And Then Transdniestria Got in the Way… – Part 5

We were dropped off on the Moldovan side of the border. Our friend and the driver accompanied us right up to the guy who had the authority to let people through the gate. He was a young guy, but appeared to wield some serious power. We showed him our passports and he gave us a piece of paper with a stamp on it before letting us through. Our friend, wanting to go with us further, tried to talk the border guard into letting him through without a passport. Fat chance. So we said our “Goodbye’s” and went on our way.

For two fairly small countries, Moldova and Ukraine sure made a complicated mess of their borders. The first guy we passed, we soon realized, was simply there to prevent people without passports from getting to the second level. To get to the second level, we had to walk for about two-hundred metres. There’s nothing like walking across a frontier, is there?

At the second level of defense, we were approached by a Ukrainian customs official who asked us if we had our immigration forms. If not, we needed to fill them out here. She took a look at our passports and said, “Babin? That’s a Ukrainian last name. What are you doing here?!?!” This bought us instant credibility. She happily made sure our forms were in order, stamped our little piece of paper, and sent us on to the next checkpoint.

Another hundred metres down the road was the third level. Two Moldovan customs officials this time. They took our passports, incredulous at why two Canadians had come to Moldova by train and were now walking back to the Ukraine. What was this, a free country? These two guys weren’t nearly as interested in moving us on to the next checkpoint. They made some calls, recited our passport numbers and names into the receiver while no doubt Ministry of the Interior officials on the other end were checking to see if we were in fact spies. I swear the two officials asked me six times what we were doing and where we were going. “Ya, ok, I get that. But what are you really doing?”

I don’t blame border guards in remote places for having a little fun with foreigners. It’s all part of the experience. You never really feel threatened, but at the same time they keep you on edge. After all, they can either let you through or send you back to rural Moldova.

Eventually the two relented and stamped our passports and little piece of paper. We were in what appeared to be the Ukrainian border complex. Five metres separated the Moldovan booth and what we could only assume to be the Ukrainian booth. The only problem was that there was no one in the Ukrainian booth, so we just kept walking. I was thinking, “Hmm…that's odd. When are we going to get out Ukrainian entry stamps. How was I supposed to explain to the customs guys at the airport that we didn’t get an entry stamp walking across the border near Chernovitse. They’d think I was nuts and throw me in prison.” All of a sudden, a guy came charging out of the main border complex and yelling, “Come back!”

Right on cue, I guess. Border guards yelling is rarely a positive thing and should be avoided if at all possible, but I think this time it was welcome. The man took our passports and little piece of paper, asked us the usual questions, looked inquisitively at us, pondered the thought of playing a practical joke, stamped our passports and piece of paper, and then sent us onwards.

The end was finally in sight; there was one guy left between us and non-border area Ukraine. We got to him and, not having a clue what to do, we tried to show him our passports. In response, he just sneered, ripped the little piece of paper out of my hand, and said “Get out of here!” Welcome to the Ukraine.

So let me get this straight. We had to pass through five checkpoints (Moldovan, Ukrainian, Moldovan, Ukrainian, Ukrainian) and get four stamps on a little piece of paper that was then collected by the last guy? I bet it was easier in Soviet times.