Why is it that I sleep better on a tiny couchette in a rattling train through Romania and Moldova than I do in an actual bed in an actual home? Even with the 3am passport control and changing of the fucking train wheels?
I don’t know, but I do.
Not going to lie, Moldova was a slightly pointless stopover. And I knew it would be, so I didn’t really care, but it was there, and on the way to Ukraine, so, you know, fuck it, I spent the day/night in Chisinau. Which I also still don’t know how to pronounce.
My hostel was full of a group where everyone knew each other already, so I basically just slothed around my bed, chatted with the host a bit — in French! which was nice because yes, I can actually still speak French, even if not amazingly well — and hung out with this most excellent specimen of canine delight.
I also had my first experience with being shouted at by men in cars since I’d been in eastern Europe, which was a bit unsettling. Except then I realized they were just trying to tell me that I’d dropped my scarf on the other side of the street, which I would never have noticed and would have been really sad to lose it.
So yeah, I don’t have anything insightful to say about Moldova except the dogs are A+ and the people are really nice.
(Although the weird bus to Ukraine was hella fucking sketch, but that’s for the next post.)