It's a state that lived under Moscow's aegis for decades with a leadership that favours closer EU ties and a chunk of pro-Russian territory in the east that wants to secede. But it's not Ukraine.

Moldova's perilous geopolitical situation has become more urgent in the wake of the Ukrainian crisis, which appears to have deepened a 20-year-old division in Europe's poorest nation.

Pulling east is the breakaway region of Trans-Dniester, a territory of just 300,000 which fought a short war with Moldova in 1992 and is technically recognised by no country, not even Russia, even though Moscow supports it financially and militarily. Pulling west is the government in Chisinau, which is worried about what Russia might do next, not least to maintain a supply line for its troops in Trans-Dniester. Currently, this runs through Ukraine, but Moscow might now classify it as hostile territory that would have to be secured.

"First they would have to move their troops into Ukraine, which we hope will not happen," says Moldovan prime minister Iurie Leanca. "But this crisis teaches us something very important about secessionist problems. They need to be addressed and not allowed to become contagious flashpoints. Hopefully, we can now address Crimea and Trans-Dniester through international mechanisms and see light at the end of the tunnel."

Hedging his bets, though, Leanca is also trying to consolidate Moldova's status as a Nato ally, pushing for an EU association agreement as soon as possible and setting a personal, albeit optimistic, target of joining in 2019.

The two capitals – Chisinau in Moldova and Tiraspol in Trans-Dniester – couldn't be more different, the former thrumming with traffic and FM radio debate, the latter redolent of a bygone Soviet vision of monolithic order and stability.

Barely the size of a small provincial town, Tiraspol has a spotless main boulevard, named after thee date 25 October from the Russian revolution. On one side is a giant block of Soviet architecture that houses Trans-Dniester's parliament, still called the Supreme Soviet. In its forecourt stands a statue of Lenin and on the other side by the Dniester river flicker flames of a war memorial where each name of the dead is listed on a black wall – more than 800 from the 1992 war.

This week, the breakaway authorities repeated their call this week for formal membership of the Russian Federation, and on the streets people were not coy about explaining why. "It would be good," said one woman cleaning the memorial. "Our lives would be more prosperous and stable."

When explaining their support for Vladimir Putin, the handful of people willing to talk all used the Russian word – stabilnost – for stability. They felt their lives were less unpredictable than those in the EU and that they were materially better off.

"Our pensions are more than twice as those in Moldova," said a mother in a coffee shop. "And our gas is a quarter of the price."

Nadejda Kostiurina, curator of a Tiraspol museum, had no time for European high-mindedness, despite her son living in Germany. "You tell me," she challenged. "What can the EU do for me – except start a war against us?"

In Chisinau, however, attitudes are very different. On steep slopes running down to a lake is the Poiana vineyard where winemaker Sergio Galvsca has felt the brunt of the Russian backlash. In 2006, after a political row, Russia banned imports of Moldovan wine.

"We relied on it and we hit rock bottom," he said. "But it also changed our mentality for the better. We were exporting a lot of poor quality wine to Russia. Now we are concentrating on very good wine, which we hope to sell to Europe, China and rising wine markets."

With an empty glass, he knelt down by a steel drum marked cabernet sauvignon 2013. "The EU gives us hope," he continued. "When we join, we will buy more land and grow more vines."

He opened the tap and poured the cabernet. "The 2013 harvest was not so good. There was a lot of rain so the body is not so strong." He handed over the glass. "But try it. Tell me if we can sell to Tesco?"