A Moscow Travel Adventure: Lost, Frozen, and Found

St. Basil's Cathedral in Moscow

Why a Moscow Travel Adventure Is Tough on a Stopover

I can think of several reasons why Russia does not make a good destination for a brief stopover. To start with, getting a Russian visa is only slightly less complicated than figuring out your own taxes and generally costs a little more. The weather is notoriously frigid; crime is notoriously high; and before you go, you may even feel obligated to read one of those Russian novels slightly thicker than the Bible lest you seem the uncultured oaf (don’t do it!).

What is worse, if you do manage to overcome the anxiety and red tape associated with a visit to Russia, you may then be faced with the daunting reality of actually arriving in Moscow and trying to adjust quickly enough to enjoy yourself a little before you leave.

Which is exactly where I found myself one cold night.

My Journey Toward a Moscow Travel Adventure

My road to Russia had started as a trip to Nepal. I had planned a trekking holiday in the Everest region of the Himalayas and had gone to my travel agent, Abra, to purchase my plane ticket. The cheapest flight at the time was on the Russian national airline, Aeroflot. Through Moscow.

Abra was on the phone with Aeroflot making the reservation when I came up with the divinely inspired idea of a stopover. I asked if I could stop in Moscow. Yes, I could. Great! I told her to give me five days. That would give me plenty of time to take in the onion domes, a ballet or two, and Lenin’s pasty corpse. Abra chuckled a little but said nothing.

Abra should have explained to me that the problem presented to the traveler briefly passing through Russia is that the country is something like a geode. To the untrained eye, it is gray, abrasive, ugly. It takes a certain amount of skill to recognize and find beauty there, but when you finally do, it is all the more impressive for coming in such a hard place. It is very difficult to learn how to spot geodes in five days. Fortunately for me, before my time in Russia was over, I found one.

In Moscow, beauty comes in surprising places

Touchdown in Moscow: A Rough Landing

It should be obvious to anyone who has ever flown into Russia that there is something special about the place. When the wheels of the plane touched down on Russian soil, the Russian passengers burst into applause. And I don’t mean a dainty little tapping the fingertips to the palms clapping. It was a roar the likes of which I have rarely experienced outside of a sporting arena. These people were seriously happy to be back in the Motherland.

At first, I thought maybe they were just happy to be on the ground and alive. Before the flight took off, the pilot was out in the lobby at Heathrow Airport in London asking passengers to take his picture in front of a statue in the waiting area. This was his maiden voyage as the head pilot. Great!

The flight had been full of rough air and culminated in what seemed to me to be an outright nosedive to the runway. Twice, I was sure the plane was going down and it was only through a supreme force of will I did not scream something to the effect of, "WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!"

But we did not die, and furthermore, none of the Russians seemed to appreciate or even notice that we had all come through a very trying near-death experience together. They were completely unperturbed by the flight. Which made their ovation at touching down truly exceptional.

The Taxi Ride That Almost Ended My Moscow Travel Adventure

I found out shortly that the excitement of the flight into Moscow is a necessary evil. Had the flight not dulled my senses, the taxi ride into the city would have killed me.

As soon as I stepped beyond the customs gate, a writhing mass of taxi drivers assaulted me. I picked one of the men screaming "taxi!" at me, and we negotiated a price. I had originally planned on taking a bus into the city, but it was 10 PM and I was in no mood to try and decipher a bus schedule.

My driver’s name was Victor. Victor and I headed out of the terminal into the... snow! It was early November and I was coming to Russia from having spent the better part of the previous month in southern Europe. The cold hit me like a proverbial slap in the face, and while I staggered with shock, Victor plowed on into the night.

As I chased after him, I got a good look at him. He was slightly smaller than a huge bear.

We were not heading into the line of parked taxis but into the parking for passengers.

This was well before the days of Uber and other rideshares, but I had read in my guidebook that many Russians pick up extra cash by acting as drivers from the airport. As far as the guidebook author knew, none of the drivers had ever taken a tourist to a shady corner and mugged him . . .  but it could happen. Before I could decide what was the best course to take, Victor reached his car, threw my backpack into the trunk, and fired up the engine. My bag was now a hostage. I got into the front seat.

But fearing that Victor might bludgeon me turned out not to be the scariest part. Victor’s driving was. We raced out of the airport at a little over 120 kilometers per hour. Snow was falling in big flakes and there was a good inch of accumulation on the street. Victor zigzagged, skidded, and weaved, honking, cursing, and gesturing.

I came very close to diving for cover under the seat, but I played it cool. Most importantly, I managed not to throw up.

Finding My Hotel... Eventually

Victor turned out to be a man of his word. He took me right to the address I had given him—more or less. He dropped me off in a dark, deserted neighborhood. No sign of a hotel.

After wandering about for a few minutes, I noticed a tiny little sign next to an extremely large door. It had the name of my hotel on it along with some hours: 9:00-22:00. It was almost 11 PM, also known as 23:00.

The hotel was closed.

After pounding on the door and achieving nothing, I resigned myself to spending the night somewhere in the Moscow subway. But first, nature called. I walked to the darkest corner of the building to do my business . . . and there I found a another, smaller door with a different set of hours: 22:00-9:00. Wait! Was this the “after-hours” door to my hotel? I quickly tried the knob. It opened.

Five minutes later I was filling out paperwork. Half an hour later, I was deep asleep in a small, simple room. Another adventure accomplished.

Because travel is at least 50% luck.

Red Square in Moscow