Inside look: The quest to enter Europe

Want to travel with this thing? Good luck. Of course, PMR's own non-recognized passports are even more worthless...

CHISINAU (Tiraspol Times) – On a per capita basis, Moldova is the world's #1 provider of gast-arbeiters: Nearly a million Moldovans have already left, out of a population of four million. Those who leave are those who are most needed at home, too: The working age men and working. Close to half of all working age Moldovans have left their country to find jobs abroad.

What is life like for those who want to enter Europe? In this special feature for The Tiraspol Times, our correspondent joined a bus load of Moldovans to investigate the infernal journey taken by thousands of people before leaving to take up jobs as baby sitters, maids, waiters or house cleaners in the European Union.

Here is an account of what it takes for Moldovans to become legal migrants and what they must go through before they will be allowed to do the lowly jobs that other Europeans shun.

Day 1, 4:30 pm

We gather near the train station. Information regarding the place and time of meeting is spread by word of mouth. A young woman is urged to get into the front seat of an old station wagon next to a young man. It’s 36 degrees Celsius in the shade. She’ll be squashed against his sweaty body for the next 6 to 10 hours. There is no air conditioning and no seat belts. If you are more demanding and less desperate you can get a place on the 25-seat mini-bus, which has a bit more space. When I get there the bus is already full. A general sense of nervousness prevails among the travelers. The more experienced ones share the horrors of their previous trips.

In another ten minutes we are off on our way to Bucharest, Romania. The roundtrip fare is a hefty 500 lei (about €30) but that is cheaper than the train (over 800 lei). The mini-bus also gets you to where you need to be in Bucharest so there is no need to spend anything extra on taxis. Everybody on my bus without exception is traveling to Bucharest to submit work visa applications to one of the three EU Embassies – Italian, Spanish or Portuguese. Out of 25 passengers there are only three men and two adolescents. The rest are women of all ages from 25 to 45.

A straight-through drive from Chisinau to Bucharest would take approximately six hours. But we leave early, accounting for border time, which is unpredictable on both sides. By the time we arrive at Leuseni my legs are already quite numb. My mind is churning through the individual stories overheard over the last hour and a half. The lady sitting next to me is curious about my future destination and “employment”. I hasten to inform her that I have other objectives and she looks at me in disbelief. Either because I am new to this inferno or because I remind her of her daughter, she insists on looking out for me.

As we get out of the bus at the Moldovan border I feel nervous. Other passengers told me that you have to carry at least €500 in cash to cross, or otherwise they send you back. I would have been terrified to travel with that kind of money on me and only have €50 and some Moldovan lei. I ask the driver whether I can show my credit card instead, as you would expect to in a civilized country. “Who told you Romania is a civilized country?” is his response. Fortunately customs and border guards are in a good mood on both sides and we get through fairly quickly and painlessly.

The easy crossing gives us four extra hours that were factored in for border time. We take a long stop for dinner. Some people eat at the roadside restaurant while others munch home pate sandwiches and fresh cucumbers on the bus. Dinner time over, the two bus drivers engage in what appears to be a routine brisk side-business. They collect back the “contraband” or cigarette blocks distributed among the passengers before crossing the border. The packs (a big plastic bag full of them) are then pedaled to local bar and restaurant owners. My co-travelers are very cool about it. They seem happy to help the bus drivers and cheat Moldovan and most of all Romanian Customs.

Day 2, 2:00 am

I start to doubt whether I will ever regain the full use of my legs again. The lady next to me is sleeping comfortably taking up almost half of my seat. She works as a governess in Italy but her daughter lives in Chisinau. She is traveling to Bucharest to get a new visa on the basis of a renewed contract with her employer. At some point she said she wanted her daughter to join her but not to work as a governess. I told her that it is possible for young people to study in Italy but she looked uncertain probably thinking of the costs involved or doubting the value of education.

We finally get some fresh cool night air in our lugs. The bus pulls over and the drivers go to a bar to take their coffee. A group of smokers is puffing near a stack of gas containers with “highly explosive” signs all over them. As a young woman gets too close somebody makes a joke and the group begins to chuckle in the night. This is the kind of fatalism that makes this long journey somewhat more bearable – at least you know there is an end to it somewhere.

