The main industry in Beresniki is potassium salt. It is an industry that both supports the city but is also destroying it. Many of the city's residents are living in fear. Juri Rescheto reports from Beresniki.
Image: DW/J. Rescheto
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At first there is no hint of the catastrophe. There's a blue paddling pool. There are red cherries. There are tomatoes, potatoes and dill. It is an idyllic place, somewhere in the Urals.
There is no hint of the catastrophe if you stay in the garden. The garden belongs to Irina and Andrej Chorow, who are both around 40. They have been living here for 13 years. But for how much longer? They don't know.
The catastrophe becomes visible once you leave the garden and go into the house belonging to the couple. Then you see the cracks. They are everywhere in the facade, as thick as a finger. They are under the torn wallpaper in all the rooms. They are on the walls and next to the windowsill. "It's cracking everywhere," complains Andrej. "The house is crooked. You can't open the doors properly anymore. The building is being pulled apart. We can't do anything."
The neighbors have long since gone
The house, which is on the outskirts of Beresniki, a city in the Perm region, was Andrej and Irina's dream home. They built it thirteen years ago. And now they have to look on as it falls apart. Day by day, bit by bit. It is like a house of cards.
The couple is worried about the futureImage: DW/J. Rescheto
"Over there, five metres further on, is the danger zone where you are not allowed to live anymore." Andrej points out the window at the empty house across the road. "The neighbors moved out and got compensation. But here, where we live just a few metres away, the authorities say it's apparently no problem. We have to just keep on living here.
The Chorow's house is situated in a district of Beresniki that is slowly but surely collapsing. Gaping holes, like craters, are opening up in the earth. Some are six metres wide, some six hundred metres. Some of these holes swallow up trees, some of them swallow up entire office buildings. The Chorow's house was built on top of a mine. This mine is eight times larger than the whole city, which has been built on top of it for decades. In this four hundred metre deep mine there's room for eleven thousand five-storey residential high-rise buildings.
Soviet miners were too greedy
With special permission, and accompanied by three people, I am allowed to visit the mine. It now belongs to Uralkali, the most dominant potash producer in the world. We drive through the tunnels, through underground passages that lead to dead ends. There the machines used to mine the potassium salt having been left standing.
For decades the Soviet miners dug down into the depths, leaving behind them an unimaginably large cavity of 84 million cubic metres. It is a frightening feeling when you think that this mine could collapse. This is because the Soviet miners were too greedy and sometimes did not follow regulations on the dig. One day the mine flooded. The water dissolved the salt layers and the rocks above fell into the holes where the salt had been washed out. Then the surface gave in. And since then holes have been opening up in some of the districts of Beresniki.
The crater is now lakeImage: DW/J. Rescheto
According to Uralki the passages have been made very safe. There is no danger to the population: "The roof of the mine has been propped up with so-called anchors. They have been drilled into the rock and in this way are able to hold the roof to the higher and stronger salt layers. This makes the whole thing stable," reassures engineer Alexander Kladov down in the mineshaft. They have been working according to international standards.
Mortal danger starts at the school
Back on the surface, in the light of day, the Chorows say they don't believe in such standards. From their house you can see the church. "We used to only be able to see the tip of the spire," says Andrej "Because there used to be a building in front of it. Now it's almost gone. Swallowed up by the earth." The church is a few kilometres away from the Chorow's house. It has been closed off by a tin fence. The school is also right around the corner. It has now also been fenced off. "Mortal Danger!" When you look past the sign you notice how crookedly the three-storey building is standing. There is apparently a hole in the earth in front of it. I am not allowed to go there.
Marble and Mondrian: a tour of Moscow's metro
Deep under the streets of Moscow, the metro is a world of its own. Every era in Russian history is represented in its many stations. As the city opens its 200th stop, DW takes a tour through the tunnels.
