WHAT'S cold and whites on the outside and hot and green on the inside? Answer: the tropical glasshouse in Moscow.
True, the snow is now melting on the streets of the city, but white remains the dominant colour, or rather an unappealing shade of dirty cream. But inside the hothouse, it is so lush and green you could think you were in Australia or the Caribbean.
A few Russians are now rich enough to jet off to such exotic locations for holidays. On Kuznetsky Most Street, among the fashionable dress shops and jewellers, travel agencies offer tours which would have been an impossible dream in Soviet times. One advertises a trip to Thailand - shopping in Bangkok, 10 days on the beach and a visit to a crocodile farm all for only $1,450.
Ordinary Russians, struggling simply to feed their families can only look at these enticing adverts and weep. Or they can go to the greenhouse, the poor man's paradise, a few stops north of the centre on the grey line of the Metro.
The hothouse, set in extensive botanical gardens which also include special sections growing different varieties of lilac and daffodil, is attached to the Russian Academy of Sciences. You cannot just walk in off the street the botanists have suffered in the past from members of the public stealing their plants. Also some of the trees are poisonous, so they arrange a guided tour for you.
When I visited three years ago, I was shown around by Vadim Sheleikovsky, the keeper of the African pond. I was hoping to see him again, for he is indeed a colourful character. I shall never forget the sight of him, dressed in swimming trunks, up to his waist in the pond, tending his purple Zanzibar water lilies, while a February snowstorm swirled on the other side of the glass.
Mr Sheleikovsky has a dream job, you might think. But it has its drawbacks. Standing all day in warm water is not good for the blood vessels and going from tropical to freezing temperatures is a health risk, too. When I arrived last week, Mr Sheleikovsky was off sick with flu and I was met instead by Olga Chumakova, a student who works as his assistant.
The hothouse has plants from all over the globe, from giant banana palms to tiny bonsai trees. Olga kept apologising that the collection was not as big as Kew Gardens in London, but it was impressive enough.
We started with the azaleas and rhododendrons, as they were all out in bloom. "Unfortunately I'm still only learning, so I cannot tell you all their Latin names," said Olga (20). What a relief to be spared this information.
We moved on to the Mexican cacti - spiky, hairy, some disguising themselves as stones - and the citrus hall, heavy with the scent of flowering lemons and mandarins. "Later we get to eat the fruit," whispered Olga.
It seemed a reasonable perk for the lowest paid gardeners such as herself, who earn only 200,000 roubles (about £25) per month while a season ticket to come in to work on public transport now costs 180,000 roubles. At the top end of the salary "scale, specialists earn 530,000 roubles.
"But we are not complaining," said Vera Chikhanova, a senior botanist whom Olga had sought out so that I would nevertheless "receive my due dose of Latin plant names. "At least we are getting paid regularly, unlike some other scientists.
Recently, some members of the Academy of Sciences demonstrated in Gorky Park in protest at unpaid wages and lack of state financing for their research work.
"Comparatively speaking, we are well off," Ms Chikhanova said. "Foreign visitors have donated plants. Ryzhkov [Nikolai, the former Soviet prime minister] allocated money in his budget for a new orangery, which we are still in the process of building and, as you see, despite the difficult conditions some youngsters are still prepared to work for love. So there will be a new generation of botanists to follow us."
Olga smiled at the praise and took me off to the African pond. My glasses steamed up as we went in. Said Olga: "I came on a school tour of the hothouse two years ago and when Vadim Lovovich [Mr Sheleikovsky] showed us this section, I was entranced. I begged him to let me work for him."
Three types of lily floated on the water. Around the edge were fly trap plants. Olga stirred a mash of rotten vegetables on which she was breeding flies to feed to the plants. She also trimmed the hanging baskets of orchids. "Smell this one," she said. "It smells like lipstick."
It did, and it was a smell that stayed with me for a long time after I had gone out into the chill March air.