I’ve always done well in school, been the editor of the school-paper, do moderately well at law school, can decimate other peoples stupidity with sarcasm and acerbic remarks in seconds, and am able to hold my own in most conversations. So when people see ‘misadventure’ associated with my name some aren’t able to believe it and yet those who know me best would tell you that all my travel stories (or perhaps any story worth telling about me) have at least one completely crazy adventure that was unplanned and that I have been completely unprepared for. Most caused by me, some I have borne witness too and all absolutely, delightfully mad.

In the hot months of July and August 2018, right before I started at University, my mother and I decided to take a trip to Russia with her brother and his wife (Mamoo and Mami as I call them in the Indian vernacular). We found ourselves flying at 4 am IST and landing down in Moscow as the sun rose majestically over the city.

Moscow is an amalgamation of sleek modern buildings and historical domed buildings that look like they have been picked straight out of old fairytales. The domes gleam gold under the sun and the buildings are painted in hues of the rainbow or in pretty, muted pastels. After an extremely long immigration line, we drove to our hotel – The St. Regis, a prime location that opens up right into Nikolskaya Street.

Nikolskaya street is a historic old gem, that connects the famed Red Square with Lubyanka Square. It is much akin to the Champs Élysées in Paris, La Rambla of Barcelona or Oxford Circus in London. Aside from the array of historic Cathedrals and old buildings on it, it is lined with boutique stores on one side of the road and tiny cafes serving champagne, macaroons and honey cakes covered in powdered sugar. The enormous GUM took up most of the other side of the street. Inside the large department store were more shops and restaurants and carts selling candy-floss and ice cream and lots of souvenirs from the FIFA World Cup, keychains of the green and yellow lion were everywhere. Overhead the entire street was strung up with fairy lights that glittered dimly under the morning sunlight and at night would turn the street into a glowing wonderland of color. Dark clouds roiled overhead as we walked through and by the time, we turned onto the Red Square soft drops of rain fell lightly atop the cobble stones.

The Red Square holds a variety of historical sites, the most famous one being the Kremlin. The Red Square is aptly named given that most of the monuments are made from the carmine colored stone and fringed with greens and blues. The Spasskaya Tower, the somber Lenin’s Mausoleum, the walls of the Kremlin and the beautiful St. Basil’s Cathedral. At night, golden lights ring the edge of every building. The buildings look straight out of a fairytale, throngs of people flocking here and there. The Kremlin stands among them, like a majestic queen.

Originally a palace, the walls are heavily fortified, with numerous towers. Primarily colors are green and red, the towers look like Christmas Trees or frosted sugar cookies. Stepping on the cobbled stones feels like stepping into a rich, colorful and historic storybook. The inside of the Kremlin holds a variety of buildings, as a museum and tourist attraction. Cathedral buildings, pristine white outsides with metallic domes and such colorful interiors with mosaics and artwork and large metal canons. The diamond collections of the Romanovs is jaw-dropping, extravagant stones that drip out of velvet pouches, crowns and tiaras embedded with jewels the size of my fist. The gardens outside are embellished with characters from old Russian Folktales in the canals, the walls of the Kremlin, shine crimson in the nearby distance.

We roamed around the cerise tinted buildings, as a soft drizzle blew apart our hair. I have always preached the best way to discover a city is to walk it. And so, we walked through the square, flooded with the remnants of FIFA fans and construction workers as the Square was set up for a large concert that night.

Travelling with adults in the family has perks. You have enough money for ice cream, sugary pastries, nonsensical souvenirs and you get to stay in the best places. But the downside is that they’re adults, they tire easily, and so after what seemed like a few moments, they decided to go and rest in the hotel for the afternoon. I couldn’t begin to express my disappointment. So, I convinced Ma to let me wander through the city on my own, with the promise that I wouldn’t wander too far, and I’d stay in the crowded areas of the city. After all, she had said, I was to live on my own in a new city for university anyway, it would do no harm for me to go off on my own. So I bid adieu to the three adults and relished my first new experience as an adult, with my polaroid camera slung near my hips and earphones firmly plugged in, I Google Mapped the route to the Arbat, one of the most famous tourist areas of Moscow, making sure I took the most scenic route. Obviously, I had forgotten Ma’s instructions touted minutes earlier to not wander too far… At any rate, the adults had gone back to St. Regis on the precipice of Nikolskaya Street and I made my way around the square, behind St. Basil’s to the banks running along the Moskva River, ready to discover Moscow until my feet bled.

