The most peaceful city in the world. The most peaceful places for peace and inspiration Calm city

It seemed to Moshkin that someone else flashed on the pavement next to his own shadow. He shuddered, turned around - no one. He tightened his fingers around the plastic bag in his raincoat pocket. In this “the most peaceful city on Earth” (as the posters said), they slept soundly and for a long time, it was not customary to stagger in the middle of the night. Moshkin was sweating and biting his nails. There was no client. It is not clear - to wait further or rush home, put goods in your pockets and leave. Desperately craving sweets. Moshkin thought of the sweets in the bottom drawer of the chest of drawers, and saliva filled his mouth. The body needed sugar.

Someone patted him on the shoulder. Moshkin jumped up - he did not hear the man coming up behind him. It was impossible to make out under the hood, but it seemed to Moshkin that he had seen him in a local eatery. The man muttered: "I'm from Gavrila." Moshkin thrust a bag into the stranger's pocket and immediately felt a bundle fall into another pocket. Now - home, where you can lock the door and go down to the basement. Expand the package and count the sweets - did the client deceive. And then eat sweets to the full, get a box of goods from the cache and sit for a long time and examine each button. Moshkin remembered what time and on what day he scratched out each of these tiny drawings with a needle: a chick in a nest, a mushroom, or a cunning cat's face. He knew exactly where he picked up each piece of wood, pebble or piece of glass, so that later he could attach a loop to them or make holes in them, paint or varnish them.

It all started with my great-grandfather. When Moshkin was little, the old man often grumbled that it was not a good thing to give people two sweets a day. Only two people in the family loved sweets - great-grandfather and little Moshkin. Sometimes the old man would suddenly bring a few extra sweets from somewhere. Then the two of them climbed into the basement, ate them and examined the great-grandfather's box. It had buttons, each with a colored design or a tiny stone. “This is all that remains of my business,” sighed great-grandfather. Before the intervention, my great-grandfather had his own button shop and his own production.

Sometimes the mother gave the old man a dressing down. She locked the door to the kitchen and chastised him: “Stop teaching my son about the past. He will be just like you. The twenty-second century is in the yard, forget about business (Moshkin did not know what it was at the age of five). He doesn't need to change the world. Dreams of success are for notorious people, for neurotics, do you understand that ?! She thought Moshkin did not hear. But he stood under the door, listened and did not understand why my mother was cursing so much. And then one day my great-grandfather left - he collected his things in ten minutes, squatted down in front of Moshkin and whispered: “See you, guy. In this country, you will be happier than me." And quickly went out the door. Nobody saw him again.

Moshkin was not bothered by himself - it seemed to him that the problem was in everyone else

Since then, 15 years have passed, and Moshkin did not feel happy at all. He was angry with his great-grandfather because he didn’t really explain anything, that he talked so little about his buttons: why did he make them, why did he so want them to be beautiful and different, what kind of “business”, from who was so protected by his mother. He was also angry with his mother - for scolding her great-grandfather, for being deadly calm and sweet the rest of the time. She didn’t wake up at night, didn’t bite her nails, like Moshkin himself. They were so different from her.

It seemed to Moshkin that he did not look like anyone else. The psychotherapist said that a person cannot be somehow “not like that”, that one must accept oneself. And if something bothers you, you need to find the reasons. But Moshkin was not bothered by himself - it seemed to him that the problem was in everyone else. In the evenings, lounging on Grishkin's sofa (the devil knows why they became friends at all, probably because they lived in the neighborhood since childhood), Moshkin asked: “Do you know that you used to drink a lot of coffee? It was bought for money, and your name could be written on the cup. Grishkin replied: “But that was before the intervention. Personalized Marketing. Some unfortunate notorious person really wanted to treat everyone to his coffee and advanced with the help of these cups. I don't understand what's so interesting about it." Moshkin looked at Grishkin and saw on his face the same expression of blissful calm that his mother had.

