Meeting Rossini and half the TMNG

The continuing observations of the Borths brothers in Milan (here are some photos of the events described herein)...

Teatro alla Scala: On the other side of the Galleria is the most famous opera house in the world. To the opera world it’s the Louvre, it’s Wrigley Field, it’s the Shoe, it’s a place that embodies everything it was built for. To perform at La Scala is to be at the top of the operatic heap. Revamped in 2004, it’s a jewelry box of gilt and red velvet. Josh and I were interested in seeing a performance if we could catch one, but first we wanted to see the opera’s museum. The place has been around since 1776 and has seen as much history as, well, our country, so we assumed the museum would have some spectacular artifacts all tastefully arranged in engaging displays. It didn’t.

The museum was essentially someone’s collection of opera odds and ends. This person died and their heirs wanted to empty the attic, so they gave it to La Scala. I don’t know if that’s true, but it felt like a likely story as we glanced into cases with fans of famous Divas and busts of composers famous and obscure. The walls were covered with uninspiring portraits of people we were notable two-hundred years ago, but now stare blankly. There was a limited attempt to explain these personalities except the ones we knew about such as Verdi (they had a special devotion to him in Milan). The most interesting section of the museum was the costume display where you could observe the fastidious detail the costume designer invests in every garment. Also in the display was a series of costumes designed by Picasso for a ballet.

The reason you go to the museum is because you can peak into the theater. This was a wasted opportunity, though, since Josh and I had plans to see a performance.

How to get one of the standing-room seats at La Scala:

1) Show up early. The list appears at 1 PM. There’s only 120 of the things. We showed up way early, as in 11 AM, we were second in line and wouldn’t have companionship for an hour.
2) Make friends with the old man who’s been going to La Scala for several decades. Be sure to look amused as he speaks at you in perky Italian. You won’t understand. You probably woudn’t understand if you spoke Italian.
3) Admire the old man's ancient dog who would rather be sleeping than doing really anything else. This sidewalk is an extension of his yard.
4) Be fawned over by the old man’s friends who are entertained by these punctual Americans who seem to care about La Scala.
5) Become part of this opera family.
6) Put your name on the list for tickets at 1 PM.
7) Go back to the hotel to grab your stuff and start the labor intensive process of going down the street hotel by hotel searching for a decent price. Let on you will be back at each place and try not to act as cheap as you are.
8) Look for fashion design district and be mildly disappointed that fashion is so muted and repetitive.
9) Return to La Scala at 4:45 where the Opera Family makes sure you are in the correct part of the line to claim a ticket voucher. Receive a packet of ancient playbills from the regular while his dog snores.
10) Return to ticket office at 6 to actually claim a physical ticket.
11) Pay too much for a pizza and beer dinner at a café near the Duomo where you are besieged by pigeons. Literally. The café you are at serves chips with your beverage and the pigeons have learned to go for the snacks with a vengeance. You are but an obstacle between their appetite and your chips. If your name is Joshua, brush off the whitewash that suddenly appears on your arm thanks to the pigeons. If you name is Matthew, unsympathetically laugh. Pay the bill.
12) Back to the Opera at 7:15 for the performance.
13) Realize you may have wasted an afternoon in Milan, but also realize you’re not sure what you would have done with it if you weren’t waiting for tickets.
14) Enjoy the show.

We weren't allowed to take photos. We might have tried to sneak one, but it probably would have caused our adoptive opera-parents to raise their eyebrows in disapproval. So, this is what the interior looks like to those with a photo pass.

And we did. We were assigned seats, but couldn’t see much - so you and every other person in the back row – stand up, holding onto overhead bars so you can see and hear what’s going on. This makes reading the subtitles on the back of your seat tough to read, but this is the sacrifice we make to live cheaply while enjoying high art.

Josh looking suave outside La Scalla. He's contrapposto and the building Neo-Classical. Further proof everyone wants to be Greek.