The St. Basil’s Cathedral is an Orthodox Church built in the 1500s. Built like flames, with vibrantly shaded domes, the church stands out in stark red fringed with color and gold filligree. The domes are a mix of the architectural styles of Byzantine churches and mosques. Each building in the Cathedral is constructed in a different manner probably due to the staggered development it received from its different architects while being built. The backside of the Cathedral looms over you, the red deep and sandy, like if you rubbed a finger across it, the grit and color would tint your finger a slight orange. But it’s quieter and there are few tourists who see the Cathedral in entirety. The inside is a culmination of beautiful murals on almost ever wall and gallery and the top floor has a group of singers, who’s voice echoes through the Cathedral at intervals through the day. It’s peaceful and yet one of the most highly frequented areas in the city…

From the Cathedral I had made my way down to the Moskva River. It lilted softly under the clouds and the receding rainfall. The sky was a grey blue and the water shone deep greyish green. The walls of the Kremlin stretched out, inexplicably large, St Basil’s rainbow domes against the cloud and there was yet another large tower, the Beklemishevskaya Tower forming another corner of the old castle, overhead near the banks. I began walking, in the distance I could see another pristine fairytale building towering over the river. Whitewashed walls and large glowing gold domes.

It took me about an hour and a half of walking to finally reach the mystery building. The white walls and golden dome, gave an impression of extreme cleanliness. Cathedral of Christ the Saviour, another Orthodox Cathedral, but built quite differently from St. Basil’s. There the color popped out at you, eye catching and loud while this Cathedral had a more serene and dominating beauty. It had been built in the 1800 but was demolished on the orders of Stalin in the 1930’s, what can be seen now is a reconstructed version of the Cathedral. The inside too is far different, with its huge domed ceiling and the magnificent organ. It has an ominous sort of presence, the silence a large presence, the only sound is the occasion deep tinkling of the organ.

Having had enough of Cathedrals for the day I began my walk, onwards to the Arbat. Moscow is a quaint city, the neighbourhoods give off an old time charm. White washed houses and elegant roofs with lovely, lush green flowering trees, the last verdant leaves before the fall will turn the city orange and gold. In between the quiet streets, strange monuments or buildings crop up.

There are gardens and parks, interspersed in between these quiet streets, and it just so happened that I chanced upon one of these.

The Gogolevsky Boulevard, didn’t remind me of  a typical boulevard, a street lined with greenery. It felt like wandering through a beautiful garden, the green trees making a canopy overhead, the road winding and meandering, makes wandering through it such a pleasurable experience. But what really sets this Boulevard apart are the fountains. There’s the fountain of the author the Boulevard was named for, Nikolai Gogol, he sits in a boat, rowing. But my favorite was the fountain of the Horse-heads. Delightfully whimsical and beautiful at the same time, it’s such a shame so few people are able to chance upon this gem.

A bit later, I finally reached the Arbat. The sun was finally peeking out of the clouds and the street was bathed in soft yellow light. It was an explosion of color and music and tiny shops. There was one with antique watches and knick knacks, someone was selling caramelized nuts, the aroma filling the air with the heavy fragrance of sugar and cinnamon. Lines of artists selling the most beautiful things, portraits, paintings done on barks of tree, canvases rolled out in a plethora of color, framed wood, with golden animals popping out in 3D. Every few blocks, there’d be another street artist, blowing the trumpet, or playing a keyboard or singing. On the far end of the street someone was blowing enormous bubbles, the orbs of soapy water glinted in the bare sunlight, splattering rainbows here and there, before popping and shaking out tiny droplets of water that soared through the air. It’s a place in the city where color and character scream at you as you walk by. ‘Look at me!’ A culmination of soft historic antiques, and wild artistic beauty.

As dusk began to sink over the city, I decided it was time to head home. My calves were starting to hurt from the long walk I had undertaken and my Fitbit had chimed 10,000 steps a couple of hours prior. So I Google Mapped the fastest route to the St. Regis, determined not to be a pain and haul it all in right there. Taking the smaller roads in between the city and away from the Moskva I began the long arduous walk back, my feet weeping, yet smile intact as I took in the views. Planters filled with hydrangeas, the smell of fresh rain. About an hour and a half later I saw the crimson walls of the Kremlin, and made my way to cross the road and enter the Red Square from where I would then make my way back to Nikolskaya Street and rest my poor aching feet. But where earlier there had been a crossing for pedestrians, now there were only barricades! For the concert that evening of course. So there was no way for me to cross the road.

