A note on the pictures in this entry: while some
images may seem bleak, this is both the reality of the season (autumn is after
all, the prelude to winter’s death) and the reality of some areas of Moldova.
After years of poverty, many villages such as Cîrpeşti, where I am
currently staying, face a mass exodus of population, especially with the
ability of Moldovans to now possess Romanian passports through hereditary means
and thus travel freely in Europe. With many places abandoned, houses stand
unfinished, gardens and communal spaces are unkept, with the majority of
residents now emigrated to Italy, the nearest major European country. Still,
amongst the harsh landscapes and lonely streets, I hope I can reflect some of
the rustic and natural beauty this area displays to me.
***
The rain seemed to have followed us from the
airport all the way to my girlfriend’s home, and it looked as if it was there to stay
for the next few days, changing intermittently between soft patter and tempest
like torrents with howling rain which ran around the isolated house. On the
first morning after my arrival, we even had the first snow of autumn, first in
drabs, then in thick flakes, unable to stick to the ground because of it being
drenched the night before. I moved from the living area of the house to the
kitchen area, where my girlfriend’s mother was diligently preparing a
continental breakfast for us.
We eat well, and when nature
calls my way to the outside toilet is blocked by chickens, who cluck around the back garden
contentedly a make way for me once I advance. The privy is obviously a new
experience for me, and although having to go out into the cold seems a chore,
once I’m left to my own devices I am more relaxed that I would be in an indoor
toilet, where I could be disturbed at any minute. Leaving the privy, I see
the snow is thickening and the chickens now huddle under the corn shed.
In contrast to the cement coffee of the day before, we now drink Italian latte macchiato, with bread and butter, topped with homemade quince jam. |
While the outside is bitterly cold at times, the
house is never chilly, having been built with clay, it retains warmth in winter
and releases it during Moldova’s stifling summers. Furthermore, the house is
well heated by a brick fireplace (that kind of looks like peanut brittle) which
radiates both sides of a wall, a living room on one side and a bedroom on the
other. The house itself is separated into summer and winter rooms, with only the latter having a strong fire. In addition, there is a separate kitchen and
bathroom section, which helps keep cooking smells away from living section, and
allows for more efficient heating.
We head to my girlfriend’s cousins for lunch, on
the way a gaggle of geese gather at a street corner, and dogs bark as we pass
houses, marking their territory and scaring the geese, who honk and hurry away
from the noise. On arrival, I meet my girlfriend’s two nephews, one of whom is
still a baby, the other is two years old, but almost silent, as he has seemingly
realised he can get what he wants without making a sound. Wise indeed.
On the way back home, the cruel wind is in our
faces, and I long for the warmth of the house. The surrounding
countryside is desolate, with distant rolling hills softly powered white with snow, which
has now ceased but has left a chill in the air. Once home we take the last of
the good grapes from the vine, and eat them with homemade pastries. On this subject, it was brought to my attention that the shape of Moldova is more like a bunch of grapes than a banana, which is probably more agreeable considering the wine culture here.
Now holed up for the rest of the day, we await the arrival of my girlfriend's
sister from school. When she comes she is stone cold, and we nap together on the divan like two lazy cats.
Specifically, this type of red grape is called Moldova, a testament to the country’s place amongst the top wine exporters in the world. |
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Picture Source: http://wineofmoldova.com/en/
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