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Sunday 22 August Where the road turned off to Vydrapusk Otter's Chutethere was an overgrown garden with a white plaster statue of Mother Russia, beckoning with one hand, with the other protecting a child. Could that be it? On closer inspection, I noticed that the lips of Mother Russia and Girls naked roadside the child had been painted a bright carmine red. The monument was not defaced in any other way. It was hard to be sure.
Kids might have done it for a joke. But when I entered the village of Domoslavl, there could be no mistake. A teenage girl, dressed in white like the statue and with lips painted the same shade of red, was sitting on a bench. Down the whole length of the village, outside the fairytale wooden cottages, other girls were sitting on benches in the gathering dusk.
It was as my source had said. Here, on the edge of the Valdai lake district, one of the most beautiful national parks in European Russia, the population was reduced to such poverty that young women were selling themselves as prostitutes to passing drivers. The war memorial marked the start of the Girls naked roadside zone. Last August, I Sexdaiting r?dovre up the same road and saw country people Fuck local sluts in linkhill buckets of berries, and workers from the Red May crystal factory, paid in kind rather than cash, trying to sell goblets and vases by the roadside.
A year is a long time in Russian politics. Three prime ministers have come and gone. But ordinary Russians have only got poorer. How do you start a conversation with a prostitute? In Domoslavl, it was all so obvious that the conversation happened naturally. She introduced herself as Katya. Soon she was joined by a fat lass in a white blouse, also called Katya. And a woman with straggly blond hair called Ira. And a giggly girl in velvet called Vika.
They were ready to serve clients, to be sure. But consciously or unconsciously, they were also making a statement. By theidentification with the statue, they were saying: With a pimp hovering in a nearby shop doorway - he made a note of my car registration number - our conversation was necessarily terse. Pretty Katya gave direct, practical answers but was not inclined to chat.
The girls earned 50 roubles pounds 1. The rate went up at night. The mafia controlled the business and the police took their cut. So far, none of the girls has been hurt. Fat Katya, 18, said that her qualification as a seamstress was equally useless as jobs were unobtainable. Ira, an older married woman with children, said that since her husband was unemployed, she had to go on the game to keep the family. The area north of the industrial city of Tver is, indeed, an economic wasteland.
Apart from the Red May glass factory, turning out crystal that nobody wants, there are few employers. The textile factories in the town of Vyshny Volochok are dying. Collective farms have collapsed while private agriculture has yet to flourish. The region, with its pine trees and lakes, has great tourist potential but the infrastructure is not there to attract visitors who can get the same beauty with more comfort and service in Scandinavia.
Girls who might have made hotel receptionists or waitresses turn to the oldest profession. Of course, we don't like it. We find it painful and embarrassing. But we all turn a blind eye to it. Suddenly she had to dash for the bus, the only one of the afternoon in this public transport desert where bus and train timetables are made not to co-ordinate. The police station at Vyshny Volochok, the nearest administrative centre, looked like a Wild West jailhouse. On the pavement outside, a middle-aged man in a shell suit stood smoking with a swaggering youth in a cowboy hat, shoelace tie and square-cut black boots.
I answered in the affirmative. He agreed to speak on condition that I did not name him. And the ex- prostitutes, who are now madams. We know that something stands above them. The mafia, Russian in this case, not Caucasian. The girls are mostly local. They get transported from village to village by minibus. Of course, the girls are only to be pitied, really. We would like to help them but it is a hard struggle.
They simply won't give evidence against the people using them. Laughing, they all got into a car and zoomed on to the highway. Returning to Moscow, I passed through Domoslavl once more. At a motel outside the village, some "hitchhikers" I had seen before were still flagging down cars in the same place for the second day running. In the town five lorries were parked. Would never use one.
Happily married man with kids, hurrying home to the wife. And as I drove away, I saw in my mirror a couple of girls approach the cabs. Waifs in white dresses. One of the most haunting sights in this suffering country.
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It was fundamentally to be sure. A find is a synopsis time in Helping politics. But real Russians have only got more. We en that something friends above them.