Image: P. Anft
Mondrian and the metro
The two newest stations in the Moscow metro - including Rumyantsevo, seen here - are based on the style of the Dutch painter Piet Mondrian. He founded the neo-plasticism movement, reducing his imagery to a series of horizontal and vertical lines. At Rumyantsevo, Mondrian's style was fused with gleaming steel and polished stone. The station is located just short of Moscow's city limits.
Image: P. Anft
A forest of chrome
Troparyovo station, which opened in 2014, also impresses with its modern style. The large, tree-like installations made of sparkling chrome have featured in many a snapshot. Like other new metro stations in Moscow, Troparyovo is accessible to those of reduced mobility - unfortunately still an exception in the original metro network.
Image: P. Anft
Simple 70s
Even during the political turmoil that preceded the collapse of the Soviet Union, the metro continued its expansion - though at the time, stations were usually functional and unadorned. In the 1970s, a simple architectural style was considered modern. Seen here is the Kuznetsky Most station, which opened in 1975.
Image: P. Anft
Subways and socialism
The most magnificent stations were built under Stalin's rule, ornamented with elaborate stucco, detailed mosaics and lavish paintings. Socialist themes dominated, featuring soldiers, workers and farmers. The artwork in the Kiyevskaya station features pastoral everyday scenes in Ukraine.
Image: P. Anft
Forgotten friendship
Another section of the Kiyevskaya metro station is dedicated to Russia's close relationship with Ukraine. Large mosaics highlight important events and central figures important to both countries. The station opened in the early 1950s - back then, nobody expected that it would ever come to an armed conflict between the allies.
Image: P. Anft
Soviet stained glass
A favorite of many Muscovites is the Novoslobodskaya station. Built in the 1950s, it's smaller and not quite as ostentatious as others from that time. It fascinates passersby with its illuminated stained glass, reminiscent of church windows - actually the original purpose of the colored glass. With indirect light and organic forms, the station gives passengers the impression of being underwater.
Image: P. Anft
Aboveground transfer points
Moscow's many metro stations are also impressive aboveground. Known as vestibules, the oft domed structures are most visible in the downtown area - like here at the Park Kultury metro station. Since 1950, it's been a busy transfer point on the Moscow ring line. At rush hour, commuters can expect long lines before even being allowed on the escalators.
Image: P. Anft
From bunker to meeting place
The metro isn't just one of the fastest and most reliable transportation options in Moscow - it's also a social meeting place. One often comes across old friends, couples or colleagues, deep in conversation. Mayakovskaya station, which opened in 1938, is one of the oldest in the city. During World War II, it doubled as an air raid shelter.
Image: P. Anft
A rub for luck
Ploshchad Revolyutsii station, which opened in 1938, is guarded by lifesize bronze statues of socialist heroes - along with their dogs and chickens. Many passengers reach out and give the rooster's crest or dog's snout a quick rub as they pass by. That's thought to bring good luck.
Image: P. Anft
8 million passengers, 200 stations
The glowing red "M" marks the entrance to the Moscow metro, a welcome sight for pedestrians. In massive Moscow, stations often lie kilometers apart. Around 8 million people use the metro every day - more than the populations of Berlin, Munich, Hamburg, and Cologne put together.
Image: P. Anft
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Instead I am allowed to go to the other danger zone that made headlines nine years ago. It is the old main mine shaft that has been closed down. This is where the earth first caved-in in 2007. It made a crater with walls that plunged 350 metres down. The city authorities evacuated 2000 people. Three years later the Beresniki central station became a danger to people. It was closed down. In 2011 methane gas that had been leaking out of a crater, exploded. This has turned into a lake.
"The city authorities just wait until a house collapses"
In the meantime, CTV cameras have been installed in the danger zones and three city employees sit in a control centre monitoring any changes. But the city outside such danger zones appears livelier than ever. The generously built square in front of the city administration building is decorated with flowers and fountains. A new church is being built. Many of the victims have been compensated, but not all. The Chorows will have to fight for this.
"Our future is uncertain. The authorities are just waiting until a house collapses and someone gets killed. Maybe then they will do something about our situation," says Andrej getting agitated.
