Moldova within reach

Are the rivers of Mother Earth comparable to the veins of human beings?

The Galati TV crew is already there at 7:45 a.m. to interview us about our life project and the bike trip so far. The hotel owner had asked us whether he should arrange this meeting. Although we have already given two interviews in this hospitable country and we want to leave early, we are happy to accept. Because it is part of our task and responsibility to report on Mother Earth. to create awareness. We also want to tell the people in the countries we travel through how important it is to keep our living platform clean and protect it for future generations. That the planet we live on is not dead matter but alive. Life creates life. So how could living beings like us live on a dead planet? This is only possible because Mother Earth is also a living creature. A creature that breathes like us. Who, like us, is born to die at some point. A creature that is subject to the same cycles, only that these cycles are barely comprehensible and understandable for us humans. One heartbeat of Mother Earth lasts perhaps a thousand years, while the human heart beats 60 to 90 times a minute to pump blood through the veins to supply our organs and brain with nourishment. Perhaps our veins can be compared to the rivers on earth? Perhaps the magma in the belly of our planet is the energy, the food that the earth needs to live? What happens when it cools down? Questions to which science already has answers. There is no doubt that the surface of our Mother Earth is comparable to our skin. It is bad and painful when we stub out a glowing cigarette on our skin, for example when we injure a vein. So for me there is a connection between us and our Mother Earth. It also suffers when its skin is torn open, garbage is thrown into holes, its veins are diverted, clogged or polluted. Due to its enormous size, it can do this for a certain amount of time, but it will destroy what has developed into a parasite over the millennia. But it is unnecessary for it to come to this. Because we humans have it in our own hands to cure ourselves and thus save our life platform. Viewed holistically, everything is connected, nothing can be separated from each other. That is why we are a part of Mother Earth and Mother Earth is a part of us. A symbiosis, so to speak. A symbiosis, however, whose benefits are more on our side, because Mother Earth does not need us to continue to exist in the long term. However, it all goes round in circles. We need Mother Earth to continue to exist so it is vital that all of humanity achieves this awareness. No matter what skin color, what nation or what religion. A topic that could fill many books and has already been filled. Tanja and I feel a deep need to be part of this. To participate in the awakening of consciousness. That’s why we like to give interviews to reach as many people as possible. Even if it is just a drop in the ocean. But as the saying goes, constant dripping wears away the stone. We are sure that the time will come when people will no longer throw garbage into the rivers. In which the industry is already made responsible for the disposal of goods during production and not, as in Romania for example, to fill the country with plastic bottles. Of course we can’t go into detail in a short TV or radio interview. But that’s not important either, because just one sentence, one word, one feeling can sometimes break dams.

We would also like to take this opportunity to remind you once again of our “Green Vein” campaign. A campaign in which we would like to sell a tree to you, dear readers, for every kilometer you cycle. This action is described on our website. As far as we know at the moment, 250 trees have already been financed. The target is 25,000 (twenty-five thousand). So we need more trees for the Green Vein so that we can create something positive together with you.

Donations are very welcome at:
Bergwaldprojekt e. V.
Keyword: Green vein
GLS Community Bank
SORT CODE 430 609 67
Account number 8022 916 200

We set off without much delay. The editor Aura and the cameraman show us the best way out of the city. They drive ahead in their car, switch on the hazard warning lights and give us an escort. We pass a half-ruined shipyard, piles of garbage and garbage, dilapidated buildings, walls eaten away by time, over bent rails and through potholed streets. A city like the ones we are used to in Romania. Ugliness in absolute perfection. We thus see the dark side of the city of Galati. We undoubtedly spent the last few days living in the splendid quarter of the port and industrial city. “From here, it’s only 14 kilometers to Moldova. “Moldova is a very poor and dangerous country. Take care and never ride your bikes at night,” Aura warns us. Since we soon heard this warning whenever we mentioned Moldova, we took it seriously. We say goodbye to the two of them and let our bikes glide towards the border on a very promising, flat, well-maintained road.