The performance was Rossini’s “Il viagio a Rheims.” According to Josh, this was a show put together with all the aria’s Rossini hadn’t gotten into more plot driven pieces. The story involved a bunch of aristocrats from different nations trying to see the French King’s coronation in Rheims. They never make it. But they sing a lot. One scene features the harried porter packing everyone’s stuff while making gross national stereotypes about Germany, Russia, England, France, Italy, and Poland. It’s amazing how many of the stereotypes persist. They then sing about a beautiful united Europe under the kings. Obviously Rossini was writing before 1910.

Entering a castle exactly the way you would want to enter a castle.

Castello Sforzesco: A bit of a hike from the center of town (also called the Duomo) is the Castello Sforzesco, a massive bastion erected in the 14th century, that now guards a couple city museums.

Castello Sforzesco from the inside.

There’s one on Egypt, another on life in a castle, but only one was deemed worthy of our limited time: Pinacoteca del Castello Sforzesco. Or more simply, the art museum. It helped it was free. After walking past sturdy towers and a massive courtyard blanketed with lounging students, we began our tour through Milanese art history. We started in the Dark Ages with Cletic inspired carving brought in by the Lombards, the invading Germanic tribe that stomped out Roman culture and asthetics. It would be an uphill battle before ideas like “proportions” and “perspective” gained much traction.

I know it's tough to carve stone, but is it really that hard to made the head smaller than a pumpkin? Come on Medieval Artist, it's time to step it up a notch.

Josh and I were studying some massive tapestries when a guard approached us “Scuzi, uh we close soon. In 15 minutes. If you have not visited it, you should see the things later in the museum. These are more important. See Michelangelo.” We appreciated the advice. While there was plenty of artistic merit in the triptychs we power-walked past, we really did want to spend some time with Mike.

The final object in the museum is reportedly Michelangelo’s last sculpture (he had a lot of stuff in progress at the time of his death, so figuring out which piece was his “last” is kinda tough): The Rodanini Pieta. The marble sculpture is unfinished with abstract lines suggesting the faces of the dead Christ and Mary. Features such as Christ’s legs are polished, but the arms are amorphous. You can see the chisel marks in the stone. In a few days we would be in Florence where we would see some of Michelangelo’s completed works (though he didn’t complete all that much) and seeing this scene, just emerging from the rock, was an important reminder of how much effort it took to coax art from marble.

The Last Supper: In an unassuming monastery away from the city center sits one of the most famous images in western art. The artist labored for years, going past deadline and over budget. But in Milan in the late 15th century, you didn’t mess with Da Vinci. He invested his fresco with the full force of his towering, Renaissance intellect. The only problem is he really didn’t think about making sure it would last. He tried a new technique for painting plaster and the result was a work that quickly started to deteriorate and crumble.

Leonardo contemplating where to find a cheap beverage in Milan. He would soon be stumped and move on to thoughts concerning military technology.

Since its completion, people have been touching it up and restoring it until you weren’t sure what was Da Vinci and what was people trying to be DaVinci. A few years ago the work was completely restored with an effort to preserve only Leonardo’s original vision. The work once sat opposite monks at dinner, and later presided over Napoleon’s horses. Now it’s in a thermally and chemically sealed room. Only a limited number of people are allowed in for 15 minutes to look at the work under the supervision of a guard.

The thing has been hyped and analyzed (thank you Dan Brown) within an inch of its crumbling life. There was all kinds of disappointment potential. But it didn’t disappoint. The image is massive. The apostles and Christ are life-sized and larger. Everyone is a little faded, like someone forgot to put on the autofocus, but the gestures are preserved and parts of the vivid expressions. It’s packed with narrative elements I’ve never paid attention to as the apostles lean into each other with questions and theories. After being immersed in such a work I feel proud to have been Leonardo when we played Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

We also did a lot of wandering through city parks, venturing down narrow alleys that dead ended into parking lots, then sat down to pay too much for drinks. After two days in Milan we were ready to leave. She had shown us what we wanted to see. We were brusquely told off by waiters and ate more gelato. It was time to see if Venice was all it’s cracked up to be…

If this was in the States you would assume it's on the quad of some state university. In this case though, it's in a city park by a castle that was built in the 1300s.

