by Stefano Caprio

Tourists have been slow to arrive on the Crimean sea this year, intimidated by the trenches and bombings. The Russian government has tried hard to encourage and "precept" different categories of them, from groups of children and young people to employees of state-owned companies and oligarchies. And there is no doubt that one of the purposes of the Ukrainian attacks is directed at putting the season, the region's main economic activity, out of business.

A little bit all over the world, the second half of July presents scorching heat waves and weather phenomena of unprecedented consistency, but the most fiery tourist spot is surely Crimea, a land of ancient history and modern comfort, now a land of trenches and apocalyptic warfare between East and West.

The summer season in Crimea is usually a triumph of merriment and enjoyment; this year, however, it is an experiment in "extreme tourism," which both frightens and attracts Russians, at least those who cannot go to Thailand, or even Turkey, let alone the much-loved Mediterranean coasts.

The wartime actions of Russia and Ukraine's cross-counteroffensives focus at this stage precisely on the peninsula overlooking the Black Sea, a strategic outpost of any possible ultimate victory or defeat.

Tourists have indeed been slow to arrive, intimidated by the trenches and shelling, and the Russian government has tried hard to favor and "precept" different categories of them, from groups of children and youths to employees of state-owned companies and oligarchies.

Then, when the Ukrainians again targeted the Kerč Bridge, the symbolic line of Putin's "Our Crimea" that connects to the "legal" region of Rostov and Soči, the endless queues dispersed throughout the territory of the "illegal" Donbass, where as well the clashes are always red-hot, turning the trip to Crimea into an adventure more adrenaline-pumping than any war video-game. So then the extreme tourism devotees arrived.

The "tourist season" has been renamed the "season of barrels," bavovny in Ukrainian, kloptsy in Russian, as a real must-see attraction: no longer fireworks, but the genuine apocalypse, where even in the safest places one can hear the bombardment of the surrounding areas echoing.

The head of the Crimean-Russian parliament, Vladimir Konstantinov, has branded those who spread information about the risks in these latitudes as diversanty, the "saboteurs" who want to instill panic in the good traditional tourists; but many are beginning to see the war as the best of publicity campaigns.

There is no doubt that one of the purposes of the Ukrainian attacks is directed at bankrupting the season, Crimea's main economic activity, as well as separating it from Russia so that it can be reannexed, thus declaring the failure of all Putin operations from 2014 to the present.

Russian propagandist Sergey Veselovsky warns that "Crimea's security will be there only when Ukraine disappears, when the very term Ukrainian becomes an insult"; but among Crimeans many are beginning to wonder which of the two masters is worse. Crimean "Ukrainian partisans" issued a resounding warning to another of these propagandists, Feodosiya blogger Aleksandr Talipov, by blowing up his motorcycle, right before his eyes.

As a Russian proverb says, "Fear has big eyes," and here are spreading legends about pro-Ukrainian "kamikaze terrorists" who would be recruited not only in Crimea, but throughout Russia's southern countryside, where the Russian and Ukrainian languages have been intermingling for centuries.

Russian intelligence services are now at a loss amid these storms of military assaults and fake news, not understanding whether one should fear cluster bombs, remote-controlled missiles, and assault drones more or the many actions of the diversanty a bit in all regions of the Federation.

General Zalužnyj, the Ukrainian chief of staff himself, has confirmed on several occasions that "nothing and no one will stop us in the reconquest of Crimea," and he is certainly not a man accustomed to throwing words to the wind.

Putin, on the other hand, has insisted that Ukrainian attacks do not stop the flow of people and tourists from Russia to Crimea, since "alternative routes" can be used, namely those in the occupied territories.

One war correspondent, Dmitry Stešin, even praised on television "the leaders of Russia who have taken their compatriots to heart, ensuring them access to Crimea through the new territories," as if Crimean tourism was the real purpose of the whole war.

The recommended routes are indeed scenic, amidst beautiful valleys and hills, with the roads newly rebuilt, although damaged in several places by bombing. Even some of the minor bridges are broken or difficult to cross, if one can dodge Ukrainian attacks.

