Moldovan monastery

Today we head for the Moldovan countryside and a bit of monastery spotting, so expect some anti-religious rants!

Had a lovely birthday day, and slept well in our bijou apartment on the twelfth floor. We are also catching up on the laundry well, and clean damp clothes litter every room. We found a couple of long poles outside the apartment, bits of plastic conduit I think. These do as clothes lines in the absence of anything better. They are a little bit flexible so bend precariously. We also have unlimited Wi-Fi so can download loads of podcasts to enjoy over the next few weeks.

We are trying to arrange to see a vineyard but are having trouble booking it. We have a little bit of time before our bus leaves so head for the vineyard shop in the middle of town, but before that; Yes, you know what’s coming next, a coffee. We order two coffees; lattes, but they just aren’t strong enough for Susu, so she quickly follows the first with a cappuccino. This seems to do the trick so we can start the day talking to each other. You cannot have a conversation with her before the coffee. Maybe tomorrow we will have a change in strategy!

The vineyard shop is a bit of a dead loss. We were hoping to reserve a booking, but it is Sunday and they are closed. Apparently we also need our own car, it seems you may have to drive through all the storage tunnels. We get the feeling this one may not work out for us, bit of a shame really.

A bit dejected we head back to the  bus station. This means crossing the market. I say market, everywhere here is a market, every street has someone selling something, it might be a small bucket of cherries, herbs, detergent, or they have raided there cupboards and it more akin to a boot sale, second hand junk. It is however fascinating.

At the bus station a bit of confusion as we have two different places we could be going to. In the end we plump for the one going to Orheiul.

The minibus is half full and careers out of town, picking up a few stragglers from the suburbs, but it never gets really full. It is really hot though. The countryside flashes by until eventually we are at the end of the line. A stunning valley, with a small river twisting through it. Steep, bulbous hills line the valley. High above us Para gliders are launching themselves into the thermals.

They turn and descent so close to the valley walls. There is a group at the top waiting their turn. From the screams as they launch it soon becomes apparent that these are tandem glides.

Susana and I tried this back in the UK. It was really hard work, running down the slope trying to keep the canopy straight and then getting a few feet off the ground. Those few feet were glorious though.

Maybe in the Moldavian sunshine, rather than a bleak November day in Sussex would make all the difference.

It seems to be one of those sports that as soon as you get over the initial effort it all becomes easy and graceful, but then what do I know.

Susana in the UK, gathering up her ‘wing’.

Yes, it was really hard work. The instructor didn’t have a canopy small enough for my body size so I was given extra weights to hang around my waist. That of course came with a drawback, I couldn’t run and carry the wind to catch enough air to be able to fly! SM

A ridge is formed by the river snaking around, doing a complete 180 degree turn. We climb this ridge. Somewhere up here is a monastery.

As usual the views are stunning. These monks sure knew how to pick a good spot. They are wasted as celibate monks, they should be estate agents….location, location, location!

Our destination in the distance, another golden onion.

And we have the seller of religious tat to the gullible believer.

Momentarily distracted by a young foal.

But as we get closer there is something wrong with this place.

It just looks too pristine, too perfect.

There are plenty of visitors, not just tourists, this young one needs a bit of assistance trying to make the water pump work.

We work out what is wrong. It is all new, in fact not yet finished. We are not talking refurbished, we are taking new. Concrete foundations and all that.

Some bits have yet to be finished.

We also have seen a few car with UK registration plates, right hand drive. Strange.

Ah, like any other believers, they like there bling out here. God must love gold, must be his favourite metal.

Brand spanking new, religion out here must still be popular enough that believers dig deep and fund such extravagancies.

Bit of a change from the UK where they are flogging off old churches due to lack of use.

This really can’t be the place our guide talks about. We look back along the cliffs and notice people down on a ledge.

How did they get there?

There is a tunnel the other side of the hill, which descends into a creepy chapel, selling more trash.

And then this weird little ledge, with a dozen people perched on it. Not that safe either, no handrail or anything and a long drop. Health and safety please.

I wish these people would waste their money on something useful, like gambling.

Really, shoving it in the rock doesn’t achieve anything.

See what I mean, the danger. How many unfortunate monks have plunged to their deaths here, or perhaps they were saved by gods almighty hand, who need handrails when you have faith.

What to do now? Our bus leaves in two hours. We have a rural village to look around, and also this large hotel and restaurant.

Now some may cynically say that the lack of buses around the lunchtime period and a restaurant serving lunch in no coincidence. What else are you expected to do?

We ate lunch. You can tell they expect a lot of visitors from the numerous terraces that they have. Maybe they get bus loads in the high season.

All very nice, but a little bit expensive.

And we forgot to photograph it. A shame as it would have had you salivating.

Luckily they had a photo of the dish I tried, their speciality.

The mound of yellow looking mash is polenta with a fried pork, delicious.

After lunch we stroll through the village. Unpaved and very rustic.

Not many cars around here.

And really simple construction.

and plenty of traditional wells.

We fill up our water  bottles using a bucket and chain, how quaint.

They are everywhere, typical, sometimes it is really hard to find places to fill Dora with water, here they are in abundance.

Not sure what the tradition of stuffing flowers in gates is all about.

And then something really strange. A Large lorry and a group of young men hauling sound equipment.

And this makeshift venue.

It seems last night they had a bit of opera in the countryside.

Love the hay seats.

And the entrance.

It’s been a long and exhausting day. Time to head back.

GDR