The photos of Verona and Milan before we move on down the boot.

Wiener Wandering

(The Vienna photos. It's hard to take a bad shot in this town.)

You may recall I already visited Vienna once before with the Borths family and Carolyn. So, when I have an entire continent of exploring, why retrace my steps? Reason 1: Marty needed to see the city and we were pretty damn close in Prague. Reason 2: I wanted to visit Nick, a fellow graduate of St. X and Ohio State who’s doing a teaching Fulbright in Vienna. Reason 3 (and most important): Vienna demands a second go-round. It’s just that glorious a city.

The plan was to meet Nick at the Vienna train station or at his house. This would be awkward to time because his parents were also visiting for two weeks and we wanted to give them plenty of time to spend with their son. Nick wasn’t in the station. I couldn’t raise him on the cell phone or by text message. We were on the industrial outskirts of the city, and that just wouldn’t do. If you’re in Vienna, go to the pretty parts, so we did.

We buried ourselves in the pedestrian heart of the Old Town, eating Wiener Schnitzel (Wien is the German name for Vienna) and drinking excellent cocktails at American Bar, a place recommended by Miya back in Hamburg. The bar was designed in 1908 by one of the fathers of modern architecture, Adolf Loos, who believed ornate decoration was a sinful waste of worker’s sweat. The bar specializes in American-style cocktails, so I sipped an Old Fashioned, and Marty enjoyed a Smoky Martini while we tried to figure out how to track down Nick and discussed if our action-hero of a waiter would be able to save us from nuclear apocalypse.

St. Stephan's Cathedral at the center of the old town's pedestrian district.

We poked our heads into St. Stephan’s Cathedral in the center of the old town and discovered the shadowy interior was obstructed by a locked iron gate. Well, the only thing to do when you can’t visit the cathedral is grab some ice cream. With cones in hand we continued down the street and I literally ran into Nick. He, his family, and his girlfriend were just leaving dinner and were discussing how to contact me (apparently none of my text messages and only one voicemail message actually made it to his end of the line). If we had all just trusted to serendipity, much stress could have been avoided.

We walked Nick’s parents home then went to visit a few of Nick’s favorite Viennese bars. The first was a dive that usually features live music. They did this night, but the act was, to put it gently, awful. Two inebriated guitarists, one with a six string and the other with a twelve with only half the strings in tune, sang in unison, belting Dylan, Clapton, and Cash at the tops of their lungs. I’ve come to the conclusion that Rock and Roll is one of America’s great contributions to world culture. But, listening to these two, I wished the Austrians had never abandoned their accordions and Alphorns for the Blues. If they hadn't, my ears might still be functional. We moved on.

Next, discussion around a comfy table in squashy chairs at an English Bar. I wasn’t sure what “English Bar” entailed until I saw the walls were encrusted with dozens of book cases with hundreds of English language paperbacks and classics. In other words, my kind of bar. When we left, a two hour odyssey ensued as we waited for buses that didn’t arrive on time (have I mentioned I don’t like buses?), talked to lonely Indian men who wanted to know about plate tectonics, and ate Viennese sausage (or “Wieners” as we might say. Note on the Wiener: In this town they believe in the bun. Germans tend to just use a hand-sized roll to hold a much larger sausage. Here you are given a kind of baguette. The top is sliced off and a tunnel bored into the bread. The mustard and cheese go in along with the sausage, creating a self-contained, walkable, street food. Brilliance on – or in – a bun.). We finally got home in the wee hours of the morning, and didn’t earn ourselves very much sleep because we wanted to get to the Vienna Ring.

The epic and Neo-Classical Austrian Parliament building. That's Athena towering over Vienna.

