Making memories at the Met
The Met by night. Time flies. I’m not sure if it says anything about the cities themselves — or the use I made of them — that eight weeks in London seemed blissfully long, whereas eight weeks in New York flew by almost before I knew it. Or maybe I’m just getting into the swing of this vagabond lifestyle. In any case, here I am in Florida now, for two weeks of relaxation, regrouping and repacking, before we head off yet again, this time for a Parsifal in Zürich and a Wozzeck in Santa Fe. New York turned out to be wonderful. I say “turned out” because unlike London, it wasn’t a city I warmed to immediately. It grew on me, however, and it’s safe to say that the Met played a large part in that. I liked having one of the world’s great opera houses almost literally around the corner from me, I liked actually knowing first hand what all the gossips on Parterre were being snippy (or otherwise) about, and I liked how remarkably quickly I became accustomed to seeing opera’s biggest names on stage. And I did manage to see quite a few of them. Natalie Dessay,…