Following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, roughly 22,000 Russians have travelled to Argentina, which allows them entry without a visa. The country has long been a haven for immigrants, both from Europe and the rest of Latin America. Now, it is attracting Russians who are soon-to-be parents: as in many countries in the Americas, babies born in Argentina automatically receive citizenship and a passport, which allows visa-free travel to 53 more countries than a Russian one. Having an Argentine child can also help parents obtain citizenship in as little as two years.

According to Argentine immigration officials, more than half of the Russians who arrived in the past year have already left. For some parents, obtaining a passport for their baby is enough to justify the trip; others hope to secure their own Argentine citizenship from abroad. But Vitaly and his family, as well as at least 3,000 fellow Russians, are choosing to apply for residency and make Argentina their home. As one new mother explains, “I find myself more open-minded again, warmer…In Russia we kind of lost this ability to smile as much as people here.”

Vitaly and his wife Alya Lykhina had never been to Latin America before moving to Buenos Aires last May. “We knew absolutely nothing about Argentina,” Alya told me, and they didn’t speak any Spanish.

Alya, who is 41, wore electric-blue platform shoes and a diamond-sticker bindi while nursing her baby, named Tanisha Afina (the Russian form of Athena). All six of her children have names inspired by ancient Greece. Alya said the babies’ vibrations in the womb helped her pick: “I wanted a kid called Andrei after my father, but the vibrations [never matched].” As we talk, three of her sons squabble over the PlayStation and the family’s two Jack Russell terriers yap at the action.

In Moscow, Alya worked as a life coach, and she continues to counsel more than 50 clients in Russia over Zoom. She had often thought about having a child abroad, a popular practice among well-off Russian women: in the late 2010s many travelled to give birth in the United States, which also grants birthright citizenship. But Russians need a visa to travel to America, and besides, Alya’s and Vitaly’s family found the idea of moving there boring – they were used to more exotic locales. Previously, they homeschooled their children, which gave them the flexibility to spend months at a time in India, China and Cyprus.

Vitaly and Alya avoided discussing Russian politics:“We understand if we talk about it, we won’t change anything – but it could have bad consequences for us,” Alya explained. It’s clear, though, that the war played a role in their decision to move abroad. When the invasion began, Alya was two months pregnant. “I think, for me, these things made us think – maybe it’s better to go,” she murmured.

In March, Alya began trawling Telegram, a messaging platform, to find out where people were heading. There was Dubai (“expensive”), Turkey (“I’ve been twice and didn’t have great experiences”), and neighbouring countries like Kazakhstan, Georgia or Armenia (only “a little bit different”).

Although the family had connections in Latin America – a family friend had just given birth in Brazil and a childhood friend was working in Mexico – they were most intrigued by the possibility of settling in Argentina. “I can’t tell you fully why,” Alya said. “I guess it’s just intuition.” Turning to her husband, she asked, “Vitaly, why did we decide to come here?”

“Messi!” he instantly responds.

Alya bought access to a guide made by an Instagram influencer a few years earlier that included tips specifically geared towards Russians moving to Argentina to have children: which documents needed to be filled out; how to relocate pets; where to buy buggies upon arrival. Two weeks later, Alya, Vitaly, their five kids and two dogs were on their way to Buenos Aires. “If it’s bad, we will go somewhere else,” Alya and Vitaly remember thinking. They bought a round-trip ticket – but haven’t used the return.

Alya admits that it wasn’t always easy to live out that mantra during their early days in Buenos Aires. Before moving, she had found agencies on Telegram that cater to pregnant Russians in Argentina. For exorbitant fees – Alya saw figures of up to $15,000 – they offered to help with documents, find accommodation and schedule medical appointments.

Alya decided to arrange everything herself. But hotels were expensive, and they couldn’t book on Airbnb because Russian credit cards were blocked for international transactions. She began posting frantic messages on Telegram. Finally, five days before flying to Buenos Aires, she found a cramped three-bedroom flat that would work as a temporary solution.

Once they got to the city, Alya and Vitaly began searching for more suitable accommodation. Luckily, the first real-estate agent they met told them he felt it was his duty to help anyone fleeing the war. He found them a 19th-century townhouse with a courtyard and five bedrooms, but only accepted $100 for his troubles. Alya remembers saying, “Vitaly, do you think it’s a scam? Very strange, everybody wants money!”

After moving to Buenos Aires, Vitaly advertised a meeting for expectant fathers on Telegram. He thought two men would show up; 15 did...