For breakfast we ate massive, chocolate covered cream horns then explored the parliament building and the Natural History Museum. The Vienna NHM is famous as the home of Venus von Willendorf, a somewhat abstract and slightly pudgy limestone carving of a woman roughly 26,000 year old. She’s one of the oldest human forms ever discovered and was one of the first examples of Paleolithic art to be hauled out of the ground. In 1908 she created a sensation despite being faceless and footless.

In December I visited the Kunsthistorisches Museum, the architectural twin of the Naturhistorisches Museum. They sit facing each other across a manicured park, just off the main drag of Vienna. I knew the Kusthistorisches Museum (Historical Art Museum) was a piece of art in itself, a palace built in 1889 for the sole purpose of exalting art. I didn’t know the Natural History Museum had been designed with the same aesthetic. Canvas painting of exotic animals, people, and localities rimmed each artfully plastered gallery. My favorite touch came in the bone hall where casts and actual mounted fossils were surrounded by a chorus of Classical figures (nyads, dryads, and satyrs perhaps?) each bearing an extinct animals. One wrestled with an ancient sea-monster, the next with a pterodactyl, the next with a massive crustacean…I love the American Museum of Natural History, but they don’t have that kind of class.

On the left a figure tries to keep a grip on a Rhamphorhynchus. His buddy has his own prblems holding on to a Ichthyosaurus.

I love the kangaroo-posed Iguanodon, one of the oldest dinosaur names around.

Hopping into the Metro, we traveled out into the Viennese suburbs to explore Schönbrunn Palace with Nick and his family. The plot of land the palace commands was purchased in 1569 but the current royal residence wasn’t set up until 1696. Originally the designer wanted to make it bigger than its model, Versailles, but he had to deal with the budget and dialed things back. Rick Steves claims it’s the second-best palace in Europe behind Versailles, so that designer wasn’t far off his mark. We explored the palace’s parks, climbing behind a massive fountain and up to the Gloriette for a view of the palace and Vienna rolling away to the horizon. We discovered we really didn’t have time to do a full palace tour, or hit the zoo. The zoo is the oldest in existence. This fact was only revealed to me late in our exploration and there just wasn’t time to visit the pandas. That’s what next time is for.

After sitting on the lawn, sipping Easter-market punch, Marty and I waved good-bye to Nick and headed for the Vienna Opera house where we cued up for the best deal in Europe: three Euro tickets to the opera. Our legs were sore from three consecutive days on our feet, but we took standing-room seats at the center of the house for “Die tote Stadt” a 1920 opera by Erich Wolfgang Korngold that revolved around a husband who wouldn't’t allow his dead wife’s memory rest in peace. Heavy, operatic stuff. Note that this was our second opera in three days.

After the performance we met Nick at a Jazzland, a cellar-turned club that’s been around since 1972. The original plan was to meet Nick and his parents, but only Nick felt energetic enough to join us. After jockeying with other patrons to secure a spot with a decent view of the band, we settled in to groove to a great set that featured scat solos and all the trumpet I’ve been missing. Second Jazz club in four nights. Marty and I really are too cool to hang out with ourselves.

When the band wrapped up, so did the bar, so we rolled on to a place on the canal that Nick claimed, “you have to see.” The other patrons ranged from high schoolers trying to have a night on the town, to forty-year-old transvestites. There wasn’t a demographic missing or a character that wouldn’t find a home in a quirky sitcom, including a construction worker who just wanted to dance to the monotonous techno beats. Getting home went smoothly, but again we stayed out late and woke up early.

Our first stop was to the Votivkirche, a neo-Gothic structure built by Emperor Franz Joseph in 1879 in thanks to God for deflecting an assassins knife on the spot the church was erected. It’s huge, neo-Gothic, and once featured a massive stained-glass window that depicted the Emperor’s deliverance. The windows were bombed out during WWII and in ’64 the windows were replaced with less of a divine-right-of-kings kind of theme. There was also a devotional chapel featuring Our Lady of Guadalupe. The sign made it seem like this was the image that was discovered by Juan Diego in 1531. We were in awe, but our awe was misspent on a copy sent by the Mexican government in 1954 (the Empire of Mexico was ruled by an enlightened, but unlucky Hapsburg prince, Maximilian I for three years before he was killed by firing squad in 1867). Oh well.

