Wines, Walks, Warm Welcomes

Not all adventures roar—some whisper, like Moldova, where wine flows, stories live in stone, and strangers welcome you like family; write Manjit P and Vinod K

- Manjit P and Vinod K

It was over filter coffee at our favourite corner café in Bangalore that the idea of Moldova first came up. Vinod was scrolling through an old travel blog on lesser-known European countries when he paused and said, "How about our next trip to Moldova?" Something struck me about the name itself—soft, mysterious, and so unfamiliar—called to both of us.

A few months later, after wrangling with Schengen visa alternatives, sifting through forums, and booking the quirkiest flight route—Bangalore to Istanbul, and then to Chisinau—we landed in Moldova's capital with woollen jackets under our arms and minds wide open.

Chisinau, pronounced "Kisheshe-now," greeted us with a surprising blend of stark Soviet blocks, tree-lined boulevards, and the aroma of freshly baked placinta (Moldovan pies) wafting from street kiosks. Our Airbnb host, Irina, met us at the door with a warm smile and a plate of homemade walnut cookies. "Welcome to the quiet heart of Europe," she said.

Our first walk around the city was on a cloudy Tuesday afternoon. There was a gentle melancholy to Chisinau—a slowness we grew to love. Locals strolled past us in thick coats, couples sat quietly on benches in Stefan Cel Mare Park, and trolleybuses clanked along wires overhead.