INTERVIEWED BY
EL OBSERVADOR

Konstantin Berkov landed it almost by chance. This former basketball player for Dynamo Moscow traveled more than 700 kilometers within Russia to attend a friend’s wedding. What he never imagined was that, despite his 6-foot-8 height making him hard to miss, near the train station he would meet the woman who would become his future wife, the mother of his two children, and his business partner. Love at first sight, as they say.

But the master move—or the boldest of his moves, given the challenges involved—came later. Russia invaded Ukraine, and within two months Konstantin moved to live—soon bringing the rest of his family—to a country he barely knew beyond its name and internet searches: Uruguay.

“Russia is a dictatorship disguised as a democracy. There is fear—you can be drafted at any moment to fight against people who are essentially your brothers, like Ukrainians. Uruguayans sometimes don’t realize how valuable what they have is: freedom,” he says in Spanish, which he learned out of necessity after arriving in 2022, holding an espresso cup that looks tiny in his large former-athlete hands.

Despite now being dedicated, together with his wife Liza, to attracting investors and immigrants from non-traditional countries to help Uruguay grow, he still occasionally plays basketball at his children’s school. And at group barbecues, with a glass of Tannat wine in hand, he always raises a toast and repeats: “Long live Uruguay!”

Neither Konstantin nor Liza keep exact statistics, but they estimate that through consulting, rental services, and other offerings they have helped bring “more than 100 families” of immigrants to Uruguay, many of whom have invested close to $2 million in construction, restaurants, and tech companies.
Data from Uruguay’s National Directorate of Migration accessed by El Observador show an increase over the years in residency applications from less traditional nationalities. Russia saw a surge alongside the war, while the United States is also near one of its highest peaks.

How many of them saw the viral videos in which Konstantin and Liza “sell” Uruguay in Russian and English on social media? It’s hard to estimate. Some have even invested one or two million dollars in restaurants, construction, or tech—but don’t live in Uruguay full time. Reaching their current position wasn’t easy, even though both have university degrees related to business management.

More than just a matter of war
There’s a saying: “What is inherited isn’t stolen.” There’s no exact equivalent in Russian, but Konstantin lived it firsthand—his mother was an Olympic handball champion for the Soviet Union. They lived in what is now Azerbaijan before moving to Moscow.
Russia, especially in major cities and more Europeanized areas, maintains a vibrant, somewhat cosmopolitan lifestyle, with fast services.

But just months after the invasion of Ukraine—and after stopping in Paris to visit his sister, who was expecting twins—Konstantin found himself alone at Carrasco Airport. His luggage hadn’t arrived. No one spoke good English. And he had no idea how to safely reach a house lent to him for a few days by a friend of a friend… in Salinas.
It was a family vacation home, but he arrived at the start of winter—without proper clothing due to the lost luggage and without adequate heating.

“For a Russian to say that!” he jokes, playing on the stereotypical image of Siberian cold.
What he did find was warmth from Uruguayans. They helped him find a hotel. He did repair work using skills from the construction company he had run in Moscow, and eventually brought his family over.

Liza also learned Spanish in Uruguay, largely with the help of their children:
“They spent several years in public school, and the dedication of the teachers is incredible,” she says, smiling, adding that teachers even downloaded Russian-Spanish translation apps to communicate with the kids.
Meanwhile, she started a pastry business, occasionally making Russian desserts. Some cafés hired her regularly, but the income wasn’t always enough to maintain the lifestyle and educational standards the family was used to.

Many things in Uruguay felt slow to them. Phone service and bureaucratic processes for paperwork were overwhelming. But they saw an opportunity in those challenges—like spotting an opening in basketball: why not expand Konstantin’s real estate business into a full-service offering, including guidance on how to navigate life in the country?

A blogger featured them, and the post reached more than 400,000 unique users. The pastry business gave way to the new real estate venture, which gradually added investment opportunities.

Where do they see themselves in 15 years, when their children are grown and perhaps Russia has peace and a different government? Konstantin answers quickly, having thought about it: “I see myself in Uruguay, on a small farm with my cows, with a boutique restaurant, enjoying mate and sunshine.”
Liza gives him a look that says, “We need to talk about that later.” She prefers city life, access to culture, proximity to schools, and is starting a project to help immigrant children adapt more easily.

But on one thing they agree: they plan to stay in Uruguay—“this land built by immigrants, where everyone is accepted regardless of religion, skin color, accent, or sexual orientation… that means a lot in the world we live in.”