Kellogg’s cornflakes, Bonne Maman jam, Kent Crisps, Brewdog beer… these are the items on the supermarket shelves in front of me.Â
I’m in a branch of Azbuka Vkusa (or ‘Alphabet or Taste’) in Moscow, where the aisles look remarkably like those in a Tesco, Sainsbury’s or Waitrose.
Russia is the most sanctioned economy in the world, but here we are, more than three years into its supposed isolation, and the shelves are still stocked with Western goods.
So how come?
Many of the products on sale here are what are called ‘parallel imports’. That means they’ve entered Russia via third countries, without the trademark owner’s permission.
Russia legalised the practice soon after its invasion of Ukraine to sidestep sanctions and to shield consumers from the impact of a mass exodus of foreign brands.
So despite companies pulling out of Russia, their products can often still be found here.
Take Coca-Cola for example. It stopped selling to Russia and ceased operations here in 2022, but there’s no problem buying its drinks.
Next to each other on the supermarket shelf, I found one can from France, one from Poland, one from Iraq and even a bottle from the UK. “Please recycle me,” the cap hopefully implores.
Like other businesses that say they have not authorised imports of their brands into Russia, there’s little Coca-Cola can do about it. The company declined a request to comment.
This specifically isn’t sanctions-busting, since food and drink are generally exempt from the restrictions imposed by Britain and the EU. It is, however, an example of how trade bans (self-imposed, in this case) can be circumvented. And the very same practice is being used on some sanctioned goods, like luxury cars.
At Frank Auto, a glitzy car showroom in northwest Moscow, there’s a Porsche Cayenne Coupe, a Mercedes EQE and a BMW X5. All are under two years old, i.e. younger than the sanctions regime that was designed to keep them out.
“Germany officially does not know that we import cars for clients from Russia,” Irina Frank, the dealership owner, tells me unashamedly.
“It’s done through multiple moves. An order is placed, for example, from Turkey, then from Turkey it goes to Armenia, and from Armenia we deliver the car to Russia.”
She explains that the cars are imported to order, because of the cost involved and the uncertainty.
“Now, every transaction is checked, and there were cases when you even lost all the money, and cannot take the car out,” she says.
But it’s clearly still possible. In February, Irina sold a Ferrari Purosangue to a customer who paid 130 million roubles (1.43 million euros) – 30% more than what it would have cost without sanctions, she says.
And she even claims to have sold Range Rovers from Britain.
“Russia, you know, is a special country. Our people really love everything that is the most expensive, the coolest, in the maximum configuration,” she adds.
Sky News has reported extensively on how British and European cars are still entering Russia despite sanctions. But this is the first time we’ve spoken to some of those who have imported them.
In a car park in front of Moscow’s Belarussky train station, we meet Ararat Mardoyan, who owns a car brokerage firm called Autodegustator. He says he imported dozens of British and European cars into Russia during the first two years of the war, including his own vehicle.
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His black Volkswagen took six months to arrive from Germany, after being shipped via Belgium, Georgia, Armenia and Iran.
“You’re not doing anything wrong,” he insists, when I ask if he’s helping Russia avoid sanctions.
He refers to the Eurasian Economic Union as justification – a customs union which Russia shares with Armenia, Belarus, Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan.
“It’s like [the] European Union,” he argues.
“If the good hits Kazakhstan, for example, it’s already not only a Kazakh product, it’s already a product of customs union.”
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I suggest that such moves are not in the spirit of sanctions, and that some would question the morality of it.
“I don’t think it’s something from the sphere of immorality. It’s business,” he says. “People have to work and survive.”
Ararat stopped importing European cars at the start of last year because of increased risks and decreasing profits, citing how he had to scrap an entire fleet of Range Rovers after their diagnostic systems were blocked as soon as they were switched on.
But he doesn’t believe the practice will ever cease, no matter how pricey and problematic it becomes.
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“People who want to drive Ferrari,” he says, “they always have the money, and where there is the demand, there will always be supply.”
“This is like a globalised world. I don’t believe there’s any chance of isolating Russia. It’s not possible.”
