The international conference on mathematical physics,

Moscow, December, 1972.

This was organised to celebrate the work of N. N. Bogoliubov, and to try to organise a lobby with influence on the Nobel Committee to award him a prize. Bogoliubov was not in good health, and many at the conference considered him to be the leading physicist not to have been awarded the prize. I went along with this view, if we add Peierls and Wightman to the list.

The generous hospitality of the Soviet Academy of Sciences gave the visitors a comfortable time, and there were several social events to help along the friendly meeting. One such was a party, at the home of V. S. Vladimirov. I learnt that the hostess would appreciate a bunch of fresh flowers, and set out to a store, THE MOSKVA, near the Steklov Institute, to get some daffodils. But they were sold out, having only plastic replicas left. Luckily, I was noticed by a student (of English), who advised me to go to the flower market. In fact he took me by tram, paid the fare of a few kopeks himself, and, after a long trip, we took a bus-taxi, one of the useful minivans that follow a general path, but which will deviate a bit and stop on request. But when we got to the market, it too had sold out, and the stalls were being dismantled and packed up. The student offered to take me across town to another market, but it was already getting dark, and I was likely to be late for the party, so I thanked him, bade him goodbye, and hailed a taxi. I showed the driver the address, written for me by Prof Vladimirov; unfortunately, it was in Latin script, not Cyrillic, and when I tried to pronounce it, the driver got very angry, and made me leave his cab. He kept the slip of paper on which the address was written. Not daring to hail another cab, and without the address, I resolved to make my own way to the party; I had been a guest of the Vladimirovs in 1966, and reckoned that I could find my way to his flat from the Steklov Institute.

The first stage was easy; the bus-taxi had gone only 200 metres, up hill to the market, so I walked back and found a tram-stop. I vaguely remembered that as we left the tram, we had dismounted to the left of the track, and taken the route at right-angles; so, it follows that the way back is to take a tram going from left to right, as I faced the track. Which number should I take? I let the first go by; the next carried a different number. Then I decided that it was a losing strategy to let all trams go by, and anyway, these were trams, not buses, so they could only go on the track. I mounted the next tram, paid my kopeks into a box (which was at once emptied by an old lady sitting near it), and stared out into the blackness: there were no street lights. I awoke from a sort of dream, to the realisation that, on the journey with the student, we had changed trams. Just then the tram stopped, and I saw, in the gloom, that we were at a junction. I got off, and had to decide which track to take. I thought that the most likely route would be one at an obtuse angle to the one I had been on, and going in the same general direction. A tram soon came, and I got on it. Again, in the darkness, I fell in a sort of reverie, not prepared to get off at any stop. Then it became clear that it was not the correct strategy to stay on the tram, since then I would arrive at the terminus, which must be some way out from the centre. So I got off at the next stop.

Everything was dark and black, and I gingerly walked forward; suddenly, I fell into a steep hole, about 2 metres deep, with half a metre of soft mud at the bottom. I kept my balance, and walked forward, and found that I was in some road-works, and that the opposite wall of the hole was sloping at about 30 degrees. I scrambled up to road-level, and peered out; I could see a darker patch of sky ahead, which turned out to be a building with high gates. I approached the building, and getting more accustomed to the gloom, could make out the Cyrillic letters "Steklov Institute". So far, so good.

I remembered that in 1966, we had walked to the home of the Vladimirovs from the Institute; they lived in one of three tall blocks of flats, with shops at ground floor, and thistles 2 metres high on the spare land around the base of the buildings. After leaving the hole on my present trip, I saw the three blocks against the starlight, and was soon there. I went past the first block; to try the very first one would have been a too hasty decision, smacking of panic. Arriving at the second block, I decided to enter it, since if I passed it by, I would be left with no choice but to take the third, and I do not like having no choice. The stairway was dark, as on my first visit; I had been informed that the light-bulbs were removed by the tenants' committee, since if left in place, they would be stolen. I seemed to remember that last time, I had been taken up several floors by Prof Vladimirov. On the first floor, I decided to explore the corridor; there might be a light somewhere, and I could see where the doorbells were, and whether there were name-plates attached to the flats. But all was dark, except that some way along, I could hear some talking, and arriving at the door, saw a light underneath. I stopped outside this flat, but did not knock. Suddenly, the door opened, and I was greeted by Mrs. Vladimirov, who kindly ignored the mud which went up to my knees. I said that I had lost the slip of paper with the address, but that I remembered the location from 1966; that's funny, they said: "We have moved".