Word: dachas
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...Married to Vadim Rindin, chief designer of the Bolshoi, she lives in a four-room apartment on the ninth floor of a building overlooking the Moscow River and the Kremlin. Although she earns an estimated $25,000 a year as leading ballerina of the Bolshoi, she maintains no country dacha, but drives a six-cylinder Volga, which she hopes to turn in someday for a larger car ("I dream," she says, "about its automatic shift...
...beginning, the Soviet bear hug seemed full of earthy cordiality. At Stalin's old dacha 60 miles southeast of Moscow, Macmillan and Khrushchev jaunted companionably through the pine woods in a troika, sharing a lap robe and chatting with apparent candor about the great issues of the cold war. Next night in the British embassy Khrushchev harked back to the Geneva Conference of 1955 (which Macmillan attended as Britain's Foreign Minister), warmly told the Prime Minister: "It was with your help that the Geneva spirit was created...
...news of this journalistic invasion, Poet-Author Boris (Doctor Zkivago) Pasternak discreetly abandoned his dacha near Moscow for a Black Sea resort beyond camera or notebook range...
...hour, U.S.-style press conference within the ancient Kremlin* walls, Mikoyan reported to the Soviet press on his trip. In high good humor, he told of visiting the dacha of Cleveland Industrialist Cyrus Eaton, and of a luncheon at which he had pressed "my old friend" former Governor Averell Harriman to revisit Moscow now that Nelson Rockefeller had freed him to travel. Mikoyan paid tribute to American women -"they were very nice to us; they cannot hide their feelings as well as a man" -and recalled with evident relish his luncheon with those archvillains of Communist mythology, the bankers...
...Papa Pasternak rented a dacha outside Moscow, next to the home of the composer Scriabin. The day the Pasternaks moved, the future poet fled the bustle and ran into the surrounding woods. He recalls in an autobiographical sketch: "Oh Lord! That forest was full of everything that morning! The sun was piercing it in all directions . . . And like the light and shadows shimmering in the forest, like the singing birds flitting from branch to branch, sections of Scriabin's Third Symphony or Divine Poem, which was being composed at the piano in the neighboring house, spread and echoed under...