I packed up three suitcases full of jeans and shoes and joined them on their crusade, eager to do my part. I'd never been to a foreign land, especially where none of the people ever smiled. It was amazing how depressed they all seemed. I knew nothing about the culture and certainly didn't know the language so I stuck pretty close to my group. It was so rewarding to pass out our goods to the kids. It was like Christmas but much more intense. They were so grateful there is no way to describe it. Once our bags were emptied I tucked them away in my room and wondered what we would be doing for the rest of the trip.

We met in the hotel lobby and broke up into three smaller groups. They told us to take one empty bag because we would be going to the market to buy souvenirs. That sounded exciting to me so I naturally obliged and prepared for the shuttle to the market. The market was not the kind most of us think of. In fact, it was horribly depressed, ugly, snow and sleet all up and down the narrow pathways, and vendors hardly making eye contact with anyone. The leader of my group approached one vendor he knew. Not only did he know him, he knew a lot of the other vendors nearby. I didn't think much of it since he obviously had been there before. The vendor was hawking religious icons from the Byzantine era. They were definitely old and worn. I knew nothing about them but I was about to get an education.

My group leader broke away form the conversation with the vendor and gave me a lesson on the history of the icons, how Russian people worshiped them and how sacred they were. It was very interesting. I couldn't help but ask why they were for sale. He told me that during the revolution all religious artifacts, including icons were confiscated and burned. At the risk of their lives many people hid them beneath the floorboards of their homes or buried them in backyards. When the Soviet Union was liberated millions of people were living without heat as a means of control by the government. They were so desperate for heat during the freezing cold winters they actually burned the sacred icons that nearly cost them their lives in order to provide warmth for the family. I was amazed. Not only were they desperate for heat but they were desperate for money. A black market for these antiques was born. It became clear to me that the true motivation of my group was greed and not altruism. They traveled in the guise of missionaries, performed their acts of kindness and stuffed their bags with treasures that, if successfully smuggled out of the country, could be worth millions. In America we consider antiques to be anything before 1950 or so. In Russia they consider antiques to be anything predating 1700. Everything after that is considered modern and can be brought out of the country. Antiques must stay. My group was very experienced at selecting the fakes from the real thing. Over the course of the next few days their bags were full.

 

During that time I didn't feel comfortable being associated with them and, knowing they had my ticket home, didn't want them to know my feelings. So, I spent those few days exploring Moscow and its culture alone. Our hotel was the best in town but the worst I had ever stayed. Still, it was premium compared to the living conditions of the people. I took walks every day and never saw a person smile. How bleak and existence? One day I decided to go to the tenements where the majority of city people lived. It was amazing. Like rows of corn, 5 story buildings over a mile long and blocks a half mile wide went on forever. I walked between the buildings where there was one pathway traveling the entire distance of the building. About every hundred yards or so there would be a passageway to cut over from one building to the next, and the next and the next. The buildings were about 50 feet apart which made walking down the lengthy path a bit claustrophobic for me. At ground level there were bakeries and cobblers and merchants of all kinds. The shops were crude and nearly empty. People walked in and out going about their business with a numbing stare very weird.

I visited several shops and bought what I could. I felt totally out of place if I didn't look down. Everyone was wearing those black Russian hats. I was the only one hatless and pretty easy to spot as an outsider. It was cold and dreary that day but I really wanted to experience life as they did for at least a few hours. It was right after I bought some bread that I realized I may be the only one around with money in my pocket. When it hit me I immediately looked down and started heading back out. The place was a maze. I lost my sense of direction. I could've been 20 buildings in and a quarter mile down the center. The only escape was to find a passageway and continue cutting through each building until I saw anything in the distance. People actually live that way, even today, I'm sad to say. On the day before we were to depart Moscow I took one more walk. This time I wanted to walk amongst the crowd of what had to be hundreds of thousands of people walking up and down the business district of Moscow. It was lunch time. I felt I was safe as long as I looked down and went with the flow. It was a lot like walking in Manhattan only extremely drab with virtually no sound. I went looking for a Russian hat so I could disguise myself. With so many people I thought I could find them anywhere. I was running out of luck so I resumed walking and just kept my head down.

