Not as smart as I thought!

Magnet #1018 - Metropolitan Opera

Growing up in North Carolina, we didn't get many opportunities to see opera. Or maybe, we just didn't take advantage of any opportunities to see opera, our preferences skewing toward piano and symphony performances. But never opera.

I mean, I've seen seen Real!Aida (versus the Elton John version) in a gorgeous, ancient outdoor amphitheatre in Verona. But that was pretty much it.

So that's why, when I first moved up here and scored free tickets to the opera at the Metropolitan Opera, no less, I was completely floored to learn that the backs of the seats had the opera's subtitles and translations! In digital display!

Seriously, ya'll. I can count on a couple of hands the number of times where this city's actually made me feel like a country bumpkin, and I'll tell you what for, that performance was one of those times. I don't even remember the name of the opera anymore. I don't even remember the story. I just remember watching the words go by with each passing stanza.

I must have missed the first half of the show, because I was just sitting in my seat, shaking my head, thinking, holy crap, ya'll opera-going folk, weren't as smart as I thought ya'll were.

I couldn't wait to get out of the show, to call my mom and tell her all about it. My roommate, an opera singer, laughed her bum off at me when I got home. I just couldn't believe how I was all opera's for smart people, cuz they know all the words to the stories and pieces, and in other languages, too! And the whole time, it was spelled out on digital displays.

Even so, I will say that not all opera is for me. I've only seen a couple of performances since then, plus, I did a fantastic behind the scenes tour - where we got to see Placido Domingo rehearse on stage, from the sound booth. Outstanding.

And I'll tell ya, I didn't need a translation to know what he was singing, either. Didn't understand a word of it, but really, I don't think anyone cares when it's Placido!

Italy, Italy, wherefore art thou, Italy

Magnet #193 - J.M.W. Turner's Venice: The Dogana and San Giorgio Maggiore

Country #4 - Italy

It's funny how many paintings of Venice I have in my little art gallery, so I picked this Turner, since I've not used him before.

By this time in the musical ambassadors trip, we'd gotten a lot more comfortable with each other, having made friends and figuring out the routine of music rehearsals and performances, and then packing up our stuff quickly, boarding the bus and being shepherded and toured around towns that had all begun to blend together. Most of us silly high-schoolers slept through a lot of the guided bus tours, and suffered through the guided museum tours.

To be honest, I can't imagine how anyone trusted us enough to go roaming the cities alone without chaperones - if our parents knew how much alone time we had, they'd have come along as chaps, too. Actually, though, that's what I remember most about my trip - running around each foreign country in a pack of 4 or 5...high-schoolers just mucking about major cities that didn't necessarily speak English. Which means that though we mixed with the locals, we didn't necessarily see all the touristy stuff to see.

Venice was no different. We ducked the pigeons (YUCK) of most beautiful and famous Basilica di San Marco, saw Doges Palace and the Bridge of Sighs (even if I can't remember it), did our own little romantic walk through the canal bridges and back alleys of town, ate authentic pizza, did an organized boat tour (slept again), and therefore couldn't convince my friend to ride a gondola (hmph), and saw glass being made at the Murano glass factory (Chihuly has nothing on them).

We were also set loose upon the streets of Verona...where we opted for a walk through town and authentic gelato, rather than visiting the infamous Romeo and Juliet balcony, or other famous churches and sites. Argh!

We were in actually in Verona to see the non-Disney/Elton John version of Aida in the other world-renown outdoor arena. But we were on a 3-hour rain delay, during which we opted to find a place to serve the boys a contraband glass of wine, run around town in our best clothes, pretending to be a gangster and his mob moll.

Nope, I kid not. It's amazing how a hefty Asian guy with a Swiss name can look like a big Italian bruiser while wearing a big-boy suit and sunglasses.