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A night at the Opera
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Another day (and night) in London... I managed to stay awake yesterday until 1:00am or so London time, and then miraculously slept the entire night through, although my body is on a totally different schedule. Congratulations body: you are adaptable! Yay!
This morning I arose and went with my friends, David, Ping, and Christian, to the Tate Modern.
The Tate is free (which is a beautiful thing in this city where just about everything costs a million bucks!), and inside there were giant (interactive) slides
coming down the top floor of the museum... but overall, I'm not a fan. It was cool to see the art, but I don't think I get it. I'm going to say that perhaps my tastes are not distinguished and sophisticated enough to truly appreciate this Modern Art. Regardless, it was a lovely time, passed in the company of lovely people.
We spent a fair amount of the day wandering about England and seeing the sights: the Globe Theater (where Shakespeare put on his plays), the Thames,
the national Bank of England, buildings shaped as ships and pickles, Roman ruins, and that which was built to commemorate the Millenium. The city is quite charming, and I truly adore these accents. (I also adore tha fact that even though things are strange here, they're not so foreign that I can't keep up with it).
This evening was really special, as Christian and I went to the opera. We saw The Marriage of Figaro, performed in English and set in early thirties. It's my first Mozart, as well as my first opera by librettist Lorenzo da Ponte, which really brings great joy to my heart. I had read a biography of da Ponte a few months ago, and now I am really able to appreciate his lyrics and prodigious talent (poor fellow has been too long overshadowed by our dear Mozart!).
The opera was entertaining, and yet I had the darnest time keeping my eyes open throughout its entirety; this jetlag is too much! Figaro was followed by dinner, and then another rather American-seeming pub in Soho. I finished up the night by a long ride on a double-decker bus back to Hackney, where I am staying with Ping and David (who, by the way, is my new hero, as I just found out that he is a relative of the great, late Anne Boleyn.)
So, yes, once again, I love it here-- it's the old world, and it calls me. Somewhere deep down, I think my soul recognizes it as a place that quite possibly was once home... (Not to self: I really must do the geneaology on the Cole family so that we can truly see where we come from. Who knows? Maybe we, too, are related to the Boleyns, or Madonna. Oh right, she American-- that's a _fake_ British accent.)
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