Ksenia Kuvaeva

Dear Diary,

It was one of those Saturday nights. Some friends wanted to come look at my new apartment after a night out, so we left the party early, knowing that my home was always a catastrophe: dirty plates on the table, a conspiracy of cobwebs and dust bunnies, smelly laundry clogging the doorways and clothes drying on the staircase. This had to change, and fast!

For not being entirely sober, we did a pretty good job cleaning up. And in the meantime, our friends were making their way into the elevator, not knowing what was awaiting them. Living on the top floor, taking the stairs was always a challenge, and the only other way to access my apartment was by using the tiny, 1x1 m2 elevator.

At the end of a busy city day, I often long for a cozy little place, where I can relax, have a glass of wine and a satisfying meal, detaching myself from the crazy comings and goings on every side. The other day, I found that place, and strange as it sounds, it was a coincidence.

Walking down the Kärtnerstrasse, gloomy and crowded in the rain, the relentless drops were soaking my hair. We (two friends and I) absorbed in trying to avoid the puddles below and dueling umbrellas above, turned onto a side street to get out of the line of fire, hoping to find a quiet place for lunch. What we found was Restaurant Sole, at Annagasse 6-8.

Dear Diary,

I love to travel – train, bus, ship or plane, it doesn’t matter, just as long as I get from one destination to another. But with my Russian family, no trip begins or ends ‘normally’…

This time we are off to the U.S. Our luggage packed and waiting at our door, we sat for a moment on the sofa in the hall. Russians do this before leaving, for good luck and well, to simply remember if you forgot anything or not. In my opinion it was unnecessary, and we were already running late…