Since his great-grandfather left, he managed to unlearn at school, and there he was told what business and wealth are. Previously, many opened their own business and sold people the necessary, pleasant things or provided services. But even then, in the 21st century, scientists found out that most successful entrepreneurs have mental disorders: they are neurotic and obsessed with ideas that the world can be remade, that one should always strive for the best, and their anxiety is transmitted to others like a bacillus. After a series of wars and international conflicts, an intervention took place, and the most peaceful of the candidates became president in the Country. His campaign consisted of the slogans "Psychotherapy - in every home", "Love yourself the way you are", etc. Psychotherapists became the most sought-after specialists, the number of crimes decreased every year, the statistics of suicides crept to zero. In parallel, the production facilities introduced artificial intelligence the need for workers disappeared. First, there was an increase in unemployment, but then the country introduced an unconditional basic income. Money has been replaced by goods. Scientists have calculated how much each person, depending on his build and lifestyle, needs sweet and starchy foods, how much protein food, how many sets of clothes he wears per year. Things gave out the same - clothes and fashionable haircuts as a way of self-expression were of no interest to anyone, people began to prefer the inside to the outside.

It seemed to Moshkin that Gavrila had always been there. He stood behind the counter of a local eatery, bringing visitors tasteless pies and soups. Gavrila was an old man, but he stood firmly on his feet. In all the surrounding cities, visitors to cafes and restaurants have long been served by robots. But Gavrila said that he wanted to serve until he died. He told the local authorities that this is the only way he feels happy, and asked not to deprive him of peace of mind. The authorities waved their hand - what can you take from him, the old man. It will work for a couple of years and die, and then a robot will be put in its place. But Gabriel did not die.

There were rumors about him: as if before the intervention, his father had a restaurant, and visitors paid a lot of money to eat in it. Gavrila started working in his father's restaurant when he was still a teenager, then Gavrila's father left, and the restaurant turned into a simple eatery, but Gavrila still worked there, now for free. They said that one day a tourist came to Gavrila's eatery and complained that the pie smelled like rotten meat. And Gavrila did the unthinkable. He slammed his hand on the table and shouted: “Did you pay so that I could buy good meat for pies?” After that, he was given a warning: this will happen again, and he will be taken away. Everyone who started loud conversations about money, success, entrepreneurial passion, luck, left somewhere for a long time. There were rumors about some sanatoriums where, during intensive sessions of group psychotherapy, these people finally got rid of the remnants of the past.

Messages began to come one after another late in the evening. First: “DO YOU HAVE THEY??? DID HE LEAVE THEM??? Second: "Tomorrow after closing, knock four times"

Moshkin's great-grandfather often visited Gavrila in the diner. When Moshkin was little, he and his great-grandfather sometimes sat there until closing time: when the doors were locked, Gavrila would get sweets and delicious, fresh pies from under the counter - such things were not served to visitors during the day. He and his great-grandfather whispered about something for a long time, while little Moshkin ate sweets. Since his great-grandfather left, Moshkin had never been to that diner, but he knew that Gavrila still worked there. Once, a year ago, after another sleepless night, he could not stand it. He came before closing, waited until the last visitor left, went close to Gavrila and whispered: “Tell me about my great-grandfather.” Gavrila looked at him as if seeing him for the first time: “I hardly remember him. He left 15 years ago, but I didn’t really know him.” He turned away and began to arrange the plates on the shelves. Then Moshkin took out a tiny bundle from his bosom and left it on the table, next to Gavrilin's telephone. After that, he walked out the door.

Messages began to come one after another late in the evening. First: “DO YOU HAVE THEY??? DID HE LEAVE THEM??? Second: "Tomorrow after closing, knock four times." Third: “Do you have any more buttons? Do you still like sweets?

