Time to read: 10 minutes(s)

We continue our series of stories about Russia's Dead Ends. The Khakassian village of Tupik is lucky – there's a paved road nearby. Five kilometers from Tupik, the road leads to the village of Tuim, where you can find work. Tuim used to mine non-ferrous metals and had a processing plant. They even manufactured some things: wire, foil, and Christmas tree decorations. Today, Tuim is famous for its sinkhole – a giant depression formed where a closed mine once stood. It's 200 meters in diameter and 200 meters deep, filled with turquoise water. It's a popular tourist destination, where you can bungee jump or dive into flooded caves in the summer.

Before Tuim, we turn off the road following the sign for Dead End. A woman with a bucket near the last house was about to cross the road, but stopped. It turned out the bucket was empty.

"I was taking the ashes out of the stove. I saw people driving by, so I didn't cross the road with an empty bucket. It's a bad omen. I figured I'd wait for them to pass; why bother making people feel bad?"

Ekaterina Danilova She moved to Tupik 23 years ago. Her small house has sunk into the ground since then. But "at least it's warm." It's -26°C outside. It's windy. But it's very sunny. Khakassia has plenty of sunny days, so winter is easier to bear.

Ekaterina is now retired. She previously worked as a crane operator at the Tuim plant. Since the beginning of perestroika, the plant has been repeatedly opened and closed, and its ownership has changed several times. As a result, all that remains are ruins and an administrative building, which now houses a mining farm.

The local population, mostly pensioners, has heard of this novelty, but they don't understand what it means. Some compare Bitcoin to a voucher from the 1990s, explaining that investments in it, like those with vouchers, are not guaranteed.

— They say it's criminal. But I don't know for sure. — So you didn't get any bitcoins? — No bitcoins. We get our pension, and that's fine.

Khakassky Tupik is a small village. Its infrastructure consists of a single private store. It's used for meetings and mail delivery when needed. The club and school closed long ago. The children, no more than a dozen in number, are transported daily to school, seven kilometers away, to the village of Maly Spirin.

On the other side of Tupik is a railroad, but it's nothing but trouble for the village now. Trains run infrequently now and don't stop here anymore, but the trains "fly sparks and set the dry grass on fire." Beyond the line of houses, there are almost no more, but there is a cemetery. It periodically catches fire from this dry fire. So the grave crosses are welded from metal pipes for this very reason—they don't burn.

"Our Tupik is dying. There are about 50 people left. Although there are more registered residents. My eldest daughter hasn't lived here for a long time, but she's registered in Tupik. Because as a small village, we have benefits. If you keep a farm, they pay extra. 12 rubles a year for a dairy cow. They pay extra for sheep. There are additional benefits for the hospital."

Tatyana Shkineva, a resident of Tupik, Khakassia

Tatyana Shkineva She worked in a private bakery in Tuim. Her husband and youngest daughter now work in Tuim. Both are in a psychiatric boarding school, or "indom" (from the word "invalid") as it's called here. The indom used to be in Tupik, but in the 80s it was moved to Tuim. It currently houses about 700 children, but the need is greater, so new buildings are being built and expansion is planned. Tatyana's husband works as a livestock specialist on a subsidiary farm, and her daughter is an accountant.

"A passenger Gazelle van passes us on the way to Tuim from Shira. A ticket costs 20 rubles. So we get to work without any problems. If we need to go to the store or fill up our gas tank, we go to Shira. But otherwise, we live on a subsistence farm. We got rid of the cows two years ago; it's hard to keep them. Now we have pigs, rabbits, and chickens."

Tatyana and her husband are not natives of Tupik. They came here 30 years ago for work. Natives are those whose ancestors built the railroad a century ago. It was originally a dead-end line, hence the name. Descendants of those who built the processing plant and worked in metal mining in Tuim also settled here. These include descendants of "politicals"—those exiled to mine metal during Stalin's purges. So Tupik is home to Russians, Ukrainians, Poles, and representatives of various nationalities… but there are practically no Khakassians.

— In the Republic of Khakassia, the second official language is Khakass. Do you know it?

"We were taught Khakass at school, and they still do. Both our daughters learned it at school in Maly Spirin, but only superficially. So they understand it more or less, but they can't speak it. But then, we don't need to know it; there are no Khakass here."

For your information:  According to the 2010 census, nearly 73 Khakass lived in Russia. In 2021, the number dropped to 61. Their language is a Turkic language. Shamanism is widespread, although the Khakass were officially converted to Orthodox Christianity in the late 19th century. Livestock breeding remains the traditional occupation of the Khakass.