This was not to be borne, there had to be another crossing, how else were people supposed to get across the street? So I trudged on, circling the monumental building that was a University library, sure I would find a crossing. But there were none, no thick white stripes on tar, just an expressway upon which cars zoomed by. And then I spotted it. A metro crossing. All I had to do, was go underground cross through the metro line and find my way on the otherside. It was then that my phone rang, the tell-tale ‘Ma Ka Phone’, trilling loudly in the air, informing me that my Mother now wanted to know where I was and how soon I’d be along to the hotel.

I told her in as many words that I couldn’t seem to make my way into the Red Square, but not to worry, I had just spotted an underground crossing which I was going to go through to find myself back within the familiar carmine walls. My phone was now at 5%, Google Maps draining it even further.

“Don’t use the Underground Crossing!” my mother cautioned. We hail from Delhi, a city that is scorned at, in regards to womens safety. I am rarely allowed to use the metro system there, and this was a new city, where we had no idea what the station would be like. A silly notion at that for the Moscow Metro Stations are some of the most whimsically beautiful ones I have had the pleasure of seeing (just a few days later). Some have works of stained glass art, others bronze statues and domed ceilings, some have mosaics and colourful instillations. Each one is a work of art, and there is nothing unsafe about it.

At any rate, having now been forbidden to use the Underground crossing, I was well and truly stuck. I took yet another round of the library before we decided there was no way out of it (or rather my mum decided), I was lost, she declared in an annoyed voice that belied how angry she was slowly getting. I sent her my location as she roused my Mamoo, from his nap so she could come and find me. As they tried to hail a cab, talking to me all the while, I saw the little white circle come alive on my phone and then the screen went black. Dead. No battery. I stared at the screen and thought to myself, ‘Well that’s it. I’m done for.’

Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t panic regarding being lost in a foreign city, with no money for a cab, no phone, no language except for my own. Why panic when I could see the Red Square a few yards away in which I knew the hotel was. It was the panic that comes with being inherently Indian, whatever was my Mother going to do to me when she found me. It’s an Indian parent thing. At any rate I circled back to where the barricaded crossing was, entered the café, rummaged through my purse and found a lone coin. Buying a bottle of water, I asked for a charger, plugged it in and waited for the bitten apple to appear on the blackened screen, awaiting the impending scolding I was sure to receive when my mother found me.

When the phone finally lit up, I messaged my mother my location and sent her a quick picture of the restaurant name. ‘We can’t get a cab!’ she yelled over the phone “There’s too much happening with the concert! Just stay put!’ I agreed heartily, I had water, a view of the Kremlin and the Square, people-watched couples and could finally give my darling legs a break from the long walk I had put them through. It’s a testament to how nice the Russians are that they let me borrow a charger, and sit for an hour with just a bottle of water purchased at the counter.

One hour, passed then another, and finally a cab appeared in which sat my mother and uncle, one unable to believe that this was our very first day in Moscow and I had already gotten myself into a fix and another fuming mad, I covered my ears afraid that she might just box them, but all she did was glare at me, ‘How do these things happen to you, Zoya?’ she asked me in exasperation, after a few minutes once the cab had started moving towards the St. Regis.

I shrugged, nonplussed, I had seen most of the city in a single day and seen so much that the adults wouldn’t be able to for the rest of the trip, aside from the unfortunate end I was quite pleased with myself.

Later that night as we left for dinner, we passed the same café, I pointed out the areas to my aunt who had been most worried, in the hotel, waiting for us. With a laugh , she asked me ‘Why didn’t you just use the metro crossing?’ Immediately my mother was roused from the front seat! “There’s a metro crossing! Oh Zoya! Why didn’t you just use that to cross!?’ she asked me in a huff, before turning back to the front.

I stared at her in disbelief, unable to fathom what I was hearing. ‘You told me I wasn’t to use it!’ I retorted.

‘I didn’t know that was what you were talking about baby. You can be so silly sometimes.’ She finished, shaking her head.

The car made its way on the restaurant as I stared at all the adults laughing, in utter disbelief. Misadventure my foot, I huffed, as we made our way through Moscow…