Stephan Orth - Behind Putin's Curtain - Friendships and Misadventures Inside Russia [aka Couchsurfing in Russia]

THE DENTIST ATSun City is named Richard; he is thirty-seven and lives two doors away from the school. He has the same soft laugh as Vadim but he has dark eyes, a suntanned complexion, and short black hair. Richard shows us his practice. The equipment seems a bit primitive, but some things are still surprising to find in such a remote place: two sterilizers that look like microwave ovens, a formidable range of drills, an X-ray device that looks like a blow-dryer and makes postage-stamp-sized images. When patients lie on the dental chair, which is upholstered in turquoise leather, they look directly at the benevolent, penetrating eyes of the Messiah and a sequence of numbers on the wall: 5148586 . “My predecessor wrote those down, I have no idea what they mean,” says Richard. The number 14 is considered holy as Vissarion was born on January 14.

I ask him whether he thinks a toothache is God’s punishment. “It’s all about streams of energy. If they aren’t balanced, then you see the effects,” he says. “But, of course, sugar is also to blame,” he adds with a grin.

“What about serious illnesses?”

“The cause lies in the person; they are the result of not living a harmonious life,” Richard believes.

We take a little walk, and he shows me the largest raspberries I’ve ever seen. They’re almost egg-shaped and taste so sweet and delicious that for a second I wonder whether their proximity to his dental practice is part of the business model. Of course, that’s nonsense, because treatment is free of charge for all villagers.

At the upper end of the road, a new communal house, from which you can survey the whole village, is being built for meetings. It has a big, rounded window, which from farther away looks like a huge eye. Next to this house there is a path laid with expensive flagstones leading up to Vissarion’s house.

“What’s it like living so close to the Master?”

“We describe it jokingly like this: Below in the village the people are in boiling water; up here we are on the grill,” Richard answers. But the houses up here are visibly larger and of a higher quality; it seems like the posh area of Sun City.

Now I make a mistake. I reach for my camera, watching Richard’s reaction in case photography is not allowed here. But he doesn’t seem to have any objections, so I snap a shot of Vissarion’s house. White stone walls, a rounded portal, two statues of cranes in the neatly trimmed garden. Not a palace, but it is a pretty little villa.

As we make our way back a man approaches us from behind. He seems to be angry and demands that I delete the photo immediately. I comply and he lets us continue.

Back at the entrance gate of the village we are again accosted. A bearded guy wearing the usual linen clothes asks us what we were thought we were doing taking photos. How did he know? The lines of communication seem to work better than I had imagined. He also wants to know why he wasn’t informed of our presence, as he is the guest-minder here, and how we managed to meet up with Vadim. His tone is calm—watch out for those negative vibes—but his physical tension betrays his anger. Minna tries to pacify him and says that we registered on arrival.

“How did you get here in the first place?” he asks in a milder tone.

“By walking from Zharovsk.” This seems to be unusual, which makes us even more suspect.

Once we assure him that we were planning to leave Sun City today, he lets us go. We return to our accommodation to gather our belongings. On entering the dining area we sense a change in mood, though the faces show no sign of negative emotion. “What, you’re still here?” says a woman with a friendly smile.

AFTER WALKING Afew hours we’re back at Alex’s house; a fire flickers in the living-room fireplace. I ask him what he thinks about my photo faux pas. “Not such a big problem; they’ll soon calm down.” He knows what it’s like to run afoul of Vissarion’s rules. Alex runs a shop on the main road that sells a wide variety of goods and has a small DVD rental section—mostly dealing in action movies, at ten rubles per DVD. A number of followers found this a bit disconcerting and asked for Vissarion’s view during one of the Sunday question-time sessions. The answer was that it was not okay and Alex was expelled from the “united families,” the group of particularly compliant devotees. Alex still rents out DVDs.

He is, in fact, worried about the lack of entertainment in the village; he has an eighteen-year-old son. Alex shows me a rough design for a café that he is planning to open in a few years, with guest beds and a stage for concerts. On the weekends there could be a disco, and in the small tower a telescope for observing the stars.

Despite the limited cultural life, Alex still thinks Zharovsk is a paradise in comparison to other villages of similar size. “Many Russian villages are almost completely destroyed. By drugs and alcohol. Particularly in the central regions of the country,” he says. “Do you want to know the truth about Russia?”

“Sure,” I say, “that’s why I came here.”

He tells me a joke: “A tribe of Indians captures a Russian, a Frenchman, and a German. The chieftain gives each of them two steel balls. He tells them, ‘Whoever does something with these balls that I find interesting goes free. The others will be killed.’ The next day he goes first to the German, who balances both balls on the tips of his fingers: ‘Look! That’s German precision.’ Next, the Frenchman shows him how good he is at juggling. Finally it’s the Russian’s turn: he has lost one ball and damaged the other. The chieftain can’t believe his eyes and sets him free.”

Alex thinks that tells you everything about Russians. “My son’s just like that. When he was three or four we let him go alone to the village. One hour later he came back; he had somehow lost all his clothes and was completely naked. Recently I lent him two modems; the next day he returned only one of them. He bought himself an amp—the next day it was kaput. Now he’s building a house.” Well, that’s going to be fun , I think to myself.

While we’re on the subject of Russia: “What is Putin actually like?” I ask Alex.

“The country is huge; we need a king, a strong leader. He is liked because he’s a patriot, not a thief, and he doesn’t drink. And he gives people money for a second child.”

I sense that he doesn’t really mean “he is liked” but rather “I like him.” But during my travels here I often have the impression that people are somewhat more cautious about praising Putin because of my roots, because they know how critically their leader is viewed in the West.

I only see Vissarion again in a few video clips on Alex’s computer. His sublime presence evokes a historical film version of Jesus. “It is wrong to come to conclusions without knowledge,” he decrees in a solemn voice, and the followers adoringly nod. When he’s right, he’s right.

Truth No. 15:

The greater your charisma, the wiser you will seem when stating very simple truths.