When there were very few grandfather buttons left in the box, Moshkin began to make his own. Now, on sleepless nights, he did not suffer from idleness, but came up with new patterns and colors, scratched patterns with a needle on small pieces of glass or wood. He met with clients at night, always pulling a hood over his head and a balaclava over his face. He handed over the goods silently, so that they would not be recognized by his voice. In the daytime, he met people on the street whose jackets had multi-colored buttons sewn on instead of factory fasteners, and he felt pride and triumph. Now he knew that his great-grandfather was not crazy, notorious and unhappy - he was a man who knew how to please others with unique, amazing things. After the intervention, he went abroad, taking all the money he earned. He probably died there. Gavrila said that Moshkin's great-grandfather was a stubborn, energetic and quick-witted person, his store was the oldest in the world. Each button had its own design, and people from abroad bought great-grandfather's products for private collections. “If you ever run away from here with a couple of THE SAME buttons in your pocket, you can sell them abroad and build your own factory with this money,” Gavrila said that evening when he agreed to tell Moshkin about his great-grandfather. Moshkin was surprised: “What does “run away” mean? Is someone holding me here?" Gavrila looked at him strangely and shook his head. He didn't answer questions at all. For example, he did not explain what would happen if he told everyone that it was Moshkin who made buttons and sold them for sweets. He said only: “Never confess to anyone. Otherwise, a sanatorium. You don't need to go there, boy." This angered Moshkin, but he still came to Gavrila once a week. Gavrila found buyers, Moshkin finally felt happy making buttons and getting sweets for it. He could eat as many sweets as he wanted, and from this he became much more calm than from meditation.

True, recently they began to look strangely at him. The governor came to the city. He stopped Moshkin on the street: “Young man, tell me, didn’t your great-grandfather keep a button shop?” More and more often, clients were late or did not come, and each time Moshkin's heart sank into his heels. He no longer wanted to hide, he did not see any crime in making beautiful buttons himself and selling them for sweets. He wanted everyone to know about him, talk about him, and often dreamed of magical world where this is possible. There were no police in the country, laws prohibiting the wearing of buttons, too. But, according to Gavrila, if someone found out that Moshkin takes payment for his work, he would be taken away for a long time - "to where nothing will be left of you, guy." Gavrila also behaved more and more strangely. Messages often began to come from him: “Don’t come today.” Unfamiliar people hung around Moshkin's house. He started biting his nails again and didn't sleep well. One evening, Gavrila sat down very close and whispered: “If they come, run to the river. There is a border. Maybe you can go on the water. Moshkin did not understand anything, but that evening he bit the nail on his thumb to the root.

The governor came to the city. He stopped Moshkin on the street: “Young man, tell me, didn’t your great-grandfather keep a button shop?”

That night, when the client made himself wait longer than usual, Moshkin felt restless. While he was returning, it seemed to him that screams were coming from somewhere. "It's a trick of the ear," he told himself. And then I saw smoke - from the side where Gavrila's diner was. Moshkin quickened his pace - he hurried to the house, to check that it was still standing, that the basement had not been opened, and the buttons were in place. On the way, he pulled out his phone from his pocket and saw messages from Gavrila. First: "They know who you are, run." Second: Buttons. Do not forget". Third: “The great-grandfather left them on purpose. For you". Moshkin put the phone in his pocket and ran as fast as he could.

quiet calm place

Amedia is a small colorful village perched on a hilltop in the Iraqi province of Dahuk. Amedia is 1,000 meters long and 500 meters wide, while being 1,400 meters above sea level. According to legend, Persian sorcerers and priests, who were famous in the art of sorcery, lived in the vicinity of the village. It was from here, according to some researchers, that the biblical three wise men went to Bethlehem to worship and present gifts to the baby Jesus.

