Russia — When Andrei Sukhanov saw that the Chinese-owned hotel rising next door was about to obstruct the sweeping view of Lake Baikal from his small, rustic motel, he steeled himself with a shot of vodka, grabbed his chain saw and chopped down eight wooden pillars buttressing the construction.
Nothing fell down, and far from being condemned, Mr. Sukhanov was treated as a hero for standing up to the Chinese, whose expanding presence around Lake Baikal is the source of deep resentment. His actions have become a rallying cry amid a growing stream of petitions, protests and court cases aimed at blocking the Chinese around the lake and surrounding areas.
“If we let them, the Chinese will take over,” said Mr. Sukhanov, 57, who fled St. Petersburg decades ago for a bucolic life by the Siberian lake, the world’s largest, deepest body of fresh water. “They will just steal all the money and the local people will get nothing.”
President Vladimir V. Putin pivoted toward China five years ago, after the annexation of Crimea soured relations with the West. China became Russia’s new best friend, allied through trade, diplomacy and even military cooperation to counter American influence globally.
Yet, this supposed new era of Sino-Russian friendship is exhibiting pronounced strains in Listvyanka, an old resort town on the lake, as an influx of Chinese tourists and businesses stirs recurrent Russian fears of a Chinese land grab and raises concerns about polluting the lake.
At the same time the local authorities see in the flood of visitors the best hope they have for new jobs and economic development in an impoverished region.
More than 1.6 million tourists, mostly Russians, visited the region last year, according to the Irkutsk Tourism Agency; the 186,200 Chinese were the largest foreign group.
The number of Chinese jumped 37 percent over the previous year, and the surge is expected to continue, as Beijing is just a two-hour flight away, versus six hours to Moscow, 2,700 miles west.
“People understand that China is a much more powerful country and its economy is producing numbers that Russia cannot hope to achieve,” said Yuri Pronin, the editor of Baikalskiye Vesti, an independent weekly published in Irkutsk, the regional capital. “We feel this breath.”
Many Russians say Lake Baikal, which holds nearly 20 percent of the earth’s fresh surface water, is under siege.
Framed by pine forests and distant mountain peaks, the picturesque lake draws visitors both summer and winter, when even trucks can navigate across its thick, intensely blue ice.
But Listvyanka’s rudimentary infrastructure cannot cope with the sewage and trash generated by the current number of visitors, and residents shudder at the thought of tens of thousands of more Chinese.
The local authorities have dragged into court the owners of at least 10 hotels constructed with Chinese financing, accusing them of building illegally on plots designated for single-family homes or other infractions.
A district court ordered two hotels demolished earlier this year, and eight others are likely to face the same fate.
The Chinese stand accused of not only running roughshod over local residents, but also of trying to siphon off the water itself.
This winter, the construction of a new bottling plant to export water to China from a village near Listvyanka prompted more than 1.1 million Russians nationwide to sign an online petition denouncing it.
A district court in Irkutsk cited environmental concerns in halting the construction of the plant in March.
What may rankle the most, local people say, is that the Chinese are not paying business taxes.
“They do not pay us a kopeck,” Mr. Sukhanov growled. “If they paid the 20 percent required to the local budget, we would get the infrastructure and the schools that we need.”
Caught in the middle between the Chinese business interests and local residents is Aleksandr A. Shamsudinov, the mayor of Listvyanka, population 2,122.
Mr. Shamsudinov spent much of 2018 under house arrest, accused of exceeding his authority by issuing housing permits for single-family plots in the village. Many of those plots soon mushroomed into illegal guesthouses for Chinese tourists.
The three-story, 14-bedroom buildings with balconies rising on various plots were clearly not ordinary homes, Mr. Shamsudinov said. “They all said we need big houses, we have a lot of relatives who are planning to come visit,” he said.
With the construction, the character of the village began changing as quaint blue wooden cottages with white gingerbread trim were obliterated. Huge billboards, some in Chinese, advertised venues like the Las Vegas Strip Club.
The town has no central water or sewage system. Litter piles up, side roads remain unpaved and one main kindergarten is an old wooden barracks lacking indoor plumbing.
Marina Rikhvanova, an environmentalist, said she no longer drank lake water near any hamlet. Pollutants seeping into the lake cause algae blooms.
“It’s a microbe cocktail,” she said.
The mayor, a retired police officer, said the federal government should have a development plan that balances the needs of visitors and residents.