Late night culture

After the opera was over last night and I attempted to find something to eat in a swathe of closed restaurants, I ended up back on the Ramblas and in a tapas restaurant that was fairly obviously just about to finish for the day.  However, I was welcomed with what seemed like real enthusiasm (or at least real feigned enthusiasm) and settled down to write my notes about the music and get something to fill the empty space left by not having lunch or dinner.

So, by quarter past midnight I had my first food since muesli that morning.  Good but expensive and basically unmemorable in spite of the rather overblown description of one of the dishes as being made with Cava!

What was much more memorable was a unique experience.  One of the waiters became quite chatty and told me a joke in Spanish of which the punch line was a pun in English!  That was a first for me.  The joke was, “What language do Irish lesbians speak?”  I will leave you to work out the answer.  Which like all puns should result in a groan!

As they gave me a cup of coffee on the house I might well go back there after the next opera, at least I can expect the place to be open.

“The Force of Destiny” was my first opera of the season and it started in an unexpected way as we were launched straight into the singing and we were denied the overture until the Marquis de Calatrava has been well and truly, if absurdly, killed and the whole bloody tragedy started.

However, before then I was angry that the small translation screen on the back of the chair in front was not and did not work so I was left labouring to remember the exact details of the ridiculously melodramatic and totally unconvincing story line from an uninspiring past performance in the dim and distant past and a very cursory reading of the on-line entry for the opera.

The acting was awful and it forced me to think about how I would have done the opera – always a bad sign I think!

The dramatic themes of the opera are timeless and as relevant now as ever, but the staging of the opera did little to make it as relevant as I think it could have been.

The killing of the marquis by the accidental firing of a gun as it was slammed down on the table got a muttered laugh and there were other occasions when the action provoked mirth rather than dramatic involvement.

The costumes were, I think, historically accurate for the period in which the action was originally set, but as the emerging motivations of class hatred, racism, revenge, upholding inappropriate ideas of family honour, militarism, religion, deception, hypocrisy and ethical justification all are mixed into the cauldron of emotion that is this piece one could not help but wonder at the missed opportunities that it offers for a more relevant presentation – though it would be a brave director indeed who set it in, say Pakistan and used the honour killing or cross cultural relationships to make sense of the dramatic opportunities!

There were some nice ideas in the setting as for example when the gauze walls containing the family portraits as seen in the opening scene before the overture were used as the “cave” in which the hermit Leonora was retired from the rest of the world – but literally hiding under the family tradition which eventually brought about her death.

The over life size crucifixion was also effective and provided a very dramatic focus, though the religious significance of the representation was ambiguous given the action of the opera. 

Perhaps the setting of the piece in a country like Mexico might be interesting with the emphasis on the drug cartels, the Roman church, native religion and the disparity between the classes.

There is a lot of work for the chorus (directed by José Luis Basso) in this piece and they rose to the challenge superbly – on stage and off they were a delight with power, subtlety and excellent musicality.

The crowd scenes were done efficiently, though the use of highly professional dancers were a slightly discordant note – though good to watch!

The orchestra under the direction of Renato Palumbo was outstanding with the accuracy and dynamics observed astonishing.

You will have noticed that I have not mentioned any of the soloists.  An omission which is slightly unfair as Leonora sung by Norma Fantini was excellent and Roberto de Candia as Father Melitone was also characterful, funny and assured.  Neither of the male leads convinced me and the tenor seemed to be to be under sung.

This was a competent and enjoyable production that left me wanting much more.  There was too much posturing of solid singers and not enough re-interpretation to revitalize the empty melodrama.

The audience in the theatre was predominantly old and middle class and I am not sure that anyone young and inexperienced in the cultural form would have been won over by this production.

Obviously I am not saying that all opera production should be geared towards the young first time opera goer – indeed I realize that what I am asking for is the sort of production which will appeal to those who know the piece and are familiar with the conventions of the genre but Baz Luhrmann filmic production of Romeo and Juliet shows what can be done without destroying the power of the original.

Nevertheless I am much looking forward to my next opera.  Dvorak and lots of tunes!

The past is popular

Popular wisdom says that one should not try to turn the clock back, but there again it also says that BoJo would make a good leader of a national political party – so what do they know.

The clock is fully turned back and I am now a fully registered undergraduate in the Open University and my first course will start on the third of next month. 

I have to be fair and admit that it is not the course that I would have chosen but the dates did not work out and I was a week too late to register so I had to compromise.

