A map in Tuesday's editions of The Sun transposed Latvia and Lithuania.

MINSK -- Slow, dependable Minsk, patiently working away, had at last reached 1980 on its five-year plan when it was told last week that it had become a world capital.

And it would not be just any capital. Here is where the once-fearsome Soviet Union would be refashioned into a friendly, cooperative Commonwealth of Independent States, led by Russia, Ukraine and Byelarus.

The mere suggestion of such an overwhelming transformation might panic another provincial city, but not Minsk. Panic requires sudden emotion, and nothing happens suddenly here.

So what if the hotel rooms leave a lot to be desired. Why be alarmed if you have to stand endlessly and hopelessly in the cold, gray fog awaiting the rare taxi?

Speaking of taxis, the cab fare from the airport to Minsk is 40 rubles. It's 150 rubles to get back to the airport, suggesting people will pay anything to get out of Minsk.

Entertainment? At night, the Stoneflower Restaurant has a floor show with a row of energetic chorus girls who change into various arrays of ruffles and feathers with amazing speed and feverishly kick and dance for two hours.

Restaurants? There's not a single private one; only a handful operated by the state.

Telephones? Just a few foreigners trying to call their governments would quickly overload the telephone system, assuming they wouldn't mind going to the post office and standing in line to reserve a call abroad, which might be placed in an hour or in a day.

This doesn't bother Minsk. What other cities might call plodding, Minsk calls steady and dependable. Here, ordinary citizens and politicians alike celebrate their city for its predictability, for its stability. When they boast about their hometown, they choose adjectives like "quiet" and "tranquil."

The mayor, Alexander M. Gerasimenko, cheerfully points out that an international airport is already under construction, and even though it isn't finished, Minsk begins international flights tomorrow. Aeroflot, the Soviet airline, will fly from Minsk to Shannon Airport in Ireland for transfer to New York and other cities.

Mr. Gerasimenko seems undismayed by the fact that the airport has been under construction for the last 10 years. It stands across from the old airport like a concrete skeleton, clearly no more than half-finished.

The mayor's assistant, Valentin Shlyk, proudly points out that Minsk is a ghost town on the weekends. "Everyone goes to the country to visit their relatives," he says.

But foreign delegations should not be deterred. There is, after all, a far more bountiful supply of food in Minsk than in that other capital of Moscow. There are some lines, but far fewer than elsewhere. That's because the other republics of the former Soviet Union won't buy food from Minsk, fearing radiation contamination from the Chernobyl nuclear accident that occurred nearby.

There are 16 hotels with 5,000 rooms here. Everyone says the Byelarus is the best. "Maybe the rooms aren't the best," says an administrator named Luba, "but I think it's the best hotel."

The cost and availability of a room depends on who you are. Most foreigners have to pay in dollars -- usually about $60 for a room. A Soviet citizen pays 10 rubles -- about 10 cents last week.

Foreigners still have to ask the official Soviet Intourist agency for reservations, and like as not Intourist will send a message canceling the reservation instead of making it. That happened to one American last week, who was told that there was not a single room left in the entire 21-story hotel.

"Of course we would like to have you come and pay and get a room," a mournful clerk says, "but we'd also like to go to the store and be able to buy meat and milk." Half an hour later, after sustained threats and imprecations, the American got a room. A Russian who arrived at the same time got one, too -- after he paid the manager a bribe of 100 rubles for the room that cost 10 rubles.

The Byelarus is not bad for a Soviet hotel. The rooms actually have bathtubs with showers, though of course no shower curtain. And who can really complain about any hotel that offers pancakes with fried fat on its restaurant menu?

If the Byelarus is full, try the nearby Yubileynaya, which has 249 rooms and 400 employees. That's the hotel with a fax machine.

Fax machines are clearly a rare and valuable commodity here. The mayor has one right on his desk, for everyone to see. The city government has two others.

While other republics have eagerly been toppling Lenin monuments, those in Minsk remain, though one bust in front of a party building has been splashed with paint. Last Monday, Lenin and Gorky streets were renamed, but no one seems to have noticed it yet.

There's little of the nationalism that plagues other republics. Although 70 percent of the population is Byelarussian, the language of Minsk is mostly Russian and there seems no animosity to the 20 percent Russian minority.

City officials recently changed the name back to Mensk, the Byelarussian name, but no one uses it and some people were a little annoyed, having grown up in Minsk.

The capital of a country the size of Kansas, Minsk seems to cherish a cornfield sort of image.

"Maybe we here are criticized unjustly because reforms are slower than in other places," says Mr. Shlyk, the mayor's aide, "but I think conservatism is not the worst thing."

Mayor Gerasimenko still has a portrait of Lenin on his wall. "I just got used to it," he says. The editor of the local newspaper has a portrait of Marx as well. "If the point were portraits," says Mikhail Mikhayevich, the deputy editor, "and life got better because of portraits, then we'd change them every day."

But most people seem ready to move ahead. In a poll last week, 67 percent of those interviewed favored the commonwealth.

A taxi driver named Oleg Bakuc points out that the "Soviet" in Soviet Union means advice. "Everyone gave advice and no one listened," he says. "Now we have to stop giving advice and work."

The mayor shares the sentiment. "My attitude toward the commonwealth is positive," Mr. Gerasimenko says. "It is the best way out of the plight we've gotten ourselves into."

Making Minsk a capital was a marvelous political compromise, allowing Ukraine to enter into a treaty with Russia without threatening Ukrainians with Russian imperialism. It also psychologically destroyed the central Soviet government in Moscow.

"They fear Moscow like fire," says Mr. Mikhayevich, the newspaperman. "There's a double fear -- the fear of the center and fear of imperial ambitions."

Russian President Boris N. Yeltsin said last week that making Minsk a capital does not necessarily make it the the headquarters of vast commonwealth agencies.

"Minsk is not a capital," he said, "it is just a working venue. But it shows Russia is not trying to hatch imperial ambitions."

Either way, if anyone can cope with the demands of a new destiny, the people of Minsk can. The city, which began World War II with 270,000 people, ended it with 50,000. Today it has grown to 1.7 million.

Sitting at the intersection of old trade routes, Minsk dates itself back to a trading settlement in the 11th century. It sits on the railway connecting Moscow and Warsaw. The city often got in the way of warring armies. Napoleon demolished it in 1796, the Germans in World War II.

Though it lost 80 percent of its buildings and all its history in the war, it manages to look pleasant enough. The main street is 150 feet wide and lined with post-war buildings evoking classic architecture. The government buildings present a forbidding totalitarian face, but the former Communist Party buildings, which take up more than three big blocks, are rather attractive.

"I would simply say you can live here," says Sveta Krupina, a 21-year-old woman who works in a shop selling clothes and shoes. "Life is possible."

Minsk makes cars, motorcycles and trucks, but unlike its sister city Detroit, it is not known for murders. During six months, it had 34.

"We're proud of our city," Mr. Gerasimenko says. "It's very clean

compared to other cities of the Soviet Union."