There was not a single hotel room, in which the bathtub plug was not missing. In the streets I met poverty and ugliness, decaying blocks of houses, and peasants with horse and cart, who seemed to live in the wrong century. Only short time later I walked trough the elaborately tiled underground stations of Moscow, watched beautiful Russian woman dancing in the Cafe Molodjosh, or had the world's best, highly modern space programme explained to me by an engineer. To me, the Soviet Union seemed to be a country full of contradictions. Yet its functionaries did not like it at all, if I documented these contrasts. I only had to be seen with my camera in a station to get into trouble, and once, in spring 1971, I was even expelled from the country. But it was worth all the trouble. From 1962 to 1989 I made 17 journeys to the Soviet Union, each time returning with stories that were printed in large. While socialism and the iron curtain lasted, the Western world considered Russia and its satellite countries to be an unfathomable mystery, a might enemy of yesterday and possibly of tomorrow, strange and yet fascinating. In other words: a good topic for a reporter.