Eravamo dunque tornati a Mosca. Dopo quasi un mese di viaggio in cui avevamo attraversato l'occidente dell' URSS, dopo sette notti passate sui treni, dopo aver tastato il polso, malato, di un paziente che si era preso una bella botta e non aveva ancora capito se sarebbe guarito o se era destinato a perdersi completamente, ritrovavamo una Russia diversa, preoccupata ed incerta sul futuro, con le stazioni della metro che si popolavano di una nuova fauna di anziani in cerca di qualche mezzo di sostegno, vendendo qualcosa, disegnando portraits or doing something completely unknown before, simply ask for alms. Moscow, however, had not lost its appeal of the old empire and really seemed to be back in civilization. In the apartment that served as the office, in a nice neighborhood of old houses (and the stairs with all the regular steps) the noise of the typewriter Angela had a familiar sound and the ticking of the telex, made you feel closer to the world as you know it. We saw several people we had met in and around that had rushed to Moscow to define some project, the Korean, a intrallazzone with two thin slits for eyes, who never drank vodka, we had met in Kostija train and wanted to represent us in Stavropol, Kiril to his problems with the fill line of vodka, a Marat watched horrified as we toast to her upcoming marriage, eating thick slices of Italian salami, without thinking that he was an observant Muslim. At dusk I went to Novodevichy, the monastery of virgins, silent and covered with snow. Beautiful and crystallized in the chill of evening, deserted and silent with his cemetery with gravestones from the famous names, pass by me, even if it cost a bit to look for 'fatigue Chekhov, Eisenstein , Bulgakov, Gogol , Stanislavsky, Khrushchev, what a thrill to walk in these luoghi. La storia russa al completo, che 'a livella aveva confinato in questo lembo di terra coperto di bianco. Me ne tornai in albergo tranquillo dopo una visita ad un Berioska, uno dei negozi per occidentali che stavano per essere sorpassati dalla storia. Alla mia visita successiva, non li avrei più trovati, tutti sostituiti da profumerie dai nomi occidentali e pieni di griffe famose. Anche l'albergo era cambiato. Non eravamo più al tetro Pekin, uno dei sette grattacieli staliniani in stile neoassiro, brutte copie dell'Empire State Building, ma in una delle nuove realtà del cambiamento, un alberghetto "commerciale", tutto quello che era di iniziativa privata era chiamato così. Si chiamava Spiektr, un nome una garanzia. Una decina di camere in an old house and lower two floors, the very opposite of the Soviet-style pension phalanstery Mariuccia. The two sisters were tenants of enormous size and generous, dressed up like Christmas trees, which always wore white blouses with lace, stretched with care, even if pure polyester emanating tremendous body also hints at a good distance, because of the torrid heat that reigned within these walls. It was embarrassing, even if offset by big smiles and Irina Tanija dispensed bringing smijetana and cucumbers for breakfast. The place was quiet and had something of a family, even if a group of Koreans from Samsung that the people had the habit of playing Gim all night, it gave you a feeling of heat. Enough to limit a bit off 'the radiators at night to stay alive roast. I could also have a phone with Italy (there were no mobile phones then) but to hear my baby crying because they do not yet returned home, I put a great sadness. I went to bed early the next day came R. Italy and had to prepare for the tour in Siberia.
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