Doubts

Lost in thought, my gaze is glued to the asphalt in front of my front wheel. The shades of the dark road rush past. “Is it a good decision to travel to this country despite all the warnings? We could make a small detour and be in Ukraine in no time,” I keep thinking. It’s strange that people are usually afraid of the unknown. Why is it like that? The eternal fear controls us humans, makes us unfree and assessable for insurance companies and unscrupulous business operators. “I’d love to get to know Moldova, fear or no fear,” I say into the wind. “And what if the mafia gangs you’ve been told about take you out,” warns a voice that I attribute to my subconscious. “Do you really think they attack peaceful cyclists,” I reply in a kind of soliloquy. “Quite possible. The people there are so poor that they can use anything. Moldova isn’t one of the poorest countries in Europe for nothing,” I chatter in my head. “I don’t know. I’d like to see the land. The people on this side of the shore like to warn people about the other side. They themselves are always better than the others,” I counter. “Yes, but you should recognize when it’s true,” the voice startles me. “So we should skip Ukraine and Moldova?” “Absolutely.” “Hm, I don’t know. I’d like to see the country,” I say, panting quietly, still watching the asphalt whizz past my eyes… “What are you talking yourself into? Stay in your midst and visit the countries you want to visit,” I suddenly hear the familiar voice of Mother Earth. Although our communication has been limited to just a few sentences recently, it has always been solid. Mother Earth’s statements have always been exclusively positive and one hundred percent correct. “As always, I’m glad to hear your voice. You are right. The doubts that people have raised in me with their negative statements have almost scared me a little. Of course we’re going to Moldova. I’m looking forward to this country that I know very little about,” I reply, relieved and confident. “Nice to hear that. Be happy. Keep your eyes and ears open, don’t listen to your negative thoughts and experience this world,” Mother Earth concludes the conversation.

Before we know it, we are on Moldovan soilOn the Romanian side of the border, everything runs smoothly. “Drum Bun”, the official wishes us a safe journey. We walk a few hundred meters through the so-called no man’s land of the two countries and reach the Moldovan border. “Do you have anything to declare?” the official asks us somewhat seriously. “As cyclists, what should we have with us? There’s no room in the saddlebags,” I reply kindly. “What about foreign currency?” the man wants to know. We get the money with our credit card. But we still have a few Romanian lei. Can we exchange them here?” I ask him. He smiles at us. “Over there,” he says and points to a building. Before we know it, we are in Moldova with equally good travel plans. With some money in our pockets, we are now driving our road trains on Moldovan soil. The road is terribly bad and the road signs are completely rusty and hand-painted. Just past the border, the promising flat road ends at a nasty incline. Puffing heavily, we push our bikes uphill. There hardly seem to be any cars here, as we have only encountered a few in the last half hour. Is that because it’s Sunday? Or are there really so few vehicles in Moldova? We will certainly find out in the next few days. According to the map, we are on a real main road. It is one of the arterial roads that we have always tried to avoid on our previous journey because of the heavy traffic. But here we think we are on one of the side roads. A strip of potholes opens up in front of our tires. Every now and then a car thunders past at ludicrous speed. What if it bursts a tire? Our first impressions are mixed. On the back of the Erdrunzel, we have one last view of the Romanian side. A thick blanket of clouds spoils the mood somewhat. Wind blows across a steppe-like plain. Columns of smoke spiral into the dark sky. The exhaust fumes from the Galati chimneys obscure the view. Completely dilapidated buildings stretch their innards accusingly into the air. Not a soul to be seen far and wide. I think about Moldova. I don’t know much, just what I’ve read. As far as I know, this country consists mainly of a flat, undulating landscape with an average altitude of 147 meters. For us as cyclists, it should therefore be feasible. Temperatures can reach a maximum of 40 degrees in summer and minus five degrees in January. The subcontinental climate is somewhat moderated by the influence of the Black Sea.

The dominant forms of vegetation are steppe and forest-steppe. About a third of Moldova was once covered by forests of beech, oak and hornbeam, which now only thrive in some areas in the center of the country. Due to the fertile black soil, large areas were converted into cultivated land. No wonder there are only a few wolves left today. Despite the extensive cultivation, remarkable predators such as the wildcat, raccoon dog, steppe iltis and tiger iltis still live here. Rodents such as the western blind mouse, spike mouse, steppe birch mouse, dwarf hamster and pearl gopher also find their habitat here. As we step over the uninhabited mountain slopes, I wonder where the people live? Because only 46% of the country’s almost five million inhabitants live in the cities. 778,800 of them live in the capital Chi?in?u, the rest in the countryside.