After a brief detour to recover Marty’s passport from Nick’s apartment (it was so well hidden he had forgotten about it) we were on our way to the Belvedere Palace. The place was set up in 1716 as the residence of Prince Eugene of Savoy, a brilliant general who beat the Ottomans, French, and Italians over the course of a fifty year career. Originally French, Louis XIV ditched Eugene because he wasn’t particularly attractive. Taking his brilliant mind east, he found the Austrians would give him a chance and they reaped the rewards. So did he and thence the palace.

Now the building houses an art collection that ranges from Medieval to 21st century stuff, but focuses on the work of the Vienna Secession, an association of artists who wanted to promote Austrian art at the turn of the 20th century. The first president was Gustav Klimt and the Belvedere has a bunch of his work, including the iconic “Kiss” and “Judith.” Personally, I thought the haunting, expressionist work of Egon Schiele was even more engrossing than Klimt. Marty left to catch his train and I continued to explore the Romantics and Impressionists until the lure of the gardens became too strong.

The flowers all seemed on the verge of leaping to colorful life. The daffodils and tulips were doing their best, but I knew if I walked through in one week, the place would be a gravel-lined riot of color. Again, next time.

Weaving through memorials and churches I said goodbye to one of the most beautiful cities I have ever explored, then set my feet in the direction of the Vienna airport. I had my last cup of Viennese coffee, eavesdropped on a Canadian businessman who was also in awe of the beauty of the city and flew to the Cologne/Bonn airport where Rheinisch rain greeted by arrival.

A church I discovered at the last minute called Karlskirche. Next time I'll go inside. Never act like you won't return to a spot. It stresses you out and might not be true. Witness this trip.

I huddled in the bus stop with my fellow Bonners and mentally listed what I needed to pack up because the next morning I would be catching the train to Paris!

Pretty photos of a pretty city.

Ride of the Borthses

It was time to bid Germany Adieu - or more accurately “Auf Wiedersehen” - until after the New Year. The Borths Family piled into the car and started southeast across Germany, headed for Austria. It was a roughly a seven hour drive, so we got an early start with important coffee breaks along the way.

Over the last few years I’ve become an armchair (captain's chair?) expert on the rest stops and gas stations of the planet’s highways. Obviously there are many countries yet to explore and other people have a more refined perspective on the issue but I think I have sufficient expertise to divide Earth’s rest stops into two categories: Pay-to-Pee or Free-to-Pee. Most places on God’s green Earth fall into the former category. Germany is no exception. If you walk into a convince store with a full bladder, you will walk out roughly 50 cents poorer. Every time we stopped to fill up the gas tank or get food there would be a distribution of change. This is the face of the German road trip.

As you drive across Germany the topography changes from rolling hills to snow capped mountains surrounding more quaint towns. The churches in these towns tell you if you are in the East or West. In the West the churches are capped with pointed steeples with a pyramidal structure. In the East the steeples are onion domes with Hershey kiss profiles. The delineation between these designs is as abrupt as the former Iron Curtain.

Our first destination was Melk, a town just east of Vienna that is well known for its massive Baroque Benedictine Monetary. Apparently this monastery is on of the 1,001 places to see before you die according to the authoritative text on the subject, “1,001 Places To See Before You Die."

The Melk Monastery and gardens are on the right with a commanding view of the town on the left. Vicariously enjoy one of the places you should see before you die.

