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TO RUSSIA WITH LAUGHTER
by Barbara Brewster
... ARRIVAL ...
The airport was crowded on Halloween, appropriately, my debut day as a clown. I'd expected discomfort, moving as a solitary clown through Portland airport and flying on the shuttle to Seattle. Instead, I delighted in being the cause of smiles spreading across stranger's faces. Children waved. Relieved, I gaily waved back. Joining five more clowns in Seattle made it even easier and more fun. On the plane, the crew and passengers all asked questions and were captivated by our story. And, thanks to a security lady in Portland Airport, my character now had a name: "Rosie."
Ten hours later, in Copenhagen Airport, we tripped into the waiting area and immediately spotted the twenty members of our group who had already arrived from New York. Patch Adams, our leader, stood out. An imposing man, taller than everyone, with a long, grey pony tail, he wore bright paisley pantaloons hitched up to his thighs, revealing spindly, hairy legs rising from mismatched socks and huge clown feet.
With much hubbub, we rose, a multi-colored wave, and surged along airport corridors, pushing baggage carts, blowing kazoos, bobbing balloons, honking horns, dancing, waving, hugging children, and mimicking the gaits of other travelers hurrying beside us. Would I ever again be content to walk through an airport as an ordinary person?
On arrival in Moscow, 25 clowns from four countries spilled into Sheremyetovo Airport's single, echoing corridor. It was hard to see in the dim light. The ceiling was composed of hundreds of dark bronze canisters--maybe recycled missile casings? From a few canisters, beams flickered from pale bulbs. We changed money, fifty dollars becoming a wad of 225,0000 rubles. For 4,500 rubles--one dollar--we rented rusty, dented carts and leaned or rode around on them as we waited for twin baggage carousels to spit out ten bags every 20 minutes or so.
Patch and other seasoned members of our troupe dived right into the business of clowning--pirouetting and unicycling around the dark cement hall, offering rubber chickens to giggling cleaning ladies, and dancing with dust mops. Clerks smiled shyly from behind their counters. Soldiers stood erect while smiles twitched the corners of their mouths. Some people remained steadfastly stern.
Patch's clown character is a doddering two year old who blinks, stutters and shuffles about in crazily designed pantaloons and a multi-colored jacket. A green and yellow duck-crested felt hat ties under his chin tops off the outfit. He has a gigantic red nose, carries a rubber fish which he offers to passers-by, and around his neck dangles what must be the world's largest pacifier.
In the arrival area, we were greeted and hugged by Russians, children and adults, who had waited all year for the return of Patch and the clowns. Some had traveled from as far as Siberia to be with the tour. Like us, they wore costumes, bravely standing out in the drably-clad crowd.
It was dark before we were finally deposited at the Ismailova Hotel on the outskirts of the city. Built in 1980 for the Olympics, it is a monstrous concrete complex with four identical towers, A, B, C and D. Within a half-hour of checking in, freshly costumed and made up, we met in Restaurant "D" for our first Whoop-Tee-Do Gala Dinner where we met Russian clowns and supporters. Warmly welcomed with food, many rounds of vodka, and mixed languages, we stepped squarely on stage and this was only the beginning.
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