Quiet city

The world is big interesting places it has a lot. Although for whom. One even leaving the house, in the usual, daily seen landscape, will notice something amusing, the other will certainly give exotic, since now anyone is free to fly anywhere, there would be money. Again, everyone has different approaches to choosing a place to stay: someone needs a drive, someone needs a party, someone climbs mountains, and others just want to lie on the sand by the warm sea. I will not hide the fact that I had a chance to travel around Russia and beyond. But, since there is a lot of information on the network, my impressions are unlikely to add anything significant. In addition, before you start to know the world, it would be nice to know your country. Is it worth dreaming about the Louvre for someone who has never been to the Tretyakov Gallery or the Hermitage? Moreover, Russia is not only rich in museums, in part natural beauties There is also something to see, something to marvel at. And there is at all unique places: Kamchatka, Baikal, Mountain Altai... You can list for a long time. About Baikal, for example, who has not heard? Everyone knows what it is deep lake in the world and that there is more water in it than in the Caspian, and that it is of extraordinary purity. But how many have seen Baikal? And in winter? I have been honored and I will report to you, friends, an enchanting spectacle, you will not see such a thing on any northern sea. I don’t know why this happens, but Baikal freezes only in the second half of December. Local residents assure: the ice is so clean and transparent that you can see swimming fish through a meter layer. I didn’t check it, didn’t watch the fish through the ice, I won’t lie, but I saw something else. Imagine. The beginning of December 1993, the frost is over thirty, and even from the sea (and the locals only call Baikal) it blows noticeably. I'm standing on a hill, the view is excellent. In front of me is a huge bowl of water, through which even on a clear summer day the view of the other shore does not reach. Which is not surprising: there are forty kilometers to that coast, and the horizon, even if you climb a hillock, is only seven or eight kilometers away. And all this boundless water mass smokes with smoke. More precisely, not smoke, but steam. Air - -30 o C, and water - +4 o C, the temperature difference is huge, because the water is soaring with might and main. Cleanest, transparent air and dense, like a material wall of steam. And since windless days are rare on Lake Baikal, columns of steam do not rise evenly to the sky. They mix, twist into spirals, take on bizarre shapes that you can look at endlessly. In much the same way, we often look at clouds, seeing various figures in them. A very approximate comparison, since the puffs of steam over the winter Baikal make a much stronger impression. You sing beautifully, some reader will tell me, it would be nice to visit, only it will be much cheaper to fly to Thailand than to Baikal, not to mention Kamchatka. And he will be right (unfortunately!). Well, in our country there are many more accessible (both in terms of distance and price) places, one of which I want to talk about. Moreover, you will not find anything about this city on the net, except, perhaps, for scanty background information. Allow me to introduce: the city of Bobrov, the regional center in the Voronezh region, the population is about twenty thousand. I met him back in the last century, in the year 97. My close friend has ancestors from there, so I once joined him. But on the first visit, Bobrov was not impressed, just a district center, of which there are many in Russia. I saw all the charm of this cozy town later, when I began to travel there regularly. It happened so because about seven years ago my friend, having retired, moved there for permanent residence. I bought a house, repaired it, insulated it, made an extension with a bathroom and a toilet, installed water, main gas. In short, it turned out to be a comfortable apartment, but in a private house. And the best thing is that the river is five meters away. The fact is that Bobrov is located on a hill. Not very big, but still noticeable. The lower part of the city descends to the river quite steeply. Approximately in the middle of the slope there is a railway line (there is even a platform), and even lower, along the river bank, there is an extreme street named after the hero of the Patriotic War, the pilot Turbine. And this street is built up exclusively with private wooden houses, which makes it look like a typical village street. And the river, of course. I haven't said anything about the river yet. It is called Bityug, flows into the Don. If you look into the reference book, the river, which seems to be small, is inferior to the Moscow River in all respects (as much as five times as much in terms of spillway!), But when you look from Turbina Street, it doesn’t seem so: Bityug is quite wide in this place, it will be half a kilometer. This is because picturesque islands are scattered here and there along the channel. Small, but densely overgrown with trees. There are, however, clearings - perfect place for a picnic. And since every second person has boats, swimming, if the desire arises, is not a problem. The banks of the river are very picturesque. The Voronezh region is already a forest-steppe zone, which is why there are no continuous forest areas, only individual groves, which, in my opinion, are more pleasing to the eye than a wall of trees. There are even tourist canoe routes along Bityug. It is clear that fans of extreme