Before we could explore the Baroque Architectural masterpiece, we had to get some food. We entered the restaurant on the monastery’s grounds and found a subdued diner-esque restaurant , reminiscent of Bob Evan’s – except the waitresses were wearing dirndls. As the sun sank to the horizon we enjoyed Wiener Schnitzel in Austria for the first time (Fact: Wien is the German name for Vienna. Thus Wiener, as in “hot dog,” and Wiener Schnitzel are both references to the capital of Austria. I’m not sure why we have a habit of renaming cities. It doesn’t seem very respectful of the city or the people. I’m going the blame the French for the trend.).

The entrance to the monastery. That's a shuttered fountain in the middle of the plaza. A wonderful place for contemplation if you have time...
We didn't.

But I did manage to hurriedly take some pictures so I can enjoy the place at my leisure.

It got late quickly and we had a schedule to keep. The Vienna State Opera was performing Wagner that night (there was some debate as to which opera was being performed) and Josh wanted to get moving. Thus, after pleading for our bill and finally receiving it, we literally ran across the monastery grounds, snapping pictures while trying to get on the road as quickly as possible. The fragment of the campus we saw was gorgeous. I guess I’ve seen it now, so I can tick it off the 1,001 list, but it may need closer examination to really be appreciated. As far as I know, monks don’t like being rushed and neither does their architecture. We paid no heed to their wishes.

The dash into Vienna became a race against the clock. We decided the hotel should be the first stop and we would be a bit late to the opera. As we slowly circled the city and the hotel, Josh, dad and Brigitte got progressively more tense. We finally found the place we were staying at and exploded from the car. Josh, Carolyn and I hauled our bags to the room and took off for the opera house by cab. Mom and dad would check in and meet us there.

We entered the ornate complex and were immediately confronted by guards stationed by every entrance to the theater. Each sported a green cape and a dapper hat. They also spouted disappointing news. The show was sold out. According to Rick Steves, this was a rare event. We paced, searching for a box office to get the bad news from an official source.

After bouncing from guard to coatroom and back we finally settled in the official opera café where our guidebook told us we could watch the opera in action. We found a table, looked at the TVs and saw no one shattering any mirrors. Instead, the TVs were plastered with trashy entertainment news and a ski jumping competition. Josh was agitated, and by agitated I mean he looked like a German who has just been told to wait in line. He shifted, finally asking the waiter to if the opera was available on the monitors. The waiter lazily reached up and switched on the opening act of Götterdämmerung, the final opera of the Ring Cycle. If you think of big women wearing Viking horns when you think of opera, you’re thinking of Wagner’s Ring Cycle or “Der Ring des Nibelungen.”

For a reminder of what the music sounds like, here’s a classic retelling:


Rick Steves also told us you could pick up a ticket by begging it off tourists leaving the performance. The State Opera sells several hundred standing room tickets for each opera. Each only costs 3 Euro. You can see world class opera for less than a German Big Mac. Let that blow your mind for a minute...okay moving on. The cheap price means there’s a major turnover in spectators. If you just want the experience of seeing an opera in such a classic location you can go in, watch a few scenes, and head out knowing you haven’t wasted your cash. Josh set up at the bottom of the stairs waiting to catch these less-enthusiastic audience members and ask for their tickets. He managed to get one. This allowed him past the guards, but he wasn’t allowed into the theater until the break between the acts, so he set himself up by the theater bar where the opera was displayed on a larger monitor and there was less annoying chatter.

After witnessing Josh’s success, I decided to try my hand a snagging tickets so we could sit with him and watch. I also wanted to see if I could get tickets for my parents who hadn’t arrived yet. I stood at the base of the grand staircase and waited for someone to make a bored exit. A woman emerged from the theater hacking. I pounced (in German) “Excuse me, are you leaving?” “Yes.” “Could I maybe have you ticket?” “Yes, no problem. It’s not standing room though, it’s in the seats on the ground floor.” “Oh, well, thank you very much!” “How much…” “No, it’s yours.” “Thank you!” One down. I wanted to give that to Josh though.

