moldova, Transnistria fought a short but brutal war with its neighbour and somehow managed to keep the old red flag flying here.
Was I allowed to even enter this unofficial country? I was assured I was.
“The border is open today,” my man in Moldova told me. I suddenly recalled the advice of the British Foreign and Commonwealth Office: “There are no foreign embassies in Transnistria, so if you get into trouble there is very little we can do to offer help. We advise caution if considering travelling to Transnistria.”
I was already in neighbouring Moldova’s capital, Chisinau, so early one morning, after a couple of hours on a ramshackle bus, we approached a heavily fortified area, seemingly just thrown right across the main highway. The official, unofficial border. If you can imagine driving on a motorway in the UK, and suddenly looming ahead, in the middle of the road, you see tanks, soldiers, barbed wire and artillery strewn everywhere, and on the other side of that, another country (unofficially of course).
Nervous? Slightly. But more excited as I remembered thinking that this would be the closest I’d ever get to actually crossing through Checkpoint Charlie and into the long-vanished old East Germany. A gigantic metal sign hung above the road displaying the Transnistrian flag with Hammer and Sickle. Had I just stepped through a portal?
Two armed soldiers entered our bus, and on spotting me as the only Westerner, I was taken off and directed towards a building. After prodding questions by a border guard, I was reluctantly granted a visa for the day and it was made clear to me that under no circumstances should I outstay my welcome.
Thirty minutes later, we crossed the Tighina Bridge, scene of much of the 1990s bloodshed. Military roadblocks and camouflaged nets. I got off at Tiraspol’s (this unofficial country’s official capital) main bus station and quickly on the black market exchanged $10 for a fistful of the local worthless currency, the Transnistrian rouble. I bought a packet of Marlboro cigarettes for 60p and wandered down Lenin Avenue looking at old Soviet murals.
Honestly, if the long-dead 1970s Soviet leader Leonid Brezhnev himself had walked round the corner, I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid. I had stepped through a portal.
Wanting proof that I’d actually been there, that I hadn’t dreamt it, I photographed (against all advice) the empowering House of Soviets, the eternal flame, pro posters of Putin and anti-Nato graffiti.
I then walked the barren steps to the parliament building to take a photo of the gigantic statue of Lenin that stood out front. Within seconds I was quickly approached by a Kalashnikov-waving guard who appeared from nowhere. He told me in no uncertain terms to go away. I did and high tailed it to a cafe. I chewed on black bread and washed it down with a 100g shot of vodka as I felt watching eyes on me.
But among all this weirdness stand the brand spanking-new Russian banks that look worryingly out of place. Hmm, just adds fuel to the notion that Transnistria is fast becoming a black hole for not only money but weapons laundering. It’s no secret that Transnistria only exists with Moscow’s blessing.
Back on the bus some six mind-bending hours later, as we approached the same checkpoint, the radio crackled into life blasting out the 1986 hit “In The Army Now”. Spooky.
Want to experience the last bastion of Communism in Europe? Go to Transnistria. Just watch your back.
NEXT WEEK: Seven countries in seven days.