The day before they were meant to move into their new home, Alya’s water broke. Once again, Telegram came to the rescue. Alya gave birth to Tanisha Afina in a blow-up pool in the living room of a midwife they found through the app. “At 1300 I arrived at the flat, at 1440-something we had Tanisha, and at 1700 Vitaly went to pick up the keys to the new house,” Alya says serenely. “It was a very nice day.”

In the year since moving to Buenos Aires, Alya and Vitaly have become movers and shakers in the city’s growing community of Russian digital nomads. (Vitaly’s running club includes a financial analyst, a video producer, a business strategist for international football clubs, and software developers. Many of them work remotely for Russian companies, though others – including Vitaly and Alya – work freelance or with clients around the world.) Vitaly organises stand-up comedy shows with Alya’s brother-in-law, who moved in September. He and two friends also interview Russian expats on a YouTube channel.

Vitaly hopes to help other Russian men shed traditional expectations about masculinity. In Russia fathers are not usually present during childbirth. But Vitaly, who has attended all his children’s births, knew how special the occasion could be. After moving to Buenos Aires, he advertised a meeting for expectant fathers on Telegram. He thought two men would show up; 15 did. One of the men recently came to the family’s house to thank Vitaly: “He told me he would still remember it when he turns 100 because it’s magic, it’s taking part in a miracle.”

Now Vitaly is setting up an association of Russian expats; he hopes to meet the city’s mayor to discuss how to place arrivals with Argentine companies or sectors that need more knowledgeable professionals. Their presence could be positive for Argentina, which is in an economic crisis. Inflation is running at over 100%, and the peso devalues so quickly that people cannot save. But although Russian expats tend to earn more than the average Argentine, most use a mix of cash, crypto and money-transfer services to pay for things – much of which isn’t taxed. Some Russians do have bank accounts in Argentina, but others have to resort to complex means to reach their savings back in Russia. (One person need to routes money from Russia through friends in Kyrgyzstan and Argentina.)

“It’s not just, ‘oh, I have a passport, that is so nice.’ No. It means I need to be responsible as a citizen of this country. And I was thinking, Am I ready to become a part of this culture? A part of this country?”

Immigration authorities are starting to worry about the Russian influx. Some fear that criminals or spies may be able to obtain Argentine passports by posing as the husbands of pregnant women. In February Argentina announced that it was suspending the residence permits of Russians who gave birth here but did not remain; in March there were reports that applications for residency permits by Russians were being denied en masse. Even so, many Russians feel that Argentina is a welcoming place. As one man from Vitaly’s running club tells me, “European people now think about Russians as aggressive, as not good.” He finds Argentines to be “friendly, talkative, very polite people – I love it all.”

Not all experiences are positive. Some Russians have struggled to obtain legal advice about their immigration status or to navigate the country’s bureaucracy. Alya, who would like Tanisha Afina to meet her grandparents in Russia, worries about visiting before her own Argentine paperwork is in order: “What if I leave and I have no documents, and I can’t even come back?”

Cultural differences are treated with less seriousness – “they are basically interesting or funny, not bad,” Alya says. On Telegram, some expats fret that they cannot find Russian staples like buckwheat, cottage cheese and black bread. Argentina has an excessive number of widely observed holidays, including bizarre ones like National Friendship Day. “In Russia, if you want to buy a coat in summer at night on a Sunday, you will find it, no problem. Here, no, today is Sunday. Or Day of Empanadas or whatever. And for us it’s like, why is everything closed?” complains Alya. (Alas, there is no Day of Empanadas.)

The family is trying to fit in by taking folk dance classes and by getting into Argentine literature and films. They read basic Spanish books to Tanisha Afina, pronunciation errors and all. The younger children are excited to attend school in person for the first time, but the older ones are finding it more difficult to communicate and study. The eldest son, Platon, is 16 years old; at almost two metres tall, he towers above the average Argentine teenager. Although settling in has been challenging and he told that:“I think it’s better than to have stayed in Russia.”

As the family makes Argentina their home, at least in the short-term, Alya has been thinking about the implications of one day having her own passport. “It’s not just, ‘oh, I have a passport, that is so nice.’ No. It means I need to be responsible as a citizen of this country. And I was thinking, Am I ready to become a part of this culture? A part of this country?” No matter what, though, she wants to ensure that Tanisha Afina feels kinship with her birthplace: “This is her home. Now we are connected with Argentina, even without a passport, because having a daughter is a much stronger thing.”