They point me to a house where a native Tupikov woman lives (I specifically asked what the Tupiki residents call themselves). Next to the house, they're butchering a cow. Today is slaughter day. In Tupiki, even judging by the ads, there are two main types of commodity-money relations. They sell coal here, and they buy meat here.

Nina Zolotukhina She was born in Tupik in 1959. According to her parents, after the war, Tupik was initially used to house the wounded. Later, the hospital was converted into a psychiatric boarding school. There was a large state farm, a logging company, and people worked on the railroad. But when the work dried up, people began to leave. So her son and daughter left for Norilsk to work and stayed there. Five of her grandchildren were born in Norilsk.

"There used to be dense taiga here (I'm surprised, since now there's just bare steppe all around). You drive to Tuim, and along the road there are these huge stumps. My father went to the Tuim mine from the age of 14, even before the war. When we were in school, they took us there on a field trip. Mines used to go there, crushing this molybdenum. And then the mine caved in. Senkevich made a film about it. And he glorified our failure. Now tourists jump and dive there. They need the adrenaline."

Nina Zolotukhina, a resident of Tupik, Khakassia

In 1996, Yuri Senkevich filmed a story about the sinkhole for the popular television program "Travelers' Club." The site later became the filming location for an episode of the TV show "Fear Factor."

Since we're from Tomsk, the Tuimsky Sinkhole became infamous for another event. On July 12, 2019, Mikhail Zhuravlev, head of the Tomsk diving club "Nayada," died there while diving. We met him on set.

Tuim used to be considered a single-industry town. The plant alone employed up to five thousand people. The first thing you notice when you drive into Tuim is a powerful electrical substation. Next to it, in the former plant administration building, is a mining farm. Fans stretch across the walls. The former plant administration building is surrounded by a new fence topped with barbed wire. There's a checkpoint. A young, muscular security guard informs you that photography is prohibited here, as it's private property. But he confirms that this is indeed a cryptocurrency mining farm. Impressive!

We continue on to the abandoned mine itself, to see the famous sinkhole. Along the way, a toothless young man stops the car. He introduces himself: Semyon, the guide.

"I can tell you everything about the Tuimsky Sinkhole. I've lived here for 23 years. I grew up here. There are a lot of tourists here in the summer, but not so many in the winter."

— How much do you charge for the tour?

Semyon looks at us appraisingly, runs through the current situation in his head, especially considering the frost... and gives out.

— 150–200 rubles per person. I can also take you to the caves on the opposite mountain. It's included in the price.

— Why are you standing right on the road and waiting for tourists?

"No, I was just going out to run some errands and saw you. I'm basically a freelancer, working on odd jobs... Do you have a cigarette?"

- No, we don’t smoke.

— Do you have a Sberbank card? I'd have to go to the store to transfer money to you with mine. They blocked my card…

A murky scheme... We politely decline the guide's services and drive to the fork with a sign saying "Ticket Offices."

It turns out you can't just get into the sinkhole, even in winter. The cashier wakes up to a knock on the window, and a blast of warm air comes through. An adult ticket to the sinkhole costs 200 rubles. The same goes for a magnet, which, among the stones stuck on it, she assures, contains chalcopyrite mined in the Tuimsky Sinkhole.

It's not a big deal to pay for a magnet. But the legality of charging a fee simply for access to the sinkhole is questionable. It's not private property. An entrepreneur can charge for services, such as bungee jumping, boat rentals, etc., but not for access to the natural feature itself. However, this type of "business" is common in Khakassia, where they manage to erect a barrier and charge a fee for access, for example, to a rock with petroglyphs or a salt lake. Such is the nature of domestic tourism.

In any case, the residents of Khakassia's Tupik are happy to have such a famous neighbor. At least there's some life there. Sometimes, lost tourists entering Tupik ask for directions. They get the simple answer: we're not a dead end, there's a chasm behind us.

PS:

Behind us are the Tupiks (dead ends) in the Tver and Ryazan regions, and the Republic of Mordovia. Ahead are the Samara Tupik and the Tupik in the Zabaikalsky Krai. The latter will be extremely difficult to reach. This Tupik is 810 kilometers from the regional center, Chita. The last hundred kilometers are completely off-road. People reach this village either by helicopter, or by all-terrain vehicles, snowmobiles, or boats, depending on the time of year. Zabaikalsky Tupik is a fairly large settlement with a thousand residents. Some of these are schoolchildren from nearby small villages who live in the Tupikovsky boarding school. Without your help, we won't be able to get there. You can support the project with any amount on the platform. Planeta.ruAs the list of Russia's Dead Ends grows, we will create an interactive map where readers and viewers can choose a Dead End that interests them and read a story about it, view photos, or watch a film about it.

Link to collection: https://planeta.ru/campaigns/tupikirussia