SHIMANSKY SHORES

Why is he dealing with all this nonsense, why doesn't he pack and go to live a normal life on the mainland?

SHIMANSKY SHORES

During the weekends, Anadyr, a restaurant in the town with the same name, has a show with live music. Dances are performed by the patrons themselves, and singing is done by Slavik Morgan (his real last name is Amosov, but he looks very much like Morgunov, the movie star, hence the nickname). I was told that on those three nights, there was little chance of having a quiet dinner there. But with a bit of luck — meaning that I would not be pressed too hard with offers from determined single female clients — I could have a chance to watch the local businessmen relax. I was lucky, and I did watch them. They do relax, all the way.

On my first night in the restaurant, because I refused to join their dancing party, the determined single ladies called me sectarian. But the next night turned out to be almost as peaceful as a family reunion: the staff of a company called Metro was celebrating the birth of a child in the family of their boss. Slavik Morgan made his point by proclaiming from the stage that only real men could have sons, because they loved with all their hearts. The happy father shouted back: «Don't be ridiculous Slavik! The heart has nothing to do with it. I'll tell you later how you do it.» Everybody laughed. The next song was about officers of the Army whose hearts ladies seek. There was a second meaning in this, since the happy father had been in the military too.

The next morning I tried several times to call the office of Metro to find out more about ex-officers who become businessmen, but in vain. The big boss was not available. I thought that life of a businessman in Chukotka must be very hectic, leaving him no time to drop by his office. I also heard that municipal authorities were talking about closing a shop belonging to Metro, the looks of which, according to them, were damaging to the general architectural landscape. Not being an expert in this matter, I thought that the damage must have been done by the extravagant neatness of the building, an alien in the middle of sad blocks marked by harsh detrimental effects of many bad seasons.

The day after, I boarded a plane rented by Roman Abramovich and took my seat, ready to leave for Laurenty and still thinking about the hardships of free enterprise in Chukotka. At that point, a very agitated man rushed into the cabin and shouted that he had to fly with us because a shipload of foodstuffs was arriving to Laurenty, and he had absolutely to be there to take it over. With that explanation he was allowed to stay, crashlanded into a seat and pulled a tisssue out of his pocket to wipe out the sweat on his face. Then he jumped up again and pleaded with the flight attendant to be allowed off the plane for just one second. He calmed down after he was told that we were already airborne. But he was obviously distressed. The woman sitting next to him asked what was his problem. He said: «You see, my wife and kids stayed back at the airport, waiting for the regular flight. But I forgot to leave the tickets with them.» The woman said she could help since she was returning to Anadyr with this same flight. The distressed passenger gave her the tickets and finally relaxed in a much better mood. Then he talked to her about business in Chukotka. Remember how I was trying so hard to learn about the subject from the boss of Metro? And that's how I met Nikolay Shimansky, a businessman from Laurenty.

He is quite famous around here. Once, he knocked the district attorney off his feet because the man had parked his car right next to a thermal spring, and showed his beaurocratical disdain when told that he might be polluting national heritage. Shimansky was arrested and locked up, spent a week in jail to the delight of all the inmates who shared the nice food brought by his wife, and was finally released because all witnesses were swearing that nothing had ever happened.

I was also told that in the early days, there had been real businessmen in the area, but they all left. So now there is only Shimansky. He might be a little crazy, but one has to live with what one's got, and then he supplies food for the whole district. He still manages to sell bread at 14 rubles, a fixed price imposed by the authorities, even though it costs 24 rubles to produce. There is no sign yet of any compensation coming his way.

He would have gone broke long ago weren't it for his other businesses: construction, transports, food processing, green houses. His latest is a farm where he raises pigs. It's an old military facility, and he is happy: «My little pigs are like in a spa there.» He's got big plans for his brand new farm: two thousand porks per year, sales of up to a 100 tons of meat. He also wants to «lease out» piglets and stuff to feed them to local families.

For the moment, though, pork is still too expensive and a luxury. Therefore Shimansky's idea is to supply canned whale meat. In the Soviet times, it was mostly used to feed animals at fur farms. Nowadays, local fur industry is as extinct as normal food supplies, so marine mammals are again on the menu of local population. For Chukchi, it is a return to their traditional diet, which they do like a lot. They eat all parts of the animals, and intestines full of half digested contents seem to be a real treat. In the old days, during the long winter nights, Chukchi ate a mixture of whale and seal meats, seasoned in a hole in the ground, called «kopalhen». These delicacies are a very unlikely choice for any newcomers and even for some of the Natives, especially those spoilt by civilization. Shimansky believes he can improve the smell and the taste by applying modern technologies.

Another of Shimansky's plans for the future is to build civilized homes for local families.

Why is he dealing with all this nonsense, why doesn't he pack and go to live a normal life on the mainland?

«Nobody as yet promised us a normal life there. What's more, I happen to like it here. I came after I left the Army, to prospect gold, and then I fell in love with the place. I married a Chukchi, and I don't want to go anywhere. I want to have a normal life and to enjoy myself here in Chukotka. I want my business to be good for me and for the locals. I want a good future for my kids, and I do everything I can to make sure that they don't have to leave because the place is becoming unlivable.»

He is certainly right in what he is saying. He also claims that all his employees are getting their salaries on time. They earn one and a half to fifteen thousand rubles, depending on how they work. True, not all are good responsible workers, which makes them, here in the North, a much higher risk for business than in more temperate lands. Any minor hicup in a green house could ruin a year's work. Risks only grow higher as the harvest season approaches. As soon as there are cucumbers ready for the pick, workers lose some of their sense of responsibility and shamelessly steel the vitamin rich product to trade it for vodka. Make them pay a penalty, and you will hear the big mouth talk. Their latest trick is to leave their jobs all at once. They know how scarce possible replacements are.

Shimansky talks tough about the heavy drinking. But in his early days, as he honestly admitted, he made his first money by selling self-made booze. Like so many others over the centuries, he contributed to making Chukchi drink more and more, thus becoming one more living proof of the fact that initial accumulation of capital is no clean job. The Russian saying goes: earnings from virtuous endeavors are never enough to build nice houses. Shimansky does not have one either, though. He moved from Lorino, a small village, to the capital of his district and bought a standard apartment. Having it heated and serviced costs him now a fortune. His last monthly bill was for an astronomical 5,000 rubles. Sure, he had enough money to pay the bill, but it did not look fair at all. So he went to the servicing company and started to ask questions. Guess what they told him. They said that they had plenty of poor families entitled to all sorts of discounts, and they needed to raise money somewhere else to compensate the losses. Since he wasn't entitled to any discounts, they thought they would charge him. Sounds insane indeed.

His own business is now becoming perfectly civilized, although some claim that he is still not as clean as he says. Local administrators remembered complaints that Shimansky had been bringing outsiders, kept their papers locked and made them work for peanuts. As we were on our way to Laurenty, local tax collectors were auditing his books looking for hidden profits. The administration, however, is on his side and thinks that whatever mistakes he made were not intentional. They even appointed their bookkeepers to help him «clean the mess».

Shimansky does not complain and is in no mood to give up. When our plane began the approach to Laurenty, he watched the shores dreamily and said: «Wait till I'm finished tomorrow with these new foodstuffs. Then I can take my old rifle and go hunting...»

Peter MIKHAILOV