May 10, 2024
Moldova is a former Soviet republic with varied terrain, including forests, rocky hills, and notable vineyards. It is home to some of the world’s most extensive wine cellars. Its capital, Chișinău, has prominent Soviet-style architecture, but cultural links are closer to those of neighbouring Romania, where the language is commonly shared. On recommendation, I headed to Carp Diem, a renowned vinoteca, to sample a selection of distinguished wines from all regions of Moldova. Complemented with a substantial meat and cheese board, the two hours spent tasting and conversing about Moldovan wines and the country’s history were a solid start to my stay. The city is more French than Marcel Marceau on a windy day despite its no colonial or geographical connection. I passed the Bonjour Cafe and Patisserie, the French Bulldog Bar, and Mon Amour Cafe, to name just three, Edith Piaf’s greatest hits on a constant loop. Even their main Cathedral Park is home to The Triumphal Arch, a smaller version of the Champs-Élysées’ crowning jewel. So far, Je ne regrette rien. Pastries reign supreme for breakfast. Grab a croissant or pain au chocolat, or go local with a chebureki, deep-fried turnovers filled with an assortment of fillings, or covrigei, skinny pretzels consisting of salted bread topped with seeds. The city centre is green. Cathedral Park is linked to Stephen the Great Central Park, it’s titular name in honour of the Moldova Monarch renowned for his long resistance to the Ottoman Turks and longevity on the throne. It’s a little bit of a walk to Valea Morilor Park. Quiet and serene, the central lake is surrounded by benches, statues, and a small man-made beach that allows easy access to the waters for those impervious to the cold. The northeastern tip gives rise to the Cascade Stairs, Italian in style, and perseverance to the top yields fantastic views of all below. The country is proud of its inclusion in the EU; omnipresent star studied banners wave in the breeze and flower beds and pavement features are often sculpted to reflect the blue and gold motifs. A lone piper extracted a tuneful Romanian folk song from a recorder, a feat I thought impossible. My knowledge of this maligned instrument was of school children torturing the beast to emit a few strangulated notes. There was zero jaywalking as pedestrians waited patiently for the little green man regardless of whether there was any traffic in a 500m radius. Likewise, vehicles always gave way to pedestrians at any sort of distinguishable crossing. Maybe when part of the Soviet Bloc, transgressions of either were punishable by swift retribution. Tough love can reap lasting benefits. Pastries reign supreme for breakfast. Grab a croissant or pain au chocolat, or go local with chebureki, deep-fried turnovers filled with an assortment of fillings, or covrigei, skinny pretzels consisting of salted bread topped with seeds. The Milestii Mici winery tour was to be the highlight of my visit to this landlocked republic. It is registered in the Guinness Book of Records as the largest wine collection in the world, counting about 1.5 million bottles as well as more than 200 km of limestone tunnels and galleries, 55 km of which are used for storage and production of wines, that are studded with enormous wooden casks and mind-boggling collections of vintages. Electric-powered trains glide through the catacombs in constant yearly temperatures of 12-14 degrees Celsius and humidity of 85% to 90%. The scale is epic. I had elected to taste five amazing PGI’s (Protected Geographical Indication) Mileștii Mici wines – sauvignon blanc, riesling, rose, cabernet sauvignon and my favourite the 1986 Tandafirul Moldovei dessert wine. Not only were the waiting pours big enough to bathe in but the bottles on display on my table all had a reasonable residual amount. It wasn’t long before the residues were transferred to my glasses, and the bottles were emptied. A traditional Moldovan dinner, consisting of various meat plates including chicken, pork, beef slices, cheeses, tomatoes, and cucumbers, kicked off proceedings. A substantial serving of Zeamă, the national soup, was served as the main meal. This was more of a stew than a soup because it included Mămăligă (polenta), chicken, pork, sheep cottage cheese, and an omelette! The caramelised sugar and cream cheese pancakes were a great ending with my favoured tipple. We were given a little more than an hour for lunch, which ended up being a two-bottle affair. Hic. I hadn’t anticipated struggling to order a Yandex (Uber) from the vineyard, but struggle I did in this remote part of the countryside. Luckily, I hitched a lift with Segiu, an aspiring judge who, at 35, will take the bench in a mere 1.5 years’ time. With the aid of Google Translate, we had surprisingly deep conversations and learned a lot during our 45-minute journey back to town. And with our cross-fertilisation of knowledge and experience, we parted. Ships that passed in the night. In the centre, my French experience continued at Plin Cu Vin wine bar, where a Bohemian crowd spilt onto the streets, cursing playfully at drivers who selfishly demanded their right of way. The true spirit of Paris was exercised at Creme de la Creme Bistro, where Gaelic indifference and overpriced lungos were present. I was determined to end my Moldovan with local fayre with flair. Plăcintă, a traditional round flat bread stuffed with soft cheese and herbs, followed by Rabbit with crispy buckwheat, al washed down with something ‘hoppy’. And then it was off for another overnight bus journey. To be continued.