The whole thing resembles a theater of the absurd worthy of Gogol and Chekhov, in the best Russian traditions, an "alternate reality" on which all the credibility of the Putin regime is staked.

One could say that the Crimean vacation is the real litmus test of two decades of policy, first economic and then military: before 2014, Russians went en masse to the peninsula's beaches, to show Ukrainians their contempt with bulging wallets.

Then they tried to "remake Crimea in Russia's image," making it almost prohibitively expensive for the lower classes. Now they want to assert Russian resistance to Western invasion and depravity by standing firm in the Crimean bastion. The "road of life" to Crimea becomes the "road of death," what exalts patriotic ardor to the highest degree.

Crossing the roads and bridges of Crimea is the most exciting version of "Russian roulette": the probability of being blown up or injured is very high, the joy of arriving at your destination outweighs the entire vacation.

Advertising advertisements read, "We have the best sea in the world, and the best anti-aircraft defense." Diving into the sea is also a thrill, as instead of sharks you may run into underwater drones. Yachts and all watercraft are now equipped with sophisticated radar and ultrasonic detection systems, just like in the best adventure movies. The repair of damaged bridges, and the capillary arrangement of defensive technologies, are swallowing ever larger parts of the regional and federal budgets, already in a deficit nosedive.

As if that were not enough, other Black Sea riviera centers such as Soči and Tuapse, overflowing with tourists, have been devastated by monsoons and floods, and in Georgian Batumi, Russians are picking fights with local shopkeepers, who are unable to offer services up to par.

Russians cannot do without summer vacations, as much as and more than all European populations, not least to express this "yearning for the sea" that characterizes the very nature of the endless Eurasian country, landlocked on waterways to the rest of the world.

Russian wars are repeated incessantly from the Baltic Sea to the Black Sea, against Turks and Scandinavians, and also on the Pacific Ocean, where the peace treaty with Japan after World War II has not yet been signed. Now a new maritime front is even opening up, that of the Arctic, where the ice is receding and future wars are being prepared for domination of the "head of the world" that could make the current ones pale.

Now however "there is Crimea, Crimea is ours, go to Crimea and rest!" repeat the announcements on all platforms. You cannot go abroad, the dollar and the euro are above 100 with the ruble, money is not enough even for Egypt, so "to Crimea!" Sit in your cars, fill up with gas even if it costs twice as much, experience the thrill of risking your skin, and at the beach be careful not to fall into the trenches, which you may need anyway. In our family we have three, four children, where do we put them if not in the car, toward Crimea?

The feeling is that the war has aroused in Russians a truly extreme and apocalyptic state of mind, "we have nothing to lose now anyway." Crimea is the ideal place to represent this model of life; it is no coincidence that the ideology of russky mir sounds better as krimnašizm, "crimea-nostrism," from the Putinian cry Krym Naš! On Red Square on March 18, 2014, when history changed. The whole world is Crimea, a suspended land where Russia offers itself in sacrifice of purification and eternal glory.

If you can dodge the dangers and get to Simferopolis, the capital of Crimea, you can visit the archaeological excavations, where a mighty team of specialists, protected by squadrons of special forces, dig to find the roots of the Russian soul.

It is intended to prove that ancient Chersonese (in whose honor the city on the Dnepr estuary was named Kherson) was a Russian land, the Slavic Korsun, against all the claims of other peoples. In recent centuries it was the Tatars who claimed the peninsula, with clashes and wars on several occasions, but before that the Greeks, the Turks, even the Germans wanted to name it after themselves: even Hitler had research done during the occupation, to prove that it was a Gothic land.

The "apostles of the Slavs" Cyril and Methodius found the remains of the holy Pope Clement Romanus here, on whom St. Peter himself had laid hands, but fortunately there would be no Vatican claims.

Under the Tatar yoke, for a few decades Crimea was also contracted out to the Genoese, masters of the thirteenth-century sea routes, and skillful mediators between the Mongol Khans and the Rus' princes. From Genoa they went to discover America; today they must set out again to discover Russia, perhaps right through Crimea.

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