PMR – The one-night stand
The borders of PRM (Pridnestrovian Moldavian Republic).were opened by soldiers with machine guns and I was guided to the immigration office. Yes, it is a given there. I requested a travelling permit and what I was given by the officer was a ten hours transit permission. I will have time till 8 in the morning to get out of the “country” or else I will be in deep trouble. Of course I could have got a tourist visa for a couple of days, but I would have to have a Letter of Invitation and a hotel reservation as well.
It is almost unreal that in an European country – which by the way does not even exist, as no one recognised its existence – they treat you like in the middle east in the 21st century. But let’s not stop here...
Just a couple of kilometres from the border rain started to drop. I just stopped at a gas station to put my rain clothes on. Out of nothing I just hear some Russian talk from the loudspeakers. I did not care about it a lot. But the talk was repeated over and over again. The next thing I see is a guy running out of the building and yelling at me that I should move away immediately as there is gas here and it is dangerous. I honestly did not understood what he meant by this.
I rolled in to Bender, and everywhere I looked I saw some military monuments. The whole town gave of a real socialistic feeling. It was after 10 at night and the streets where entirely empty. In the tall concrete buildings I saw light only in couple of windows. It was like a ghost town. I thought I will find a suitable camping spot on the riverside of the Dniester, and the next morning right after sunset I will leave and take a look at Tiraspol in sunlight.
I arrived at a strangely shaped roundabout, which had 3 lines. At the end of the roundabout there was a police booth with two policemen. I was looking at the Cyrillic signs and was slowly moving in the right line. It said Odessa to the right. I stopped 10 meters from the policeman, looked around, no cars around – it was 11 at night. I looked at the policeman, and started really slowly to roll in to the inner line, just to ask if I am riding in the good direction. As soon as I crossed I was stopped by the police; they asked me if I am aware of what I did. I looked surprised, what did I do? I crossed the continues white markings between the lines. I should park the bike here and follow him to the police booth.
I said to myself, this can’t be happening! He honestly wants to fine me? And then I recalled the guys at the gas station and the warnings they gave me, but it was too late...
The police booth didn’t have lot in it, just a table, a chair and a clothes rack. The policeman told me to sit down, as he pulled two, at least 50 years old, yellowed book out of an old brown leather bag. One was the protocol, the other the regulations. He opened it, and showed me the paragraph in Cyrillic script, according which I have violated the rule, and then he said that we are going to fill out the protocol. For which I replied that he should stop joking around, I am a cyclist just headed to the edge of the World and that I don’t feel guilty. He stood up and signalled that I should follow him. He took me to the white markings and told me that I violated the rules just right here! I told him, that I stopped, then I started to roll really slowly and that I checked if there is any traffic on the road. I did not placed any harm on anyone on the road, and to top it off, the sign for Odessa was placed so, that from there I could not possibly turn back to change the lines. We have been going back to the police booth. He asked me how much rubles I have got on my. I had none; I am in transit, and come on, let’s behave civilised. I took out a leaflet, showed him that I am on the road to Pakistan and that I need every coin on the journey. He wasn’t impressed. I was told, that I will have to stay at the police booth till morning, than the banks open and I can get as many rubles as I need to pay the fine. I told him, that this is actually not possible out of two reasons; for ones till 8 in the morning I will have to leave the country and for second I will have to be in Odessa in the afternoon. He wasn’t impressed by this either. For next I told him that I will write a book about the journey and I don’t want to put this “lovely” country in a bad light. In Moldova I had many good experiences, the country was safe. I just came here to see for myself that what the Moldovan people told me about this country is not true. Oh, it was so true! He immediately responded that he hates the Moldovans and that he personally never reads books. Well, I told myself, now I am in deep trouble.
What followed was even more adventures; for a day I saw the other face of Tiraspol, had a quick lesson in how it might have been in the communist era to be hiding from the secret police. All these details will be revealed in the book after the expedition!
