The wine-filled mountain

We were driven past the only church, with beautiful blue Orthodox domes, past the rolling hills, pristine countryside with dappled colours, past the poverty existing side by side with two-storey houses made of stone, to the Ericova wine cellars, dug deep inside a multi-storeyed mountain.

We drove straight into the mountain, which had a 100-km road network inside it, each road painted white on the sides, each street named after a grape variety: Merlot, Chardonnay, Pinot... In the alcoves were the wine barrels, some of which we were to sample at a sumptuous dinner that followed soon after our tour.

It was a wonderful experience, hardly disturbed by our hosts' refrain that we were in the largest wine cellar in the world.

I did not doubt it. This was Moldova, after all. Famous for its wines, for many years viticulture was the major occupation of the people of this former Soviet state. The vineyard area covers just under 150,000 hectares, of which two-thirds are used for commercial production, mostly export. Many families have their own secret recipes and strains of grape, passed on within the family for generations.

But, back in late May, 2003, I was not in Moldova for the grapes. Or the wine. I had been invited to a Standing Committee of the Council of Europe.

At that time, the economy had been experiencing steady growth. But, two years later, the registered GDP per capita was still $2,100, making it 4.5 times lower than the world average. I was in the poorest country in Europe...

...And in a country that wanted a clear route to EU membership. Speaking at the conference on the subject of the economy - after a city tour of monuments, historic bell tower, fountain, more heroic monuments and the church - I did not mince my words. A great deal still had to be done. The country's leaders had only turned the first page.

So, back inside that mountain, I could understand the pride with which my guides spoke about the world's largest wine cellar. I even took them at their word. But neither did I doubt that it could be used for other purposes in case of need.

I had never been to a wine cellar whose entrance was protected by a platoon of soldiers with heavy weapons.

But this was Moldova, a small post-Soviet state with a big post-Soviet problem: Russia.

More specifically, since 1990 Moldova has had a breakaway republic called Transnistria (sometimes called Trans-Dniester), a sliver of land on its eastern border. One third of its people hold Russian passports.

Moldova has never recognised Transnistria, and in international law the region is considered to be part of Moldova. Politically, however, the situation has been compared to that of Georgia with South Ossetia and Azerbaijan with Nagorno-Karabakh.

No wonder that, last month, as a Nato delegation went to Georgia to offer Western support after Russia's military intervention, Moldova watched events very closely.

It knows what a Russian "peace-keeping force" amounts to. In 1992, after a brief military conflict between the Moldovan army and the forces of Transnistria, Russia sent in troops that it has yet to withdraw, despite signing international obligations to do so.

In the same year I was in Moldova, Russia withdrew a token amount of armaments. But, late that year, relations between the two countries deteriorated when Russia made an offer that Moldova flatly refused.

Moldova has tried to address Russian concerns by not joining Nato and by declaring itself neutral. But, right up till last month, when Transnistria celebrated its 18th anniversary, the leader of its Parliament, Yevgeny Shevchuk, told a BBC reporter that war was still possible.

Russia is 700 km away but its presence is heavily felt in the region. Currently, President Dmitry Medvedev is trying to project himself as part of the solution to the conflict.

He is trying to broker peace. But Moldova has retorted that it will not sign any agreement that does not include, within its framework, the US, the EU and Moldova's neighbour, Ukraine, which lies on the other side of Transnistria.

Here, then, is another of those so-called frozen conflicts from the immediate post-Soviet periods. It concerns a small patch of land but one with enormous significance to the EU.

Besides the threat of war on an EU border, the legal limbo of Transnistria makes it a haven for criminal organisations, a situation that resembles that of South Ossetia, where borders remain very easy to cross.

As long as Russia feels that its regional pride has been wounded, it is likely to believe in asserting its power on every occasion. The problem for the EU is to decide whether it is going to try to solve each "frozen conflict" piecemeal or whether it should take a holistic approach.

Dr Attard Montalto is a Labour member of the European Parliament.