The overwhelming image we got of Chisinau was how ex-Soviet
everything seemed. The buildings were a collection of matching grey concrete
blocks, the roads were beautifully laid out but had not been maintained for 50
years, the piping was all overground, and there was a general sense of grey
blandness. This is in no way an attack on the Moldovan people, or even my
impression of them; it’s just a result of Communism’s harsh hand laid on the
country for such an extensive period of time.
The first item on the agenda for our self-tour of Chisinau
was the Chisinau Brewery, brewer of “Bere Chisinau” and owned by Efes. Our
directions were vague but we found our way, hoping we’d be able to land one of
the guided tours that we had heard existed. As we pulled up in the car park we
noticed that everything looked very closed up, but when the two sets of
automatic doors at the front entrance opened as we approached, we thought “oh,
maybe it is open after all”. A smiley grey-haired lady and a sturdy balding man
sat behind a desk in the foyer, behind which hung a huge map with the location
of each Efes brewery in the world lit up with a small globe. We asked about
having a guided tour but without a word of English it was made quite apparent
that this would not be possible. At first we thought they were being dismissive
and rude, but the lady then went on to explain why it would not be possible.
First she pointed at the next few days on the calendar, crossing her arms in
front of her chest in the universal sign for “no” at each day. Then visibly
impressed at herself for having such a brain wave she scuttled around the edge
of the desk and gestured at a pot plant. By crouching down, then raising her
arms and standing up straight she imitated the plant growing, and by opening
her hands and waving her fingers she acted out the sun beating down on the
plant. We realised that she was saying that in summer the tours run, and when
she showed the plant dying she was telling us that in winter the tours don’t
run. We were thoroughly impressed by this show of common sense and her
insistence at doing everything within her power to communicate with us. All too
often we try to communicate with people and with only a little will on their
part we would manage, but so many people are not interested in making the
slightest bit of effort. This lady was the perfect example of how anyone can
speak to anyone else; convey a basic message, with a little bit of thought and
effort.
We went searching for the National Museum, this time with an
exact address which matched up with the map we had. At this address though was
a small boarded up brick building, the type of building that in most places
you’d assume hadn’t been in use for several decades, but in this ex-Soviet
setting could easily still be home to a museum. We did a block around it to see
if we could find an entrance but no, this building really was completely
dilapidated and out of use. We were just going to drive down the street
assuming that we’d probably been given the wrong street number and hopefully
the street name was correct, but then we realised that just across the road was
a very National Museum looking building. We parked on the icy pavement outside
and approached the stately pre-Soviet stone structure.
It was a surprisingly informative and extensive museum
housing an unusual variety of artefacts. There was a lot of Soviet propaganda –
both pro and anti, some of it was specific to Moldova or Chisinau, some was relevant
to the entire region. There was a huge selection of personal items that had
been owned throughout the past few centuries; everything ranging from furniture
to razors, paintbrushes and books to car accessories. A wide variety of
different styles and periods of artwork led onto a room dedicated to fine china
and ceramics. Even a tee-pee was set up as part of a display about various war
uniforms, weapons, tactics and stories. Probably the most impressive part
though was the very detailed 10 or so metre wide war diorama depicting WWII.
That we could have spent hours looking at, observing all the tiny details that
together told the grand story.
The Moldovan national monument, a structure that closely
resembles the Arch de Triumph only on a much small scale, is opposite the Government
building, separated by a wide boulevard designed for military marches and
displays. As it was mid January most of Europe’s Christmas markets had closed
down weeks ago, but Chisinau’s one was still running at full pelt on this wide
expanse of road. Queues of families waited to have their photos taken in one of
the Christmas/Santa/winter scenes that were set up in a line of booths. Several
Mr and Mrs Clauses meandered around the market speaking with children and
handing out goodies. One Mr and Mrs Clause were even running a miniature train
on wheels.
We had lunch in a fine example of a Russian/Eastern European
canteen, which like so many places we found completely by accident. This style
of eatery is part of the culture of this region that we have really grown to
love and enjoy. They tend to be very basic and relatively cheap (although not
necessarily the absolute cheapest option), but the food is tasty and filling
and much more varied than what you’ll find at a lot of other cheap restaurants.
This type of eating probably isn’t for everyone – it’s certainly not very
luxurious, but the down-to-earth comfort and anonymity that we found became
something we really appreciated.
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