Valuables are already stored with friends
The authorities have classified the Chorow's house as 'partly livable.' The amount of compensation that the couple would get if they moved out bears no relation to the true value, complains Andrej. "But if it does collapse, we want to be prepared," he jokes. "We have already stored our valuables with friends and relatives. The fur coat for winter and shoes for summer. This is so we don't have to start searching for things in a panic."
What is left in all this is hope. There is the hope that somehow they can reach an agreement with the authorities. Then Andrej and Irina can build a new house in a safe part of the city. Because despite all this they haven't lost their faith in Beresniki.
How churches in the Soviet Union were desecrated and repurposed
In the Soviet era, ambitious communists destroyed many houses of prayer or re-appropriated them for their own purposes. Moscow's majestic Cathedral of Christ the Savior was not the only one to undergo drastic changes.
Image: DW/M. Mortsiefer
Rising up from ruins
Moscow's Cathedral of Christ the Savior wasn't the only church to suffer at the hands of the communists. Just as it did, some of the city's other churches were restored to their grandeur after the Soviet era.
Image: Alvesgaspar/picture-alliance
Holy art depot
The Church of St. Nicholas in Tolmachy is located near Moscow's famous Tretyakov Gallery. During Soviet times, the house of worship served the museum as a storage chamber for art works.
Image: Kirchengemeinde Tolmatschach
Screenings at the altar
For decades, this church served as the state cinema theater in Noginsk. Cupolas and relics were removed - so much so that cinema-goers could not recognize what the building was formerly used for. These days, it is easily identifiable as a house of prayer.
Image: Marius Mortsiefer/Gemeinde Noginsk
The sacreligeous in a sacred building
The majestic St. Isaac's Cathedral is St. Petersburg's largest church. The Soviets used it as an anti-religious museum - hanging up a 91-meter-long (299-foot) Foucault's Pendulum in the cupola.
Image: eichinger.ch/TASS
Home to the secret police
Near the Church of the Martyr St. George the Victorious in Moscow is the Lubyanka - the headquarters of the infamous KGB. During Soviet times, the KGB used the church as a residential home - complete with newly installed kitchens, toilets and bedrooms.
Image: DW/M. Mortsiefer, Kirchengemeinde Grigori
Water for drinking, not baptizing
The Kazan Cathedral is located directly on the Red Square. Following its demolition in 1936, a pavilion was installed to honor the communists. Later, it was turned into a public restroom and drinking water fountain. Rebuilding of the church - one of the first to be demolished by the Soviets - began in 1990.
Image: picture-alliance/dpa
Soulless place
Moscow's Church of the Resurrection was used as a gym for workers at the nearby sausage factory. Then, in 1964, the Grabar Restoration Center opened up its workshop in the former church.
Image: Patriarchat Moskau
From a swimming pool to the seat of a bishopric
The Lutheran Church of Saint Peter and Saint Paul in St. Petersburg is Russia's largest Protestant Lutheran church. The Soviets transformed it into a storage hall and, in 1962, into a swimming pool. A diving board was installed at the altar. It reopened as a church in 1992. Since 1993, it's been the bishopric seat of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Russia, Ukraine, Kazakhstan and Central Asia.
Image: petersburg-info.de/
Political prisoners in a monastery
Andronikov Monastery of the Savior is a well-preserved monastery from the late Middle Ages. Ironically, the communists turned this into of the first concentration camps for political prisoners. Following the Soviet era, the monastery was given to the Russian Orthodox Church in 1992. The Andrei Rublev Museum of Ancient Russian Art is located on the premises.
Image: DW/M. Mortsiefer, Andronikow Kloster
Armory in the church
A factory was moved into the Church of St. Nicholas during the Stalin era. Munition was produced here during World War II, and later, pins and medals.
Library without a Bible
The Cathedral of the Archangel Michael in Bronnitsy underwent a relatively mild transformation: It was used as a state book archive - but the "book of books," the Bible, surely couldn't be found there.