The compromise is that I am doing some sort of Arts course (of course) in which I will be concentrating on language and its uses ending up by the study of the nineteenth century and a reading of Hard Times by Dickens.

As a function of my keenness I have already re-read the book and, as I read it electronically I was able to highlight the passages that I found interesting and also make notes as I went along.

The great discovery was finding out that one quote from Dickens that I have been trying to pin down to a novel was in Hard Times and not, as I had previously thought in Bleak House. 

Mrs Gradgrind is an eternal invalid and when she finally has the good grace to enter into her dying phase of moaning she is asked if she is in pain, to which she replies, “I think there’s a pain somewhere in the room,  (. . . ) but I couldn’t positively say that I have got it.” 

That concept of “a pain somewhere in the room” is one that I can certainly relate to when one needs to describe a feeling of discomfort which is just short of pain but within the realm of conscious appreciation.  Dickens, as he does so often, adds a clear extra layer of experience through the creative use of language.

I have thoroughly enjoyed the re-reading and have been musing about a whole variety of themes and ideas that seem to underpin the novel.

More importantly I have also discovered how to print out what I have done and those sheets will go into the writing books that Toni and I have bought for our respective subjects.

After the meal with Irene a couple of day ago I also have to print out the stories that she sent me that she uses in her teaching.  The idea is that I attempt to write some simple grammar heavy stories that Irene can try out with the pupils and then, after I get a collection together, I try and peddle them to some publisher to see if there is any money to be made from them.

Toni has offered to do the drawings for them.  Which should be interesting.

Tomorrow is the start of the opera season – at least it is if you have the Season Ticket that I have.  I do not have tickets as such, just a plastic credit card which is “read” when I go into the Liceu and records that I have started my musical adventure.

Usually I have taken the car to the centre of Barcelona and have steeled myself to pay the exorbitant parking charges, so large sometimes that it really does take the edge off the enjoyment of the operatic experience.

I have therefore determined that I will find a cheap (!) hotel in Barcelona and spend the night of the concert in the city rather than wending my solitary way home in the early hours of the morning.

I also hope to find some sort of reasonably priced place to have a late night meal after the opera to make the whole thing worthwhile.  It says something for the cost of parking that the hotel room that I have found, which comes in at €30, seems like a good deal!

I also want to find a stamp shop n Barcelona so that I do not have to get pages for my First Day Covers from Britain – there has to be somewhere that can provide exactly what I want within the old part of the city.

I have had the sad news that an aunt of mine has died.  This means that of the husbands and wives of the three children of my maternal grandparents now, only Uncle Eric remains.  He is 93 and is sharp and politically aware and I think that I have more interesting conversations with him now that at any other time in my life – better late than never!

It does mean that I will probably be going back to Wales some time next week to join my cousin in the funeral.

It is a sad fact of life that when a person reaches a great age most of the friends and close relatives have died so that, unless there is a bustling, geometrically increasing series of next generations the congregation can be quite sparse.

I expect a healthy showing from the private school in which my aunt was a pupil and taught.  Until her death she was the oldest pupil/teacher and I think she rather revelled in her predominant longevity.  Her death closes a chapter.  I only hope that it opens another for my cousin.

The illness that Toni is at last combating – the one donated to him by his kindly and plague carrying family – is trying its best to latch on to me.  By sheer strength of will I am attempting to keep the depressing symptoms at bay until I can get my flu jab to give my defences a boost.

And anyway with opera and study and trips to the UK I have to be at my best and not sneezing my way along bent double with coughing.  I refuse to give in to the illness.  So there.

What is waiting for me now is attempting to bring some sort of order to the Third Floor; not the terrace but rather the cluttered chaos through which you have to pass to get out into the open air.

With the new printer being unworkable at the moment and the other workable and ink loaded machine flitting from place to place I have to pin it down and ensure that the pages that I need made concrete are done before tomorrow.

It is a sad fact of modern hotel booking that a printer is an essential part of the process and the humble sheet of A4 with agreed details is something which gains you your room with the absence of fuss.

Checking in is at 12 midday and I do not really want to get there that early, especially as I will be going in by train so that the expenses of the trip are kept to a minimum.  Leaving me in the centre of Barcelona with time on my hands is an expensive business!

This will be a trial run and will pave the way for other little trips or will confirm the expensive car parking as the best way to gain from the experience.

So, printing and packing are called for.

