stendec

It's 1969. Your name is Pavel and you are a young diplomat at the Soviet Embassy in Istanbul, home now, for the holidays. Outside, it's a beautifully crisp Moscow night, sounds of merry making echoing along the streets. Inside, you are at a cocktail party, Stoli in hand and a lit Prima hanging from your lip. You're trading hungry eyes and cool looks with that KGB vixen, Tatiana, hoping for a repeat of that dark hot Cairo night in spring. Meanwhile, the stereo is alive with the sounds of Mesherin's Orchestra playing Cuba, My Cuba.

The Official Music of the Russian Cosmonauts. You gotta love the Russians.