sports have nothing to do there: the current is sluggish, no rapids, no rapids. But for those who just want to admire nature, rowing not for the result, but for the hunt, for their own pleasure, this is it. And those who wish are there. While swimming, I saw kayakers more than once. Such a tourist swims up to the beach, pulls out the boat, collects it and hurries up to the train. But the main charm of Bityug lies in the purity and amazing softness of the water. I get up early even on vacation, I do my first bath at eight o'clock, since the nearest village beach is ten meters from the gate of the house. You enter the water up to your chest, and between your legs, just above the very bottom, fry scurry about. Later, when there are more vacationers, the water becomes cloudy, but there's nothing to be done, sand. Clean river sand, of course, is not mud, but still I like morning, early bathing more. The water looks so clean that it makes you want to take a sip. Of course, I did not dare to try: we, the people of the 21st century, know from childhood that one should not drink water from open reservoirs. But tell me honestly, how many places do you know where you can wash your hair right in the river? They exist, of course, but they do not meet at every step and, what is most offensive, there are fewer and fewer of them. Bityug is one of them. In the summer, a good half of the women from Turbina Street wash their hair (and the ladies there tend to have long hair) in Bityug. The water is the softest, which is why the hairstyle turns out to be lush without any air conditioners. I myself have washed in the river more than once, it is much more pleasant than under the shower. Despite the fact that in my friend's house the same river water flows from the shower. I understand with my mind, but the body is still more pleasant in the river. But Bityug is good not only for lovers of sunbathing, but splashing in clean water. Fishermen expanse no less. The only inconvenience is that fishing from the shore is not very handy. It is better to take a boat and swim to the reeds. I myself am not a fan, but I saw fish. And they don’t just sit with a fishing rod, but also return with a decent catch. Previously, beavers settled along the banks of the river (the city was named after them), but nowadays, alas, there are no beavers left, they have been exhausted. But the fish and crayfish failed, which pleases. It is difficult to describe what a pleasure it is: to leave the house in a thirty-degree heat in one swimming trunks and fall into cool (25 degrees, not lower) water. And then, after swimming, fall apart in a sun lounger, in the shade with a misted bottle of beer. Beer in Bobrov, by the way, I only drink local, "Voronezh Zhigulevskoe". The price cannot be compared with Moscow, but the quality is excellent. Well, if there is a desire to use vodka for barbecue, then only Buturlinovskaya, also local. Well, I'll tell you about it separately, it's worth it. Evening is also good. As I already mentioned, Turbina Street resembles a village one. Not only the architecture reminds, but also the daily routine of local residents. After sunset, life stops. As soon as the living creatures (both wild and domestic) calm down, silence falls on you. No not like this. Not silence, but silence with capital letter . Occasionally the train will knock and again it is quiet. Fish splash in the river - hear from afar. When my friend and I drink coffee in the fresh air before going to bed, we involuntarily turn to a whisper. You can literally listen to Bobrov's silence. To be honest, I always considered this phrase stupid, something like a worn-out stamp. Until I felt it. Upstairs, in the city itself, not so, Bobrov, although small, but the regional center. And although there are no trams there, and there are noticeably fewer cars than in Moscow, there is no absolute silence in the city. And on Turbina street it happens! Here, perhaps, one of the readers, wrinkling his forehead thoughtfully, will be sincerely surprised: is this a rest? So what's good about it? And this is for someone. At work, I have to communicate a lot and get tired of it. I love my work, I like it, but I get tired. The nervous tension accumulated over six months needs to be discharged. And I get relaxation where it is quiet and calm, where no one gets it. And in this sense, Bobrov is an ideal place, a very calm city. I will not hide, I fly to Thailand with great pleasure, but from time to time it draws me to Bobrov, especially since it is incomparable in terms of money. Nobody is in a hurry there. You don’t even meet a person walking at a fast pace every day, and I’ve never seen a running person at all, except for those who are improving their health. I don’t know why, but as soon as I go out onto the shore of the Bityug, I feel such peace that my lips stretch themselves in a blissful smile. In Moscow, I sleep five or six hours and never, even on weekends, do not rest during the day. Doesn't pull. And in Bobrov something strange happens to the body: after dinner, my eyes begin to stick together and for two hours, at least, I sleep like a groundhog. Plus eight or nine at night. Why is that? Probably because the air is clean and the nerves are not naughty. After spending a week visiting a friend, for two months I feel an unusual surge of energy and almost no nervousness. Then the body gradually returns to its usual Moscow state, and I again begin to count the days until the next trip ... Be that as it may, today, on Turbina Street, native Bobrovites, God forbid, make up two-thirds. The rest of the houses were bought up by