The reason

It says something for the mildness of the climate at this date in October that the swimming pool roof was partially retracted for my mid morning swim.  I berated roundly by the cleaning lady for arriving for my swim later than normal – but I, quite legitimately had been doing my self-imposed tasks for which I managed to pay only 50c for a parking place in the centre of town.  Result!

Since being given a business card by an educational colleague I have been twisted with bitterness and shame that I did not have one to give in exchange.  I have therefore ordered my own to be produced by a firm in the centre of town.  They will, alas, be pale reflections of the multi-coloured mini-masterpieces that I have seen, but it is at least a start.

And don’t get me started on making your own with the specially produced programs and pre-cut cards which you can pay at reasonable cost.  I have spent more man-hours trying to do the simple version than I care to think about!

I have given the basic information that I need on such a card to the printers and have already been presented with two variations – neither of which I like, but both of which have elements which can be blended to produce something satisfactory.  It is also astonishing how many minor points that need changing on something so fundamentally simple!

Dinner with Irene and an extended session of setting the world to rights and convincing each other that we are the people to do it.  Such sessions are essential for the maintenance of mental health!

Roll on tomorrow.

Times change

“Fifty Shades of Grey” – which of course I have not, and have no intention of reading, nevertheless seems like a good point of reference to explain the reason why I left the café outside the swimming pool early today.

I have to admit that I did forget my Kindle which meant that I couldn’t afford myself the luxury of wallowing in the concentrated human misery that reading the daily newspaper gives.  But, such are the times in which we live that anyone with a smartphone never needs to be without reading matter.  The number of books and short stories I have on my soon-to-be-replaced Samsung Galaxy (!) is truly astonishing and has kept me sane in many “waiting” situations.  So, as long as I have my phone and I have remembered to feed it during the night, I am never at a loss to indulge in my favourite addiction.

So, sitting in the morning sunshine just before ten today I was able to choose another story (the “Star Dragon” finally having been read) and go on to one of my many sci-fi drugs and start a new short story about a Chinese man in the future trying to cope with the gender imbalance brought on my tradition and Communist Party doctrine.  This is an interesting premise and I was well into the rather shocking drink and sex opening of the story when I decided to leave.

The number of “free-mums” – those women who, having deposited their children in school and used the car park in the sports centre, feel obligated to do something physical or at least have a chat and a cup of coffee in the grounds – was low so the chatter level was acceptable.

What was not acceptable was the booming amplified voice of the aerobics instructor screaming instructions to the women in front of her while mindless beat-dominated trashy music blared behind her berating voice.  Big Sister who sees all and broadcasts your every move is alive and well and living in Castelldefels in a mirror walled exercise space.

The voice is insistent, hectoring peremptory and imperative, yelling orders like some effeminate yet butched-up sergeant major.  And these people pay for the privilege of being abused.  These women are probably highly qualified professional people and yet they voluntarily subject themselves to the relentless, personality-destroying wall of sound which leaves them sweaty, weak and exhausted.

If this sort of thing does not explain the popularity of soft mummy-porn S&M I don’t know what does.

By contrast my twenty minutes of vigorous exercise is literally cushioned by being in an elements whose buoyancy removes the scope for bone-jarring destruction that aerobic stepping inevitably provides.  And I still feel that I deserve my cup of tea at the end of it.

My pool environment has also improved though, alas, that very improvement is a clear indication that summer is well past.

For the past few days the temperature of the water has been invigorating – or as most of my friends would call it, “cold”!   I have managed to delude myself that “cold” is actually “healthy” as brisk swimming should raise the body temperature and therefore colder water is the best complement to such exercise.

Yesterday my entry into the pool was one of delight rather than stoical acceptance: the water was warm!  I swam a couple of lazy breaststroke lengths revelling in the unaccustomed luxury of water caressing rather that cold abrading!

What this means of course is that the water temperature has been adjusted for autumn/winter and the halcyon days of wine, roses and sunshine are behind us.

In an act of defiance against the inexorable march of the seasons I popped into the Outlet Store of El Corte Ingles in Castelldefels and bought two pairs of shorts – one of light khaki and the other bright blue.  I will not give in to the dictatorship of the latter months of the year!

And I am gratified to note that there are still plenty of gentlemen of all ages still wearing shorts and short-sleeved shirts.  When I say “plenty” I probably mean “some”, but the point is that I am not a lone Brit walking with mad dogs in the midday coolness.  

Not yet anyway!