ABSTRACT
Anyone who travels to Russia needs a guide, not only on the spot, but also on the way. In Moscow I had one assigned to me officially. She was called Galina, was a woman in her forties, hard-working, and starting again with a marriage that she wanted to make into a success. She knew Moscow well, but lamented every day that she had been transferred from Leningrad. She was not tall, but not round either, like most of the women who poured daily into the city. She was distinguished from them moreover in the fact that her fine face was a little tanned, while most Muscovites are pale. Her animated eyes disclosed friendliness and intelligence, but also restlessness and tension, as though she was never completely at ease.
