cross-posted from: mander.xyz/post/43733669

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First, the complete absence of people. Places that used to be packed — parks, malls, main streets — are now empty. Even on weekends, you rarely see crowds. It’s especially noticeable on minibuses: they used to be crammed at rush hour, with people standing on the steps. Now they run almost empty.

The second is the breakdown of infrastructure. Roads, curbs, foundations, lighting, bus stops — everything is either broken, not working, or in terrible condition. You can tell there’s much less money in the city budget.

The third is economic decline. Half-empty shopping malls, outdated restaurants, major brands leaving. The clearest example is the Mercure Hotel in the city center, with its prime location and high-end rooms, now standing empty. From what locals say, it was taken over by a local official. It’s depressing.

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Another impression: it’s hard to breathe in Moscow. It took several hours for my headache to go away because of the heavily polluted air, especially after driving from the airport along the ring road and sitting in downtown traffic.

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Billboards with “special military operation heroes” are everywhere. It’s almost the only reminder of what’s going on. And yet nobody talks about the war. For my friends, it’s a taboo subject. They’ll talk about relationships, work, kids, travel, visa problems, where to order imported alcohol — anything but the war. I guess it’s a way to shield themselves and protect their sanity.

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In St. Petersburg especially, it’s noticeable how apartments in the city center vacated by their former residents are now occupied by people from the outskirts — grim-looking types who came into money from you-know-how. Back in the 2010s, we could easily leave a bicycle or stroller in the stairwell; now that sense of safety is gone. Overall, there’s a heavy feeling of insecurity and growing distrust of others. Especially in public spaces — the metro, buses, taxis — you have to speak indirectly and cautiously, just in case.

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[The biggest change I noticed is the] scammers — I’ve never seen anything like it anywhere. They call everyone, several times a day. Many of my acquaintances have been scammed out of large amounts of money. My father was called under the pretext of replacing the apartment intercoms (which really were being replaced) and asked for an SMS code, which he gave — and they hacked his government services account and took out a loan in his name.

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A constant feeling of anxiety (about the economy, drones, the army), to the point that people have started drinking heavily and losing all stability. You see a lot more drunk people on the streets now. Real incomes are falling and continue to fall. If you don’t work in defense, you earn less every day. Taxes are rising, inflation is over 15 percent, gasoline costs about 70 rubles per liter ($3.33 per gallon) … Periodic Internet shutdowns paralyze everything. I felt it even in Perm; I can’t imagine how people live in places [closer to Ukraine] like Rostov.

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The gap in living standards has become striking. In some places, it feels like being thrown back into the 1990s. Shopping malls have split into ones “for the rich” and ones “for the poor” — the latter selling knockoffs at prices two or three times lower, and with no fitting rooms, you just try the clothes on right there [on the sales floor]. Across from my building, a manicured lawn has been replaced by an outdoor market selling Chinese goods.

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The most cynical thing inside the country now is how clearly they’ve put prices on human lives. The poorer and more hopeless a city, the higher the payouts advertised on recruitment posters. In Tula, for example, there’s a lot of poverty, so the payments are enormous.

Along the entire highway, billboards display portraits of “heroes”; closer to Moscow, you start to see posters urging women to give birth, along with ads for [the Orthodox Christian station] Radio Vera. There are lots of Chinese cars on the roads. All of the Lukoil gas stations have pro-war Z symbols, but closer to Moscow they disappear. And the Don and Neva highways now cost more to use than the toll roads in Austria.

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I left Russia four years ago — not because of the war, but through a resettlement program for ethnic Germans. I first visited relatives back home in 2023 and was shocked — even frightened — by how much hatred toward Europeans and Ukrainians had grown. There was tension in the air, hostility toward everything “foreign.” Even relatives openly said things like “Europe must end.” At holiday tables, people smiled while discussing how Europe would freeze without gas. When I asked, “Have you bought firewood or coal yourselves? You don’t have money either,” they were at a loss.

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I didn’t recognize the country or its people. My city is in southern Russia, very close to the Ukrainian border, and it’s flooded with military equipment and soldiers. They’ve brought unimaginable money by local standards, and they spend it wildly: buying alcohol in insane quantities, with prostitution flourishing. There are a lot of wounded and disabled soldiers living in hotels and rented apartments. Ninety percent of them are constantly drunk.

Only lieutenant colonels and higher-ranking officers retain a somewhat human appearance. The rest are clearly from — forgive me — the bottom rungs of society. Crime has risen because of them. The city cemetery has expanded noticeably.

In Novocherkassk, there’s decay and abandonment everywhere. Roads and building facades are in terrible condition. Nothing’s being done to fix it. It’s obvious there’s no money in the budget to improve living standards. There’s no Internet either.

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