Moldova

Moldova was my 44th and final country in Europe, though it wasn’t supposed to be. A year earlier, I had flown there from Romania but was detained upon arrival. After seeing stamps from countries like Afghanistan and Pakistan in my passport, and learning that I planned to continue overland into Ukraine during the war, Moldovan authorities suspected I could be involved in war crimes or terrorism. I spent the night in an airport holding cell guarded by an armed officer before being placed on a flight to Istanbul the following morning. I left convinced I might never be allowed back.

A year later, after renewing my passport, I decided to try again. My friend Harry and I flew to Iași in northeastern Romania, where Nicolai, the guide who had been waiting for me the year before, picked us up and drove us to the Moldovan border. My heart was pounding as we approached immigration, especially after Nicolai handed over my passport and the officers said they had additional questions for me. Thankfully, it had nothing to do with the previous year’s ordeal, and moments later I was admitted into my last country in Europe.

Chișinău had a quiet, distinctly Soviet feel compared to many other European capitals. One highlight was touring the enormous underground wine cellars at Cricova, a maze of tunnels stretching for more than 120 kilometers. We also crossed into Transnistria, a self-proclaimed breakaway state that is internationally recognized as part of Moldova. It has its own currency, including plastic coins, and feels like a relic of the Soviet Union, with monuments, flags, and architecture from another era. It was also one of the cheapest places I’ve ever visited, with bottles of vodka costing less than a dollar.

On the drive back to Romania through Chișinău, we passed the same airport where I’d been detained the year before. I got out and took a photo in front of it, and looking back at the terminal, I couldn’t help but smile knowing the story had finally come full circle.