Day 2, 4:00 am

In the grey light of early morning our hapless bus pulls over near the Italian Embassy. In spurts of consciousness I see Romanians on their way to work. They peer in curiously through the open door of the bus. Bucharest is like an ant-heap already in motion with the first rays of the sun. But we still have more than fours hours to go before any of the consular offices open up.

The most restless of our group begin to stir but it never occurs to me that I won’t be seeing the majority of these people on the way back. I simply assume that, like me, most of them have purchased a seat on the bus and will be returning to Chisinau on the evening of that same day. As the heat begins to rise, the bus drivers explain the proceedings – those going to the Italian Embassy need only cross the road, the rest are to be escorted to either the Spanish or Portuguese Embassy.

Another car whisks this latter group across a large square and into what looks like a posh business district. It is recommended that everybody uses the public facilities available a block away from the Spanish premises. Apparently there are no toilets in the vicinity of the Portuguese Embassy. I join the two people from my bus going to the Spanish consulate. The building looks spacious and cool hidden in the thick shadow of trees. With a few architectural modifications it could well have been a church – resting serenely in the center of the city. Yet unlike a real place of worship, it does not aim to attract people.

Fairly friendly looking Romanian guards instruct all visa applicants to wait on the other side of the street. The Embassy can be approached only to look at the display cases with information or when called for. There are about as many Moldovans as Romanians huddled along the walls of the buildings opposite. Despite being granted the right of free travel as citizens of the European Union, Romanians who want to work in Spain still need to apply for visas. Yet among the Moldovans there are no ordinary tourists either. These are people who want to live and work in another country.

Day 2, 9:00 am

If there is anything comforting about the mass outflow of workers from Moldova, it is the fact that abroad most of them are employed at their true level. On my trying journey I did not meet any university graduates, doctors, professors, or teachers forced to take up jobs below their qualifications. The majority of migrants-to-be with contracts to work as waitresses or cleaners in Italy or Spain would be doing something very similar in Moldova albeit for a very different wage. A large percentage of these people are mature women, for whom the real drama begins with the separation from their children and loved ones.

On these makeshift bus networks that carry thousands of Moldovans to Bucharest for their visas families used to be the ultimate price for a job with a decent income. Today this trend is slowly reversing as second generation migrants are joining their parents and siblings abroad. One of the applicants for the Spanish visa on my bus is a 27-year old woman. She is going to live with her brother and sister who have been in Spain for ten years. Although her contract to work in the kitchen of a hotel restaurant in Barcelona does not seem very appealing, it is obvious that she won’t be lacking support.

In Chisinau this same woman, Rodica, was working for a private company in the utilities sector. She did round-the-clock shifts with a day off for each three days of work. It is difficult to imagine a schedule less conducive to a normal personal and family life. But Rodica is not too excited about her trip to Spain because it interferes with her plans to get married over the summer. Unfortunately her fiancé may have to wait for another year until she can figure out a way to get him to Barcelona.

For now Rodica is focused on her own visa application. She needs to exchange her currency into Romanian lei to pay an equivalent of more than 70 euro for the long-term visa she wants to request. There are no exchange offices in the area so I offer to take money out of the ATM for her. She is somewhat befuddled with the whole concept of withdrawing money from a Moldovan bank in a different country but seems relieved.

Back at the consulate Rodica remembers that she needs to fill out an application. We walk into a small office across the street advertising visa application services. They charge about 5 euro for their assistance. Rodica seems reluctant to pay somebody to put her name on a piece of paper. Eventually I manage to persuade her to ask the embassy guard for some blank application forms which I help her fill out. She is ready with her documents just as they call out for Moldovan citizens to come in but we don’t make in the first group.

Another two hours later we finally make it inside the building. Of the entire residence the area assigned to the space for visa applicants is perhaps the smallest and dingiest of all. Paint and plaster are pealing of the walls, there are no chairs, no toilet, no water. In two booths sharing a partition two consular workers are receiving applications – submit in one booth, pay at the other booth. I control the urge to suggest that they could combine the two tasks to save time. There are surprisingly few questions as to the nature of the work that the applicants will be doing once in Spain. Clearly for the consular office this is a routine check up, almost a formality, in line with the liberal immigration laws.

It takes the consulate (Spanish, Italian or Portuguese) two days on average to review an application for a work visa. For Moldovans this creates a predicament since the Romanian consulate in Chisinau issues visas for a maximum of three days (for those that need to apply for visas to third countries in Bucharest). Some risk overstaying their term and remain in Bucharest overnight to receive the visa the day after an application is made. The consulates however offer no guarantee that an application will be reviewed in that timeframe. There is always the possibility that hotel money will be spent in vain and the bedraggled applicant will have to return to Chisinau without a visa to her final destination.

