Last Day in Russia

I spent my last day in Russia roaming the streets of downtown Moscow. I got lost twice in exactly the same way. Had coffee and eggs off of Red Square.

Visited the former State Department Store (GUM), which used to be a government building with small stores, each selling rations of something different -- one for bread, one for meat, and so forth. It was notorious for being consistently understocked.

Now, it's a big mall with Dior, Louis Vuitton, and more.

St. Basil's Cathedral was just as luminous as I imagined. Tower after tower, intricate painting in every color. Covered my head with my scarf upon entering, which is according to Russian Orthodox tradition, even though none of the other tourists did. The inside was freezing.

According to historical documents and legend, Ivan the Terrible commissioned the cathedral to be built, and then, after it was done, gouged out the architect's eyes so he would never be able to build something more beautiful.

Went to the ballet that night. Got dressed up in my sparkly blue dress. Found the Bolshoi theater, but my ticket, though issued through Bolshoi, was actually at a theater in the Kremlin. I was trying to communicate with a woman who spoke a bit of English when two Russian girls came up to her and they seemed to have the same problem as me -- they'd got the theater wrong.

It was somehow decided that they would take me with them, since I didn't know anything, and that is how I ended up running, in heels, after two Russian girls all the way from the theater to the Kremlin. They were pros, and kept looking back and motioning for me to hurry up.

The lit-up cathedrals and big red walls of the fortress were so beautiful that night. Moscow looked like a big fairy tale, castles mixed with electonic billboards, tiny bakeries in kiosks across the street from the Hard Rock Cafe.

Coming home, I had a layover in New York, and it was there that I called my sister-in-law to confess hysterically what had actually occurred in the banya in St. Petersburg. I couldn't keep it bottled up a secret anymore; it was too delicously, shamefully, wickedly shocking to keep to myself. Let's just say what happened there is totally legal in Russia.

Much to my dismay, I was unable to repeat my smuggling escapade (I managed to get a big bottle of Mexican shampoo and undeclared chocolate when I came back from Mexico City last month.) No, they were having none of that at the airport in Moscow. I went though three, count them, three metal detectors AND my bags were manually searched.

The man who searched my bags found a lighter, and looked at me like he was very disappointed in me. "No," he said.

"I'm sorry," I cringed.

"You are going to America," he said. "Please do not buy any alcohol in duty free."

"No alcohol?" I said loud enough that other people turned to stare.

He just shrugged.

In duty free, I attempted to buy vodka in two stores, only to be dismissed when they realized where I was going. In New York, I saw that it would have done no good; my bags went through another metal detector, and one of the guys saw something he didn't like. He fished out a tiny container of juice and gave me that same look.

"I forgot about that, really, I'm sorry," I said.

"There's one more thing we saw in there," he responded, unwrapping a souvenier flask I bought for my dad, and actually unscrewing it to make sure there was nothing inside.

Walking through customs, the guy I handed my card to pointed to my duty free bag. "What kind of food do you have in there?" he said, with meaning.

I clutched my bag to my chest. Oh no, they were not going to take my stuff. This is what actually came out of my mouth:

"Food? What food? I don't have any food."

"Don't lie to me!" the man bellowed with his New York accent.

My mind spun wildly. I might as well tell the truth.

"Chocolates," I said sadly.

"OK! You can go. Just don't lie to me," he reminded me.

He looked really amused. I hustled to the gate, still clutching the bag of chocolates.