Moldova, a former republic of the USSR, is over ten times smaller than Germany at 33,700 km². According to my planning, there are only about 250 kilometers ahead of us, depending on detours, until we leave Moldova again at the border town of Dnestrovsc to get to Ukraine. So if we want to learn something about this small, almost unknown country and the Moldovans, Ukrainians, Russians, Bulgarians and Gagauzians living here, we have to take our time.

We discover the first magazine in a village. While Tanja guards the bikes, I curiously enter the shop to see what’s for sale. Three women are standing at the counter and turn to me with wide eyes. Apparently you’ve never seen a man walking around in parrot clothes before. I smile at her, take off my bike helmet and glasses and my smile is immediately returned sheepishly. The man behind the counter pours a beer from a small tap for one of the women. I like that. Apparently it’s customary here to refresh yourself with a half pint immediately after shopping. The range of goods on offer is similar to that in Romania. Perhaps a little less, but you get everything you need to live. There are sweet pastries which you can buy by the gram, just like the noodles. Candies and other sweets, also per gram or piece. I discover some tins of pineapple, fish, pork, mushrooms, corn and baby food etc. The only thing I miss is fresh fruit and vegetables. This is to be offered on the streets by small traders. “Where are they from?” a man asks us in good English. Pleasantly surprised, we tell our story and learn that he worked in England for a few years. “Would you like a drink?” he asks, pointing to the small pub next door. “No thanks, cycling and alcohol don’t mix. I’d fall out of the saddle after just a few meters in this heat,” I justify myself. The man laughs and accepts my apology. “There are at least nine or ten mountains on the route from here to Vulcanesti,” he warns us before we set off again. Gone is the dream of finally being able to cycle along a straight route.

On the way we are invited by men drinking on the street to share their beer. We raise our hands in greeting and cycle on. Donkey and horse-drawn carts have remained loyal to us. Every now and then we overtake one of the groaning carriages. At lunchtime we buy bread in a store. As there is nowhere to sit, we decide to continue until we find a suitable place to have a snack. Children wave to us, happy about the change and our exotic sight. Without question, we feel like freshly imported Martians here. The sensation we cause at every corner and on every meter is hard to describe. Nevertheless, people here react with restraint, tend to look away first only to turn their heads. Even the occupants of the cars and trucks wave and honk their horns. A motorcyclist drives his sidecar just past a horse-drawn carriage, just because he turned his head towards us for a second too long. It’s a strange feeling to be the center of attention like that. No matter where we go or where we stand, it is always the same. Our bikes and outfits already stood out enormously in Romania, but it’s hardly comparable to here.

We find a dilapidated bench in a small park in front of a run-down house. A suitable place for our rest. As soon as we make ourselves comfortable, two giggling girls approach us. Terribly shy at first, but then taking heart, they approach us. “Do you speak English?” they ask, still chuckling and giggling. “Yes,” we reply in a friendly manner. We begin a very simple communication with hands and feet. The girls are obviously happy to try out their English on strangers. Then the two of them move on, laughing. “I need something sweet,” I say to Tanja after a while. “I’ll have a look in that store over there. I’m sure there’s something there,” I say and set off. “Don’t leave me alone for so long!” Tanja calls after me. “No, no!” Just before the magazine, I come across the giggling girls. “Hi, hi, hi, ha, ha, ha. Hiiiee, hiiiieee, hiiiee”, it goes in one go. They can hardly contain their laughter. “This is for you,” says one of them, pulling herself together and turning fiery red. “For me?” I ask and take the plastic bag. I take a look inside and now it’s up to me to get embarrassed. I discover bread, cakes, tomatoes and cucumbers. “Oh, thank you very much. Why are you giving us this?” I ask, but our language skills aren’t good enough for an answer. The girl nods her head vigorously, starts giggling again and runs off with her friend. I immediately make my way back to our snack spot. “Man, you were quick,” says Tanja. “I didn’t need to buy any sweets. The two giggling girls gave it to us,” I reply and hand Tanja the bag. She looks at me speechlessly. “Yeah, I don’t know what to say about that either. It’s just unbelievable. Just give us something delicious to eat,” I say and sit down next to Tanja on the bench and enjoy the lovingly baked cake. It doesn’t take long before two girls turn up again. Tatjana, nine, and Olga, eleven, also ask us something very carefully in English. Then they say goodbye politely. However, it doesn’t take long before they are standing in front of us again. “This is for you,” says Tatjana and hands Tanja a bobon. “And this is for you,” says Olga and gives me a bobon. Struck to the heart by this gesture, we are now truly speechless. Never before on our travels have we been given sweets by children. On the contrary, no matter where and in which country we traveled, it was always the other way around. Tatyana and Olga smile at us. When we immediately unwrap the bobons from the paper and let them taste, their eyes shine. What else can you say? Is that Moldova? Apparently a very nice part of it. Even in the first few hours of our stay, we are given presents by children and not excluded by the mafia. Fantastic. Tanja opens a bag of Spirubears from Sanatur and lets the girls reach in. Now the balance has been struck and the ice has been completely broken. We chat for a while and as we set off, the two of them show us where the crossroads to Vulcanesti is.

