Day 9 –
Show Day & Moscow Adventures
After a very deep sleep from our two-show day and celebration, I rose early so I could get a jump on the day. Our tour will be over before I know it, and I’ve seen hardly anything of the city that wasn’t from the hotel to the theater.
The weather will be quite warm and sunny today so I throw on a thin t-shirt with my linen button-up, jeans and my Asics sneaks – I do plan on being comfortable in my walking tour. And since we do have a show tonight I’d like to pace my feet, as they are still smarting from overuse.
Today I head to the Chekhov House-Museum. It is the house he lived in with several members of his family and where he wrote over 100 short stories. It shouldn’t be too far of a walk – like one and half miles.
As I head out I pass through a massive traffic square with massive statues on one side, an underground tunnel to cross the street and enter the subway and the entrance to a park on the other. I walk through a gorgeous, enormous park with a fountain and the original McDonald’s (yes that’s the very first McDonald’s in all of Russia) and a sandy pathway down the middle with trees on either side and the streets going one way and the next on the outside. The traffic is epic so I stay in the center on the pathway. This goes on for a almost a mile until I come to another towering gorgeous statue and a rather complicated intersection and the choice to go down one of three streets that will take me into the area of the Chekhov house.
As I wander down the street of choice-ended up being the middle one-I notice that the street is lined with many different countries’ embassies. Brazil. Finland. Jamaica. I found it odd that they were on the same street. Same block even. I also found it odd-or maybe just unexpected that it was those countries. Finland sure-but Brazil and Jamaica? Yeah mon!
When I got to the intersection where I was to take a right, I paused for orientation. Another absolutely massive intersection with a tunnel and 6 different directions you could go in any of 8 lanes and a building that takes up the entire block. It is simply huge and sprawls across the whole block and even boasts a garden. I go right about two buildings and it’s right there.
Or it should be. But I don’t see it. Did I pass it?
I consult my map. I consult the buildings. I walk back the direction I came from and watch the bouncing ball on the map move further away. I walk back toward where the Chekhov House is supposed to be and stand where it’s supposed to be. I look around in 360 degrees and am baffled. There is nothing where I am standing but a large grey wall obscuring a garden and possibly another building but absolutely nothing that would resemble what I was to expect for the Chekhov House Museum. I am stymied. And pissed off. I pride myself on being able to read a map and navigate with the best of them. And I can’t find the Chekhov Museum. What the blankity blank blank? Alright, I guess it’s time for Plan B.
I consult the map for Arbat Street. It’s a famous street that I’ve dreamt of since I first read The Master and Margarita. The Master and Margarita is a novel by Mikhail Bulgakov and was notoriously censored. It was also the first Russian play that I did (18 years ago), and it changed my life. So, if the Chekhov Museum is going to play hide and seek with me, I will go enjoy some other illustrious literary wonders illuminated by a different Russian author.
I walk to a market and stop for a bubble water and tiny wrapped cheeses and grapes. I walk more. Good Lord, where is Arbat street? I know that the main street that says it’s Arbat – probably isn’t the Arbat I’m looking for because that is supposed to be a smaller one of those diagonal walking streets. It’s probably all souvenir and chotchkies shops anyway, but I continue. I will find victory.
Another good mile and I finally am upon what is known as New Arbat. It is a fancy walking mall along the main street. There is a small skateboard park. Super fancy shops and restaurants. It’s where the cool kids are hanging on this warm afternoon. There is an actual mall. I go inside. It is a seven floor indoor department store that is the equivalent of a Barney’s or the coolest Nordstrom you have ever seen. Everything is shiny and chic and organized by designer and I get every kind of look, from “No, not her in the running shoes” to “Oh, maybe she needs some new sneakers…”
When I return to the walking mall I come across a Black Star Burger that has a line around the corner for a dessert that I can only deduce is a giant, crazy ice cream sundae with macarons and marshmallows and other unidentifiable floating objects that hoards of friends have gathered to share this delectable delight together on this hot afternoon. I decide to just sit down for a minute and watch people enjoy this obscenity that is dessert. My feet hurt.
There is an entrance to a little indoor mall. I pop in for another water and some air conditioning and come across a bakery that has fancy breads like we ate in St. Petersburg. They are absolutely beautiful handcrafted artisan creations. The gentleman baker in an apron behind the counter tries to speak to me. I mutter Spasibo and wave in a way that says “No, thank you” and try to telegraph the message inside my brain that says “I’m sorry I came to your country without learning your language.” I can see at this moment that was incredibly rude because I would love to talk with you about this gorgeous edible creation that you’ve obviously labored over, but alas I will have to wander away in shame.
The real Arbat street is around the corner so I walk to it. It is a walking street and it is mostly souvenir shops. I stop into one and purchase a couple of little Babushka dolls and realize that for someone who never leaves the house without a hat, I have been walking for two and a half hours in the midday sun and am a little woozy and irritable.
I decide to grab an Über back to the hotel. We have our last show tonight, and I am beginning to feel as if time is evaporating. It is also starting to look like rush hour in Moscow, and it will be 20 minutes! Maybe the subway. It is all in Cyrillic and I don’t have the patience to try and figure it out. I just want to sit in some air conditioning. This was not the walkabout day in Moscow I was looking for. But inevitably at some point on tour or when traveling, there is a day that doesn’t go quite as anticipated. Today is that day.
When the Über arrives, it is a white Mercedes and my driver is named Sergei. He greets me and turns the air conditioning on high and quietly sits in traffic as I sit and watch the people walking on the sidewalk pass us and I simply don’t care. Our hotel is 1.5 miles and it takes 40 minutes as I sit and drink a bottle of water and doze off and feel like a spoiled American. But I will say that it was the best $11 I spent the whole trip.
Once I return to the hotel, I have the quick switch of grabbing show clothes and racing out the door. Tonight is our last show in Russia.
As I walk to the theater I realize I have walked 6.5 miles already and that is before the show. The weather has shifted and the wind has started blowing. By the time I reach the theater, it has started to rain. I am greeted by the three security guards with whatever the Russian version of “Hey” is. Two of them are bald. I can see that my bribery of them with candies yesterday has made me memorable today. I shake out my hair and my scarf and droplets land on the security glass. They laugh and pantomime flipping their hair to tease me. I rub the top of my head as if I was wiping the rain off my bald head and they all burst into laughter and give me thumbs up.
I pop my headphones on and walk my warm-up and make-up and dressing and pre-show ritual. I feel restless and cannot put my finger on why.
We do our pre-show huddle and decide to do this show for our director Tina & writer Richard. They are the reason we are here and tonight we will honor them. Do our best to make them proud. There. It’s settled. It’s not about me. Whew.
Tonight’s show is met with the same trepidation that we experienced in last night’s show. However this time we understand. This will be an earned experience that we share together. We are just getting to know each other and trust is something that is built.
When Vershinin arrives on stage for the first time, it feels like the first time for me as Masha. If I can make Vershinin fall in love with me, I can hold the heart of the Russian people. The show races forward. and I struggle to hang onto it. This last time until the next time that can never be too soon. This last time that disappears as quickly as it began. This last time before an audience that I can hear gasp and weep audibly as I say my goodbye to Vershinin as quickly as it seems he first stepped on stage. This last time the breadth of this story of this family is reduced to us three sisters standing before an empty abyss that is filled with a sold out silent crowd that I can hear sniffling with us.