I have just come back from Yaroslavl. When I boarded the train I found another fanatic waiting for me. At first she seemed ok but there was something weirdly sweet, too sweet, and friendly in her voice. Normally, only people who are dying to make somebody listen to them speak to strangers this way. As she wasn't travelling alone but with her son, I assumed she wanted something from me. And I was right. I told myself not to pay attention to what she was telling her son, not to show ANY interest or curiosity, and she only managed to give me and the other girl in the compartment a sample of the "magic potion" two hours later when we were going to bed. In the morning she used every possibility to tell us more about the thing but we joked her off.
I finished reading "Daniel Stein, the interpreter" about Oswald Rufeisen. I am determined to read more about him.
And I'm still downloading those pieces that we heard on Friday played by the Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra (I can't wait to hear Les Offrandes oubliees by Olivier Messiaen).
And Fred is arriving tonight! Fan-tas-tic!
