Letter from Transdniester: It's raining and the border guard is drunk. He peers at my passport, raindrops smudging the pages.
Slurred words are spoken in Russian. Gheorghe, the driver, says we've been ordered into the wooden shack that is the border post.
In 1991 Moldova - now the poorest state in Europe with per capita annual incomes of less than $500 a year - declared its independence from the old Soviet Union. The following year 700 people were killed in fighting between Moldovan forces and troops of the self-proclaimed republic of Transdniester, a Stalinist-style enclave in the east of the country which wanted to stick with the old Soviet system.
Ever since there has been an uneasy truce between the two sides. Transdniester, recognised by no one, has its own currency, police force, army - and border guards.
"Foreigners are welcome in our country," says the guard. The air of the small room is full of the smoke of strong Russian cigarettes and heavy with alcohol fumes. "They can drink as much of our brandy as they want and admire our great country."
Gheorghe is another matter. Should he be imprisoned wonders the guard? Or perhaps his car should be impounded? And what about that watch Gheorghe's wearing - I'd like a watch like that, says the guard.
Gheorghe suggests I wait in the car. Financial transactions are taking place. A $10 "fine" is paid - an amount equivalent to the guard's weekly wage. Gheorghe keeps his car and watch, though in the course of the next mile we are stopped two more times, at which more payments are made.
Moldova is a melting pot of various nationalities. The majority of the population speak the language of the country's western neighbour, Romania. However, there is a sizeable Russian population, plus minorities of Ukrainian, Bulgarian and Turkic-speaking peoples.
Transdniester, with a population of less than a million, is ruled by a Russian-speaking elite existing in a Soviet time warp. We pass dreary, crumbling Stalin-era tower blocks, bunkers and camouflaged tank emplacements.
The main avenue in the enclave's biggest city, Tiraspol, is named October 25 in honour of the 1917 Russian revolution. Another thoroughfare is Karl Marx Avenue.
A giant statue of Lenin stands outside the parliament building. Inquiries are made about a map of the city. Apparently no such document exists - for security reasons. Transdniester's security apparatus is all powerful. It's not long before I'm looking over my shoulder at street corners.
Transdniester is a narrow strip of land flanked on the west by the Dniester river and the rest of Moldova and on the east by Ukraine. In the post-war period, after Soviet forces had driven the Germans and their Romanian allies from Moldova, Stalin - favouring the Russian-speaking population - put most of the heavy industry of the so-called Moldovan socialist republic in Transdniester territory.
Today this illegal enclave has a modern steel plant and a large power plant which supplies electricity to virtually the whole of Moldova. Any renewed outbreak of fighting and the lights could go off throughout Moldova.
Transdniester, like many regions on the fringes of the old Soviet empire, is also bristling with armaments. Stalin set up a number of arms-making factories in the territory which, according to foreign military observers, are still functioning. "We can't monitor what comes in and out of those factories or where the arms go," says a Western arms expert. "Transdniester is a black hole - no one is entirely sure what goes on there."
For many years what was the Soviet 14th army was based in Transdniester.
The Organisation for Security and Co-operation in Europe, which is involved in trying to bring about a solution to the ongoing conflict between the Moldovan government and the breakaway territory, says that while only about 1,500 14th army troops remain in Transdniester, there are still about 20,000 metric tonnes of Soviet-era arms kept at a dump not far from Tiraspol.
"If those arms went off all at once the explosion would be only slightly smaller than the bomb at Hiroshima."
Romania is due to join the EU in 2007. When that time comes the EU new eastern border will be less than 100 miles from Transdniester and its arms dump.
It's beginning to get dark and Gheorghe is getting nervous. We drive out of Tiraspol. Transdniester is ruled by a Igor Smirnov, a Lenin lookalike who originally came from Russia's far east. His son, Vladimir, is a businessman - and keen on football.
On the outskirts of Tiraspol Smirnov junior's company has built what is one of Europe's most lavishly-appointed football complexes, complete with two outdoor and one indoor stadium and 11 practice pitches.
At one time the Moldovan authorities agreed the country could play international matches at the stadium in Tiraspol. However, a recent upsurge in tensions means internationals have to be played elsewhere. The glittering complex stands mostly unused.
Local officials boast that the main stadium in Tiraspol has what are the world's only lavatory facilities reserved exclusively for women referees. A security man stops us going too close.
We climb back in the car, Gheorghe checking his mirror all the time, and drive towards another meeting with the guards on the border.