citizens from other cities (mainly Voronezh residents) and are used as summer cottages. Why not? Fortunately, the cost of living in Bobrov is noticeably lower than even in Voronezh, not to mention Moscow. Five or six years ago it was possible to dine at the "Victoria", the central, at that time, restaurant of the city, for one and a half thousand rubles for four, amazing those around you with a rich order. Around the same time, private taxi drivers tried to give change from fifty rubles. Of course, prices have risen over the years, but so has the quality of life. The level of welfare of citizens of almost any city is clearly visible by cars, especially when you observe the process in development. Seven years ago, a foreign car on the streets of Bobrov was a rarity (like a Mercedes on a Moscow street in the seventies). Today there are quite a lot of them (although so far less than half) and not all of them are second-hand. But even today you can relax in Bobrov qualitatively and cheaply, no matter what you think about it. For those who, like me, believe that it is possible to relax in their homeland (and not necessarily in Sochi or Kislovodsk), enjoying such a vacation, I will give a small transport and logistics information, and only then I will continue. It will not be possible to get to Bobrov from Moscow directly. There seems to be a bus going almost to the destination. Almost, but not quite, because the city is located about ten kilometers from the Rostov highway. Anyway, the bus, in my opinion, is not comfortable, although it is much cheaper than the train. But the train is simpler and more convenient, there are a lot of them going to the southern directions, so there are usually no problems with tickets, even during the holiday season. True, you have to go with a change, a railway line passes through Bobrov, but it, so to speak, is of local importance. It is best to take a ticket to Liski (former Georgiou-Dej), and then transfer to the train. The distance from Liski to Bobrov is forty-five kilometers, an hour by train, thirty minutes by taxi. You can get to Voronezh by local ambulance, but Bobrov is further from there, a hundred kilometers to the southeast. So, we have silence, peace and excellent swimming in clean water (and, if desired, good fishing), but that's not all! What about a natural product? Many products of everyday use in our menu, only homemade. Those who haven't tried it won't understand me. For example, ham. The store has it, of course, and not bad, but why? Why, when a familiar specialist from your pork will make whatever he likes ham, whatever he likes boiled pork. Yes, one that you can never get at a meat processing plant. Have you ever tasted a smoked goose from a young goose that plucked grass yesterday? Have you tried sour cream, which you can smear on bread instead of butter? And the testicles right from under the chicken, which go well even raw, but ... In general, that's enough, otherwise I'll go saliva. But I promised to tell about Buturlinovskaya vodka. Buturlinovka is a neighboring district center just forty kilometers from Bobrov. And there is a vodka factory. Small, but the product gives out, of such quality that no other vodka, whether domestic or foreign, can stand comparison with it. Unfortunately, the Muscovite has no chance to try this drink, it is not produced much, everyone is in place and consumes it. Unless some Bobrovchanin visits, treats. I admit that with this passage I have deprived myself of several important points from the judges of vegetarians, but nothing can be done about it. Although we are primates, we are predatory animals, and, in my deep conviction, in high latitudes, where winter is longer than summer, one cannot do without meat. As for vodka... Firstly, we are all adults here, and secondly, a quality product cannot harm health. If, of course, the measure to know. Because a sense of proportion is the main quality that distinguishes a reasonable person from an unreasonable person. And the fact that any medicine, if the dose is exceeded, can become poison, any physician will confirm. Those who crave a more active holiday can wander or drive around the area. Nature will please you, believe me. But there are also worthy objects of material culture. First of all, this is a fucking stud farm. It was founded in the town of Khrenovoye (emphasis on the last o) on October 24, 1776 by Count Alexei Grigoryevich Orlov-Chesmensky. In the century before last, it was at this plant that Bityugov was bred, the famous breed of heavy horses, whose name has become a household name. In the 19th century, almost all horse-drawn transport in Russian Empire kept on Bityugs (the horses were named after the river, you guessed it). Later, already in Soviet times, when the more successful Vladimir heavy trucks were brought out, Bityugs were no longer bred, and today the breed has practically disappeared. But the plant is functioning, now Oryol trotters and Arabian horses are bred there. However, the Khrenovsky plant is interesting not only for horses, but also for the fact that the entire complex of industrial buildings was designed by the architect Gilardi. Yes, yes, thus. So you can admire the creations of Italian masters not only in St. Petersburg. It is not difficult to get to Khrenovy, only 23 kilometers from Bobrov. In search of peace of mind, it is not necessary to retire to the desert. Clear water is not only in the Maldives, and organic dairy products are not only in the Alps. And the patriot of his country is not the one who often talks about it, but the one who simply loves it. Completed in March 2013

