Moscow was sweltering in a record May heat wave. The presidential election campaign was hotting up as well. Politicians were trying not to swear too much as they lied to the voters. Boris Yeltsin and "his bodyguard Alexander Korzhakov played a cool little game.
As in a vaudeville act, Korzhakov suggested next month's elections might be cancelled, allowing Yeltsin to rebuke him in public and be seen as the defender of democracy, the man in charge.
Journalists fell for it. Even seasoned observers of Kremlin intrigues took it at face value or perhaps they just played along for another story.
Suddenly I felt very weary. Where could I find some honesty in Moscow? "Try the nudist beach," said a friend.
"The what?"
Yes, Moscow now has a nudist beach. It is at Serebryany Bor, the "silver forest" a park land of pines and sand dunes by the Moscow River. Until recently it was a very respectable area. The British embassy has a dacha there, a Chekhovian wooden mansion where its diplomats can relax from the strains of protocol.
But Serebryany Bor is changing. For the last three summers it has also been the gathering place for a growing number of Russians who refuse to wear clothes.
In Soviet times, the police used to harass those who were not afraid to strip off the coverings of civilisation and face the naked truth about themselves. But, for all his failings, President Yeltsin has given Russians more freedom than they have ever known. Now the nudist beach is an official part of Moscow life.
It's at the farthest edge of the park. You walk past groups of clothed families picnicking and people swimming in bathing costumes until you come to a no man's land in the sand. There is no fence or sign. People just know that beyond here is the Garden of Eden.
I ventured in, undressed and lay down under a willow near the water. There was an atmosphere of tangible calm. In the section where people still covered themselves, however scantily, radios blared and adolescents strutted aggressively. But here were only the sounds of nature and, it seemed, sincerity and goodwill among men.
They were mostly men, in fact. Russian women have yet to become nudists in large numbers. It took me a while to summon enough confidence to go out interviewing with only my sunglasses and a notebook behind which to hide.
I approached Igor first because he appeared harmless happily exposing his rolls of fat and not caring how silly he looked with a little piece of paper stuck over his nose to protect it from the sun.
"I've been coming here for three years," he said languidly. "I like to blow the cobwebs off after winter and I can't be bothered to keep getting in and out of my trunks when I go swimming. There's no deeper meaning in it than that for me".
Vitaly was more philosophical. "I want to be at one with the earth," he said. "If people can take their clothes off, it means they are relaxed and open and have started to understand themselves as they really are."
Certainly this bald, thin, figure exuded the peace of an Indian guru. But not all the nudists had achieved self knowledge and union with Nature.
Some revealed their inner tensions by smoking cigarettes even as they strolled naked. Others had kept their watches on and glanced at them nervously. A body builder pranced and preened, as vain as if he were modelling a designer suit. Will you keep an eye on my trousers for me?" asked another man, evidently unable to trust his fellow nudists not to steal his clothes when he went off to swim.
Yuri and Yuri, two young friends sunbathing together, called me over and invited me to share a beer with them. In the clothed world, they laughed, they wore green uniforms. They were soldiers. They had become nudists because once they had forgotten their swimming costumes it was a simple as that.
"There's nothing sexual about nudism," said Yuri One. "Oh no," said Yuri Two, "women are more erotic when they are dressed. Naked they are not interesting at all.
Afterwards I overheard the lads dismissing me as I was obviously pushing forty. Later they went off with a couple of bouncy girls, half my age.
I gathered up my things and set off back to town, laughing at the idiocy of it all at the patently naked politicians trying, like the Emperor in the fairy tale, to persuade the people they were wearing new clothes at the people, trying to persuade themselves and others that they had shed their restrictions, but who, even as they bared their bodies, still wore all their old complexes and vanities.