retiredmartin

March 2025. Tighina Fortress. Transnistria/Moldova.

If you’re reading these foreign posts* in search of history, you’ll be disappointed. And in fairness, our guide Lily wasn’t much interested in facts and figures either.

She showed us supermarkets, sturgeon, fridge magnet stores and the Sheriff Tiraspol ground, while changing the tour to squeeze in an unscheduled wine tasting that meant she wouldn’t get back in Chisinau in time to see Haaland and Ødegaard dismantle the Moldovan national team. What a trooper.

It’s just as well Transnistrian is so quiet, hardly any traffic in the towns or on the highway, and we were able to stop at Bender’s Tighina Fortress on a promise that we “wouldn’t dawdle or attempt to read the descriptions in the torture museum” or something.

Tighina is the local equivalent of the Tower of London or Alnwick Castle, a rambling site with churches,

and castle (pic : Helgie12),

coffee and local cognac.

Mrs RM dutifully headed off to tick the castle;

I headed off for an espresso.

I never got it.

At the little hut packed with donuts and croissants (top) a young couple were getting the lady to meticulously pour shots of cognac into an empty Sheriff cola bottle, the way scoopers fill panda pop bottles at beer festivals.

One after another after another.

Our guide Lily had been sent back from the fortress to find out why it had taken 8 minutes to buy a coffee and move me on, but by now I was utterly engaged in this process and had my rubles out to buy my first ever cognac.

Yes, folks, I may be CAMRA life member (aka a leech) but, unlike most CAMRAs, I will drink anything except tea which has had the hot water poured before the milk.

Lily looked on, jealously, as I downed the Holy Water in 20 seconds and sprinted back to the car.

*And not many of you are, you just want blogging about grim Northern towns, I get it