We are still in Pushcha Vodytsya; the view from one of our windows, the one facing the children's playground, is still ugly - mountains of sand and clay, kids playing war on top of them, and a few guys still working down in the pits, fixing something, speaking in Ukrainian, cursing in Russian (cursing more than speaking). But we do have hot water now, and life is beautiful.

Marta's best friend - Artyom, a 10-year-old boy from the apartment next door - told me that their makeshift football field down in the forest by the lake would soon have the real gates - made from those old pipes they are extracting and replacing right now. Artyom's really happy - and I'm very happy for him and the rest of the boys, too: all they do here is play football and talk about it. Just like the boys in Turkey.

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Soon, there'll be lots of bitching and complaining about Kyiv on this blog: we are moving back to Bessarabka in two weeks (or even earlier, depending on the weather and the landlady's plans). And then there'll be even more bitching and complaining about Moscow, as we are moving there sometime this fall, too.

If it were completely up to me, I'd choose to stay here.