Next two girls emerged (in German) “Excuse me, if you are leaving, could I have your tickets?” The looked at each other, bewildered, “Um, we don’t speak…” “Oh no problem, I don’t speak German very well either.” Relief swept over their faces when they heard my English. “I just asked if I could have your tickets if you’re headed out.” “Oh, yeah sure, um, we paid 3 Euro…” Okay, so the floor seat from an Austrian was completely free, but I ended up paying the Americans full price for only 2/3 of the show. I felt a little cheated. Where’s the ex-pat love? Let the National stereotypes roll on.

The main staircase of the Vienna State Opera. You will see the guard prominently placed on the steps, ready to tell you to run along. You will not see a blond kid running around trying to get people to cough up their tickets. He already succeeded.

With tickets for Josh and my parents my mission was complete because Carolyn and I had to get to dance class. For my birthday, my parents gave Carolyn and I a waltz lesson in Vienna. THE New Years tradition of Vienna is the waltz, so we thought we should figure out how to 1-2-3 in the city that invented the dance. We set off across the “Ring” the historic middle of town where the Hapsburg’s castle and the parliament building are situated. We had the address of the place, but had never explored the city and had no idea where what the dance studio would look like.

Vienna's City Hall, a Neo-Gothic structure evoking the medieval history of the city when the city was ruled by powerful guilds and everyone generally agrees things were pretty good economically.

The National Parliament Building, a Neo-Classical structure evoking the Golden Age of Greece, another time everyone generally agrees things were pretty good politically.

After wandering in the cold while admiring the Viennese architecture we got to the street we were searching for. There was the number…but everything looked dark. The website said there were lessons, but maybe they were actually geschlossen, too?

We opened the door and saw a sign for “Tanzen” (dancing) on the second floor. We climbed the steps and were confronted by a massive wooden door that would have looked comfortable blocking our entrance to the emperor. We looked at each other silently asking, “Are we really going to do this thing?” Suddenly other dancers appeared and entered. They were carrying official dance shoes and costumes. Hmmm…We followed.

We entered and found a coffee shop/bar with a hostess standing at a cash register. Not sure if I was in the right place I stumbled through the question “Is this the place for waltz lessons?” in English she responded, “Yes, please have a seat!” Okay, well we committed now. We found a place in the café and felt very conspicuous. Everyone seemed north of 30 years old. They also seemed like regulars with official foot gear.

Suddenly a door swung open revealing a room filled with mirrors and colored lights. Seemed like a place to dance. We wandered in and saw people confidently executing some Latin dance that my feet have never been trained to execute. I stared trying to figure things out and Carolyn gamely did likewise. Suddenly the hostess reappeared and beckoned us to follow. We had strayed from our sitting spot. Stupid Americans.

We were lead to a tiny blond woman who was dressed in sequins and spandex, the official uniform of the professional dancer. She shepherded Carolyn, myself and anther couple down the stairs to another dance studio that was decorated with photos of two champion dance couples and the trophies the duos had won. The photographs showed the men and women awkwardly posed in athletic, possibly provocative poses. The women seemed to understand how to strike the “come hither” expression the photographer was going for. The men just kind of leered and did so for the course of the lesson.

Our instructor lost no time getting our feet moving. She had taught the lesson before, but never in English. She was very good, sufficiently lowering her expectations for beginners. It quickly became clear that the other couple needed a lot more instruction than Carolyn and I. We hadn’t waltzed together in a long time, but we dance together often enough to know how to lead and follow. Our fellow students weren’t quite there, so Carolyn and I enjoyed the rare distinction of being the best dancers in the room. That doesn’t mean we pulled everything off flawlessly, but we were waltzing and turning before our companions really got the box step down. We left ready to take to the streets at midnight on New Year’s Eve and spin with the Austrians.

When the lesson was over, we wandered back to the opera. We caught the finale as the ring is destroyed the gods plunge to their doom. Josh was an excited ball of enthusiasm, raving about the voices and stage design. His mission was accomplished and we had only just started to encounter the ancient capital of the Austrian Empire…