History is full of folks who tried to sneak in, break in or fight their way in to the storied Kremlin, seat of power for the one-time Union of Soviet Socialist Republics of Russia in Moscow.

Last summer I became one of them — not for sinister reasons but as an innocent victim who paid more attention to his photo-taking than his tour guide.

"After our visit in the cathedral we will gather outside the exit to continue our tour," advised Anna, our sprightly Russian tour guide. What didn't register was that she was referring to the exit of the building, not the Kremlin grounds. So out I went — out the cathedral exit and out the rust-red walls of the one-time fortress.

Once I discovered my error, my re-entry process began. With cameras hanging from my neck, shopping bags full of souvenirs dangling from my arms and "Moscow" emblazoned on my new baseball cap, surely I was a poster boy for tourists.

None of that mattered. My many attempts to get back into the 70-acre compound (originally built as a marketplace in the 15th century) were thwarted — just like all those other assaults through history; never mind that today the place is one of the Russian Federation's major tourist attractions.

The stern-faced, fair-haired Kremlin guards were well-trained by their hardened, take-no-prisoners predecessor. They were not about to allow any unauthorized person entry, despite my mournful pleadings, sign language, picture-taking or irrefutable charm.

Nyet, they snapped, pointing to my canceled entry ticket.

After about a half-hour — it seamed an eternity — of fruitless pleading, the dearly dedicated-to-her-flock Anna appeared, quite relieved to locate her wayward minion. She calmly explained my plight to the unamused guards, who grudgingly allowed me to rejoin my group.

Apologies to my fellow travelers for this distraction were accepted — sort of.

Enlightened almost daily by our guides about the foibles and fortunes of historic Russian luminaries such as Peter the Great, Catherine the Great and Ivan the Terrible, my unforgiving travel-mates dubbed me "Mike the Lost" for the rest of the journey.