We are immediately greeted by an approx. 135 meter high mega incline. Now that the sun is back in control, we push our bikes uphill at 33 degrees in the shade and 44 degrees in the sun. The unconventional landscape rewards us for our exertions. Vineyards appear and fill the view as far as the horizon. We are obviously in the middle of a wine-growing region in Moldova. The landscape changes its face and suddenly we think we see the Australian outback in front of us. The eternity, the straight road stretching into infinity, the heat and loneliness speak for themselves. Tanja gets slight knee pain again. But this time in the other knee. No wonder with this feat of strength. My heart rate races up to 173 and then I get out of the saddle to push. A vehicle comes towards us. “Which way to Galati?” asks the driver in Russian. “Straight on to the village and then left. You can’t miss it,” we reply to the friendly Russian, the first on this stage. “Russia is coming,” says Tanja with a laugh, happy to be able to use our meagre knowledge of Russian for the first time. “There are still many mountains ahead of you,” he says before driving on and saying goodbye. “We’ll manage,” we reply confidently.

Seven hours after setting off from Galati, we reach a crossroads after about 50 kilometers and ten mountains. “According to the map, we have to turn right,” I say. “We’d better ask someone,” Tanja replies, “Who? There’s not a soul around,” I reply. A completely rusted road sign doesn’t help us any further. Nothing more can be deciphered. There are also no longer any kilometer markers, which are soon to be found on every road in Romania indicating the distance to the next village. You have to know your way around this country or have a very good map. Ours is not bad but far too inaccurate. Nevertheless, I decide to turn right. From now on, a stiff breeze blows at our backs. For the first time since Serbia, we are blown along by a strong tailwind. At around 23 kilometers per hour, we race over the potholed asphalt with almost no effort. Only very rarely does a car thunder past, otherwise we haven’t seen another soul for hours. “Denis, not so fast! My knee can’t take it!” shouts Tanja. We are now sailing along the plateau at 20 kilometers per hour without any significant elevations. “If the wind stays the same, we’ll soon be in Vulcanesti!” I say happily. Then, after six kilometers, we spot two people at the side of the road. They are eating walnuts that they have picked up from the ground and look towards us. “To be on the safe side, let’s ask again,” I say and pull up next to the nut eaters. “No, this isn’t the way to Vulcanesti. The road here leads to Ukraine. You have to go back,” we are shocked by the man’s reply. Tanja and I look at each other in horror. “Fucking map,” I curse and am glad to have found someone to blame. Now it’s six kilometers back against the wind. All in all, this detour costs us an hour and the loss of our strength. Tanja is now only pedaling her bike with one leg. 60 kilometers, about three of them on foot up the mountain, a total of ten mountains with a ten percent gradient, the detour of twelve kilometers and then six of them against a strong wind, is too much. No wonder. “We stop under that tree up ahead and take a break. Maybe we should find somewhere to camp here,” I suggest. “Denis, I’m almost out of water,” Tanja replies somewhat desperately. “I still have enough,” I reply. But when I check my water bottles, they are only half full. Because we hadn’t been able to get any other water, Tanja filled the bottles with mineral water. The vibrations have caused the carbon dioxide in the bottles to expand so much that the pressure has caused half of the water to leak out through the caps. We are now sitting under the tree, discussing the situation and eating the two girls’ cake, bread, tomatoes and cucumbers. At this moment, they seem like skillful angels to me again. “Do angels really exist?” I wonder. Tanja rubs a gel on her knee. “Feeling better?” I ask. “I don’t know yet.” “If we had enough water, we could certainly pitch our tent here. But like this? We urgently need something to drink. Especially after this monster effort,” I ponder aloud. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to camp wild on the first day in Moldova?” “I think this place feels good. And it’ll surround you. Not a soul around. Who would bother us? The mafia certainly won’t and we haven’t come across any Sinti and Roma yet,” I reassure Tanja. “In future, we should always load an extra two liters of water into my trailer for such cases,” I say after a few minutes’ thought. “We’ll be happy if your trailer is lighter and not heavier.” “True, but we need water and I haven’t felt as fit as I do now for years. Today demands a lot from our bodies, a lot. If my back can cope, and it looks like it can, I don’t mind two liters of water more or less,” I think aloud. Tanja feels better after an hour. “Can we go on?” I ask, a little worried. “I think I’ll be fine,” she says confidently. But as soon as she stands up, a sound of pain crosses her lips. “What’s wrong?” I ask, startled. Tanja is unable to answer for the first few seconds. But then she reassures me. “A cramp, a damn cramp!” I support her for a while until the cramp in her thigh goes away. “You’re all right now.” “Are you sure?” “Yes, I think so,” Tanja replies and we get on our riese und müller. We continue against the wind at around 10 kilometers per hour. Tanja hangs close behind me to take advantage of my slipstream. “How’s it going?” I ask several times. “Much better. The break has done me good,” her answer relieves me. “We’ll make it. I’m sure we will. We can do it now!” I shout, motivating her.

