Chisinau, Moldova

Mini Buses

The hotel desk clerk tells me, “To get to the city take either the mini bus 106 or 160." The mini buses are all over the place, stopping whenever someone flags them down, and then continuing on some pre-planned, route, with which only the locals seem familiar. In minutes 106 appears. I flag it down, hop aboard, and give the driver three lei, less than a quarter. It looks like the right bus as the sign next to the 106 reads Piata Centrala and although the driver makes a variety of turns, I believe we’re heading in the right direction. So far so good — but then we come to a busy intersection where another bus pulls up beside us. The two drivers roll down their windows, talking and gesturing. They reach some sort of agreement and the passengers on the bus begin transferring to the other bus. “What the heck is going on?” But no English here, so I dumbly follow the crowd. The new bus takes a turn. It’s the wrong direction! I’m sure. The other passengers show no concern and continue to get on and off as if by plan. The bus finally stops. We are in a sparsely populated area with only a few buildings around. The passengers get off. I wait to talk to the driver. I point to the sign on his window. “Centrala! centrala!” He shakes his head, gesturing and talking rapidly. I keep pointing at the sign, “Centrala!” Ah, finally he appreciates the fix I’m in and motions me to sit down. Alone we drive another fifteen minutes farther outside the city, where we arrive at a place where a number of mini buses are parked, their drivers relaxing in the shade. My driver talks to one of them, who finally nods his agreement and motions for me to get in his bus. Half-hour later we arrive at the Piata Centrala, and all this for less than two bits. I suppose from this you might guess that Chisinau is not somewhere you’d expect to run into many Americans, but that evening I did, on two separate occasions, and here’s what they had to say.

David with whom I had a beer: "I’m a bank examiner from Oklahoma on assignment here by the U.S. Treasury Department. These assignments are one to two months long and can take me just about anywhere in the world. My job is to help governments examine their banking books, establish policies to thwart corruption, and to analyze and report on the effectiveness of U.S. Treasury’s investments. A big issue is corruption, but then that’s true everywhere including America. We call it lobbying. The Treasury Department funnels money into a lot of projects. The folks back in Oklahoma might be dismayed to learn where their taxpayer dollars are going — building of a Mosque, fighting AIDs, or the distribution of birth control. Moldova is a very poor country — per capita income around $3,000. In five years it will definitely join the European Union, but it will probably have to give up Transnistria in order to do so. Might be easier if Moldova belonged to Romania. That’s where it belongs anyway. I’m sure it won’t become part of the Russian Federation again. Democracy here has developed too far, and the hard feelings toward the pre-independent days still linger."

Pat with whom I had dinner: "I’m a zoologist with a PhD from the University of Florida. I work as independent contractor conducting bio-diversity studies for the U.S. State Department. These assignments can take about a month and may be anywhere in the world. I usually do two or three a year. The rest of the time I write an article on bio diversity for my hometown newspaper in Florida. It’s kind of a nice setup that allows me to travel and do something I care about, without having to be away from home that much. I’m here to do research and write a report on a sturgeon caviar farm in Transnistria. The U.S. State Department wants to know what’s going on and whether it's meeting the obligations under the Convention on Biological Diversity, to which Moldova is a signature. The State Department may use this information to determine if they want to fund certain projects here. Since Transnistria is a place like no other place, having its own currency, political system, and yet not recognized as a country by anyone, I’m going there incognito, as a tourist. No one is to know I work for the State Department. It's an odd place. The people there don't even have passports. To leave they must use another country’s passport, like Ukraine or Russia."