We are brassed off because, despite appeals for brevity, long speeches continued. A New Zealand contribution was booked for this morning, but the programme was ruined by some official.

This afternoon we started on the special Commissions, and Pip left for a Teachers Conference in Wat saw tonight. We are all washed out like discharge, but without the satisfaction of the cause ascribed in the song.

If only we had less conferring we would have been living a kingly life. Address: Hotel Ukraine, where I share a room with an Auckland girl, private bath, etc., telephone, radio (which I ruined by plugging into the bed-lamp plug-hole), and balcony over a street in the centre of the city.

We confer (and usually eat) in the half-built Agricultural Show Building, about a quarter of an hour's bus ride away. Tom and Pip's room is almost identical.

Sunday we picnicked on the Dnieper, and had a party in our room at night after dancing cabaret-style in the dining-room, with a rapidly-diminishing bottle of vodka on the table. But such idleness is now far away, with conference sessions ending at 11 p m.

The timetable allows for no shopping, so I skipped this afternoon. There is nothing to buy in the U.S.S.R. except L.P. records, standard price 7 roubles (6/8). Prices for food and clothes are fabulous, but it is hard to judge—exchange rate is unreal. Rents are very low—e.g.. our interpreter in Moscow, a teacher, paid an unusually high rent at 120 R. per week summer and 150 R. winter, and was paid 1200 R. a month last year, rising to 1500 R. this year: but his wife was also working. That seemed to be standard rent for 2-roomed flats—but still much less than we would pay for the same thing in Wellington.

All delegates agree that the standard of housing, and taste in clothing and architecture, are very low but improving. Nobody looks underfed, but I think many older people's faces are a study in tragedy.

—Gwenda Martin.

No time for sight-seeing, but skirted the summer palace, spent a couple of hours roaming round the old streets of Peking, in and out of jade-shops. Never saw Rewi Alley—he was 3000 miles away to the wot. Hospitality was wonderful, and I don't think I could look at those so-called Chinese meals in Wellington after the real thing Started straight off on chopsticks, and am now quite proficient even with peas and rice.

Well the story of eight days in the train from Peking to Moscow was really an epic in itself—two days to the Chinese border—tremendous receptions at each station on both sides of the border—very weary in the end—good sleeping and eating, but awful washing facilities. Nine days without a shower was not a tragedy, but very uncomfortable. Fortunately it was mutual, so in the end we couldn't smell one another.

I travelled with the Philippines delegation. Burmese, and Indonesians studying in Peking—a wonderful bunch of people. We had two interpreters—very helpful and anxious to get experience in English.

The train was on time to the minute at each station—I think the track was about 4ft 10in double all the way, electrified two days out of the eight, and plenty of traffic going cast. Saw take Baikal briefly before dark, and generally Siberia is very picturesque. A random look out of the window gave a picture of cultivation or industry, contrary to my expectations of barrenness.

Talking of Omsk. I spent some happy hours teaching our Russian friends New Zealand songs, including (after careful explanation) "Serge and I They thought it exceedingly humorous—contrary to the experience of other Kiwis three days ahead.

Arrived Moscow the day the Festival started. More later.

—Pip Piper.