I was barely awake when the plane touched down in Sheremetyevo International Airport, the so-called jewel of Moscow, 12 hours into the flight over the North Pole. I was exhausted, unable to sleep on the plane, feeling every hour of the jet lag. But I knew what I had to do. I ran down the airport hallways, cruising past the surprised tourists and plopped my way into the line.

Well, the term 'line' doesn't really fit — it was more of a sedate mob, clamoring to get to the checkpoint, hustling for position, knowing that each person who slipped in front meant another five minutes in hell.

But I had made it. As stuffed rabbits go, I may be one of the more widely traveled, but I had never before seen the heart of the one time evil empire. Struggling to keep my eyes open, I pushed past the lines, collected my luggage and headed for the checkpoint.

Nervous, I noticed the poor fellow in front of me getting the full search — pat down, opening all of his bags. I paced nervously, wondering if my papers were in order, if stuffed rabbits could travel inside the former Soviet Union, if my abject lack of fingerprints (or fingers) would cause trouble.

But I had nothing to worry about. The customs officer just smiled, stamped my paperwork and waved me through, babbling something unintelligible in thickly accented English.

The hardest part over, I pushed through the final gateway, dodging the relentless hordes of people offering overpriced taxi rides into downtown and waited patiently in the lobby for my driver.