As a college junior in 1975, I traveled alone to the Soviet Union, mostly because the packaged tour was dirt cheap. I should have guessed that the low price was related to season. The December evening I arrived in Moscow, the temperature was 10 degrees. The streets were filled with people bundled in thick coats and fur hats. I checked into a drab, gray Intourist Hotel, and then I went back out into the human stream and did my best to blend in, in my light jacket and stocking hat.

Want to read the rest?
Please login.
New to Narrative? sign up.
It's easy and free.