Just 20 years ago, Russia was torn apart by economic and military problems, and then it seemed that there were simply no calm cities in the country. Now the calmest city in Russia, as well as its closest pursuers, are trying to do everything so that citizens do not have to worry about their lives and their own health.

The most peaceful and safe city in the country

Sociologists have repeatedly conducted research to identify the calmest city in Russia. The indicators on the level of crime and the number of criminal units in the settlement were taken into account. Surprisingly, in recent years, the undisputed leader of this rating is the city of Grozny.

Despite its sad past, and the military conflicts that tore the country apart 15-20 years ago, now you can live in Grozny without unnecessary worries about your own safety. After the capital of the Chechen Republic was completely rebuilt and restored, blissful peace and tranquility was established here. The crime rate here is really low, and the locals try not to stir up conflicts once again.

The only thing that should be remembered by girls going to Grozny is that the customs of the country are very specific. Muslim culture does not allow women to walk in too revealing clothes, and one should not behave provocatively on the streets of the city, so as not to run into problems.

The newspaper "Kommersant" also conducted research on the search for the safest city in Russia. According to studies, this honorary title was given to Kaliningrad, where the crime rate was surprisingly low.

Some of the safest cities in Russia

Irkutsk, Krasnodar, Belgorod and Podolsk also appeared in the list of cities most adapted for a safe and quiet life, compiled by the Kommersant newspaper. It is believed that in these cities not only low level crime, but also created the best conditions for business development.

Sociological studies also place the settlement of Khasavyut, located in Dagestan, on their list of the most peaceful cities in Russia. It is believed that in a small town there is practically no crime, but the unemployment rate here is quite high, which affects the general economic condition of the town.

It is also noteworthy that sociological studies have demonstrated a low level of security in both Moscow and St. Petersburg. Both cities were not even included in the top twenty of the most peaceful settlements in Russia. This is most likely due to the fact that a large number of the population, it can be very difficult to organize a full-fledged protection of citizens from criminal units. However high level the dangers of living in the capital and in St. Petersburg does not affect the popularity of these cities.

The list of the safest cities in Russia may surprise someone, but these settlements have long proved their honorable status. Despite the fact that it is indeed safe to live in Kaliningrad and Grozny, the overall level of criminal activity in Russia is quite high.

1. Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Bavaria, Germany

2. Settlement in the Himalayas, Tibet

5. Colmar, France

6. Camden, Maine, USA

7. Bled, Slovenia

8. Manarola, Italy

9. Bibury, UK

10. Annecy, France

11. Goreme, Türkiye (Underground city)

12. Tanby, Wales

13. Leavenworth, Washington, USA

15. Queenstown, New Zealand

16 Hidden Mountain Village - Jiuzhaigou, China

17. Shirakawa-go, Japan

18. Pucon, Chile

19. Morro de Sao Paulo, Brazil

20. Amedia, Kurdistan

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