Take two. Reposting my entry from yesterday morning. I had to pull it down ten minutes later, because the regional authorities wouldn’t confirm the president’s visit until late evening (though the city authorities had), and apparently I’d acted in a not very corporate way. A small update. The President of the Russian Federation is coming to Vyatka (the historical name of Kirov). Preparations are in full swing. The grass is gleaming with fresh green paint, and leaves are stitched onto tree branches with neat little seams. Under every bush sit young men with watchful eyes. The manhole covers have been welded shut. The number of dogs sniffing for explosives vastly exceeds the number of stray mutts. The hottest phrases right now: - to ensure full compliance (used just as often and in just the same situations as the rest of the country uses “for fuck’s sake”); to cut off harshly; and (my favorite) to comb through this whole bacchanalia. It has become extremely fashionable to call the president not the “president” but the “first person.” You have to say it in a quiet but very weighty voice, and then it becomes clear that the speaker is privy to some grand secret. The “unwelcome elements” are being “talked to.” I should note that the FSO officers (Federal Protective Service) are modest and polite. I had imagined it differently somehow. Like, guys would show up playing at being oprichniki (Ivan the Terrible’s feared enforcers), talk to everyone through clenched teeth, and spend their evenings brawling in taverns. Though maybe they still will. Residents of the main streets who own weapons are having them confiscated. For Vyatka, that’s a big deal—every other person is a hunter. I’d often heard there was such an instruction and such a practice, but I thought it was made up. Nope, they really do confiscate them temporarily. Naturally, there are plenty of minor incidents. Today, on the day of the visit, a light bulb exploded in the governor’s office and the door handle stopped working. It all turned out fine: just one heart attack and three fainting spells. There was also a serious incident: two days before the arrival of the first person, there was a water main break and the city center was left without water. The utility workers performed a heroic feat. They’d hardly have dared not to—there was basically a blocking detachment behind them. In general, when the “federal bosses” come to Kirov, it usually irritates the hell out of me. I start thinking like a true regionalist: those useless Moscow layabouts are such a pain. It’s disgusting to look at the blocked roads, the flashing lights, the sirens, the escort cars. People in Kirov stare and are dumbfounded: the roads here are half-empty as it is, there are no traffic jams. Why can’t they just get in their cars and drive? Does it really all have to come with howling, quacking sirens, and shouting through a megaphone? The cops look very funny blocking off streets that are empty anyway. But the president’s visit is still good for Vyatka, and a major victory for Belykh. First, all the neighboring governors are choking with envy. Luring Medved (a colloquial nickname for Medvedev, also meaning “bear”) here is a huge deal; there’s a significant share of governors he’ll never visit. So lobbying for a visit is the main regional sport and the great competition among provinces. Getting Putin to come is a big deal too. I still haven’t figured out, by the way, which is the bigger coup. Second, for Vyatka this is genuinely a historic event: the last time—and the first time—a head of state was here was in eighteen-whatever-the-hell year. People here like to tell the insulting story of how Brezhnev was passing through, but never even stepped out onto the platform where the local leadership had lined up at attention. Third, by an unofficially accepted tradition, the president hands out money for something. The regional authorities have to identify the main problem and ask for funding for that. There’s a big, purely practical benefit to it—the region is poor. And fourth, it’s an excellent shake-up for the local sleepy kingdom. At least the city authorities were forced to “find reserves” and touch up one thing here, patch another there. They filled in the biggest potholes in the roads. Sure, it’s a Potemkin village, but still—it’s something. And besides, it immediately became clear who is capable of working in emergency mode and who isn’t. So even if Medved bails out at the last minute, the preparations will still have been useful. Medved didn’t bail.