This is also the case for student visa applicants. Although these represent a minority in the large group of future working migrants, the conditions for them are arguably worse for them. A student visa application can take between a week and a month for the consulate to review. It is rather odd that even given prepayment of tuition fees, the process takes such a long time. For the student this creates the need to obtain not one but two visas to Romania. No form of argument can persuade the consulate in Chisinau that a visa should be issued for a month to take account of the difference in procedures for workers and students.

Day 2, 12:30

One of my co-travelers is asked to return to the Spanish consulate to receive a preliminary decision and get her passport back to return to Moldova. Angela secretly hopes that she will be issued the visa in one day. We sit together on the curb, keeping each other awake through conversation. Angela has been accepted to a postgraduate program in a prestigious university in Spain. Her main concern is that she does not have sufficient proof of funds despite having made a partial advance payment to the university. She plans to borrow the rest of the money from a Spanish bank but can see the challenge of explaining this to consulate workers.

In the hot and dusty streets of Bucharest an hour’s wait is a long time. By the time Angela and the others are called in to collect their passports, I start to worry that we will miss the bus. The drivers told us to be back at the Italian Embassy around 2 pm and there is a still a fifteen-minute walk from where we are. Angela comes out with a disappointed look on her face and explains that she won’t have a decision for about one or two weeks. She was told to check the Spanish consulate web site every day to see if her name appears on the list of authorized applicants.

We rush back to the bus only to find out that it is not going anywhere for at least another two hours. The majority of those that came with us from Chisinau are spending the night in Bucharest to collect their visas on the following day. Our drivers wait for the bus to fill up with new passengers. We are a non-friendly area with no decent cafes or restaurants. I loiter around for what seems like an eternity.

Day 2, 17:45

There are a lot of different embassies in this district and I observe the arrogant-looking diplomats as they enter and leaver their premises. They are a class apart that to me never seemed as weak and futile as it seems today. This is the class that created the endless journey to legitimacy for Moldovans and many other people across the world. Some argue that Moldovans get the kind of treatment that is commensurate with the country’s standing on the global political arena. This is not a question of size or natural resources but a problem of self-worth.

It is hard to imagine Belgians queuing up for visas at the Spanish consulate in Bucharest. It is hard to imagine somebody from Switzerland tolerating the lack of adequate facilities in an institution delivering public services. It is hard to imagine Britain consenting to the kind of immigration rules that have been imposed on the citizens of Moldova. As we set out on our return journey I think about these outlandish comparisons. I think of the people confronted with double standards at almost every turn of their precipitous working migrants’ path.

Foreign missions in Moldova and Romania call for the protection of human rights. But how many of these missions can live up to their own standards of freedom and democracy in their own back yard and especially in their treatment of developing societies? Very few. Every restriction, every bureaucratic impediment, every superficial barrier imposed on other nations can only be interpreted as a flaw in the system synonymous to undemocratic behavior.

Day 3, 12:15 am

These thoughts are further supported when we are held up for more than three hours at the Romanian border. There is no apparent reason for delay but for a long time in the dead of night we are denied the right of exit. Cars and buses queue up in front and behind us. Tired passengers stir in their seats and get out for a breath of fresh air. The bus driver brings a rumor that if the bus pays a bribe it can get through much quicker. Some of our fellow travelers are indignant but the majority is prepared to pay up rather than wait. Somebody collects the money – fifteen Moldovan lei each. On hearing muffed complaints, the driver denies to take bribe and negotiate with Romanian officers. We wait endlessly.

When it is finally our turn to go through, there is only a cursory check. I am barely alive with exhaustion but one persistent thought keeps me awake – get my passport back. Within ten minutes of leaving the Romanian border, we pass all controls on the Moldovan side and are free to gather speed on our last 100 km to Chisinau. Perhaps on very few other occasions for my co-travelers their home country stands to win in a comparison with the destination of the day before. A few hours of rest will be followed by a renewed battle for survival ... and even more visas, queues, bribes, buses, and so on, all of which is required simply to gain the right to work.

See also:
» EU visas for sale in Moldova
» Moldova falling apart as corruption, poverty force half the country to leave