I was at a dacha owned by the American Embassy today, to cover a party held there by a mixed choir for expats/Russians. It's in a place called Serebryaniy Bor, which means 'Silver Coniferous Forest,' or maybe 'Silver Birch Forest' makes more sense, and is reached by a metro ride out to the suburbs and then a bus trip. It's a strange place, still pretty much inside Moscow, but ringed on three sides by the Moscow River, and it feels like you're suddenly in the countryside. It's also pretty exclusive, where a lot of the great and the good have their summer homes. Today it was quiet, blanketed in snow and toe-numbingly freezing.




There was an interesting crowd at the party: lots of people attached to the American Embassy, who told me some of the diplomatic folklore about the American station in Moscow (apparently the dacha was given to the embassy in return for some kind of resort estate for the Russian Embassy staff in the States in the 70s or 80s) and what it was like to be in Russia having grown up during the Cold War; a Norwegian oil and gas diplomat (did you know Norway is the third biggest oil supplier in the world, after Saudi Arabia and Russia, and the second biggest gas supplier, after Russia?); and a member of the embassy slightly drunkenly cussing out Bush as he couldn't take his Russian partner to the States with him as same-sex unions aren't legalised there (I suggested he move to England).

I came home and watched the dance troupe that I wrote about this week on TV with my landlady, Olga. Am putting off writing, even though a load of it's in for Monday. Hopefully going to an ice bar (i.e. a bar carved out of ice) tomorrow for someone's birthday.




The weather yesterday, by the way, was absolutely wack. I was stumbling up the road to the gym at about 5 p.m. yesterday, it was already dark, the wind had picked up, it was snowing, -27 degrees Celsius or something. I had two hoods up (was consequently like a blinkered horse who could only see straight ahead and otherwise by turning head very deliberately to left or right), a scarf, and feet that hurt inside my shoes as my socks were so big. The snow was so powdery that it blew around like drifts of sand on the pavement, forming shapes and travelling round corners as if it was alive. The whole experience was amusing in its bonkers-ness.

Something slightly scary happened in the gym. I was taking some weights off a bar, weakling that I am, and the guy that had been sat at the reception desk downstairs suddenly appeared and shouted, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Everyone else in the gym of course stopped what they were doing and looked. I mumbled, "Er, I wanted it without these..." And he goes again, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" I decided I had no answer that would satisfy him, and so crept away to the other side of the room and did some non-weight-involving exercises on a gymnastics mat instead.




It's warm and toasty in my room now, thanks to above heater on windowsill. I didn't tell my parents as I didn't want to worry them (sorry mum, dad,) but I spent two days being absolutely, disgustingly cold. I woke up one morning and sat at my desk wearing my outdoor jacket and duvet over the top. It was miserable.

Now, however, I have to restrain myself from inviting in my chilled Italian flatmate Pietro to show off how cosy my room is.