The weather was biting cold and the air was spitting snow. The wind was cutting through every time I broke away from the crowd. Now I know why they walk so close together in herds. I must've walked for 45 minutes without stopping or looking up. The ground was slush quickly turning to ice. I was bumping into people left and right with no reaction. Then it happened. Right in the middle of the flow of people, sitting on the ground being kicked and trampled was a little boy. He was wearing a woolen sweater and a small black Russian hat with some very torn pants. There was no doubt he was homeless. I bent over and dragged him to the side. To my amazement he reached out his hand and asked if I wanted to buy a hat a black Russian hat. I tried to communicate in my own sort of ugly American way. When he replied in broken English I was completely shocked. He told me he had learned to speak English from his father who was a doctor but was killed in the Army. He was only 9 years old and the only one in the family that could find food. He said his mother and baby sister were living under a bridge about two miles away and he was out trying to sell the tattered black hat for food. He had been on the street all day being beaten by anyone and everyone. I didn't carry my wallet when walking around but I did have about the equivalent of ten American dollars in Rubles. When I pulled the money out of my pocket I noticed I had inadvertently brought a $100 US Bill.

I didn't know how a kid could convert American greenbacks into Russian Rubles. Still, I not only gave him my Rubles but also gave him the hundred dollar bill. I told him to go right home and just give it to his mother. He immediately dropped to my freezing feet, hugged my lower leg and started kissing my boots. I pulled him up and asked him not to do that and to scoot on home right away and not to show the money to anyone. With my worn black Russian hat I walked for another half hour or so until the weather began to turn colder with a lot more snow. Thank goodness for the hat or I would've been in deep trouble.

It got so bad even the Russians were stepping in and out of buildings along their way. I totally lost track of how far I had walked. All I knew is I had a good hour's walk ahead of me and I needed to get going. With the wind blowing stinging snow into my face I could barely see as I made my way back. It must've been about 20 or 30 more minutes when from out of nowhere I was knocked sideways slightly and felt two arms clasping around my lower leg. I looked down and it was the little boy. He told me he ran all the way home and gave the money to his mother and that she cried so hard his baby sister started crying too. He then left the family and ran all the way back and was waiting by the sidewalk in case I came back this way. He actually waited for me at the chance that I might return so that he could thank me. He thanked me and thanked me and thanked me so much he was nearly delirious. I picked him up and hugged him so he could get warm.

 

The next morning we hopped on a run down bus. The group leader told everyone to put the icons at the bottom of the bag and the most worthless baggage on the top. They all carried expandable bags. Everyone dumped out their belongings and packed them back the way they were instructed. Something didn't feel right about those instructions. We traveled along a snow packed road for about 5 hours deep into the Russian countryside. It was surreal. The living conditions of the farmers were horrible. I wish I could say there were parts that were beautiful but I saw nothing worth noting. With the lull of the old motor and the continual bouncing around it was hard to close my eyes for a nap. Then a loud sound came from the front of the bus. It was the driver speaking Russian to our group leader. I immediately stood up to see ahead. It was like every Russian movie I ever saw. The bus was arriving at a security checkpoint. Our leader said not to worry and that this was to be expected. This was why we packed the way we did.

Within minutes the guards boarded the bus with their rifles raised, pointing them at all of us. I felt like we were being hijacked by terrorists. They were yelling needlessly and trying to scare us out of our wits. They did me. We were ordered off the bus and lined up with our hands raised high against the bus. I thought we were waiting for an execution. Guards stood watch and pointed their rifles right at us while we waited helplessly for them to rip through our luggage. It was freezing cold and we were pushed outside so quickly many of us didn't have time to take our coats. I did manage to wear my black Russian hat. After about 10 minutes of rummaging through our belongings they told us to board the bus and move on. I couldn't help but ask our fearless leader what they were doing. It's all part of the game, he said. Russian guards steal antique icons from smugglers and sell them back to the black market. It's a viscous cycle. He said the guards are so lazy they only bother to look about half way through the bags. None of the icons were lost. That's experience. We arrived in Astonia for the boat ride to Helsinki. From there we flew all the way back to JFK in New York. I was never so happy to be on American soil and never so happy to say goodbye to these inhuman crooks disguised at missionaries. I believe in the human spirit and the willingness to help others unconditionally. That's the definition of a hero. Just like the little boy who did whatever he had to provide food for his starving family. There are millions of people in serious need at this moment. Many are being exploited and taken advantage of. There are many genuine charities dedicated to providing help to those less fortunate. I hope one of them finds my little friend with the black Russian hat.