After 1 ½ hours we see a radio tower. “It must belong to Vulcanesti!” I shout. Suddenly it’s a steep descent. The city lies in a valley at our feet. We bump a few hundred meters over cobblestones and reach the town sign. I stop. When Tanja arrives, I give her a kiss. “You’ve made it. Congratulations. That was a great achievement,” I praise and we laugh. The city looks completely run-down, just like the cities in Romania. Only perhaps a little worse. “You’ll find a hotel in the town center,” we are told. People look at us as if we were extraterrestrial beings. In bars, everyone turns to look at us. Strange atmosphere but not unpleasant. Two Russian-speaking men show us the way to the hotel. “That’s it,” he says, pointing to a dilapidated Eastern Bloc bunker of superlatives. Although after 73 kilometers, 10 ½ hours on the road, 10 mountains and 20 kilometers of strong headwind, everything is fine with us, our jaws almost drop. We have never seen anything like it in all our travels. “And this is supposed to be a hotel?” asks Tanja. “He said that,” I reply. No sign indicates that people can live here. The Russian leads me into the building, which looks more like a dilapidated World War II air raid shelter than a guest house. On the second floor, a new glass door opens to a reception area, which again amazes me. Polished, tiled floors, new furniture, a TV and a sitting area make my heart beat faster. An unfriendly Russian-speaking woman shows me to a room, which leaves me speechless for the third time in a row. I enter an area that looks more like an apartment. There is a furnished living room, a bedroom and a bathroom with bathtub. Everything brand new and in a house similar to an air raid shelter. Who would have thought it? But when I ask for the price, I am surprised for the fourth time within a few minutes. “600 lei,” says the unfriendly woman. According to our conversion table, this is 75 euros. An astonishing price for such a poor country. Trading is not possible. “Nope,” I hear and see an energetic shake of the head. Then it turns out that there are also rooms for 400 lei (50 euros). Because this place is the only hotel in town and we have no other choice, we take the smaller room. After our bikes have been stowed away in a terribly dirty room, which is used as a storage area for undefinable things, and our equipment is in the room, I let myself fall onto the bed. After a few minutes to catch my breath, I take a cold shower. Hot water is not working at the moment.

Then we set off to look for something to eat. There is nothing to eat in any of the bars or pubs. There is also no menu. In a restaurant we are offered chips, salad and meat. Despite our limited knowledge of Russian, it is even served and we are delighted with the taste. As a vegetarian, Tanja only eats the salad and chips. Although it is already 8 p.m., the temperatures are rather hot. We quench our endless thirst with water and beer and watch life on the street. Ancient cars bump past. Cars that we have only ever seen in the movies. The hustle and bustle here on a Sunday evening is like a movie for us. People have dressed up and are strolling along the wide sidewalk. Again and again they cast a furtive glance at us. Foreigners are also the absolute attraction here. Later, as we walk to our strange hotel, we discover a conversion table in front of a bank. Our information was completely wrong. According to the board, you don’t get 8 but 16 lei for one euro. So for us it really is a very favorable country, above all a country full of surprises.

We look forward to your comments!