Until late August, I had never attended an opera in my life. And I may never attend another. Because the one and only opera I saw was here.
The Verona Arena. A Roman amphitheater that’s been around since, oh, 30 A.D.
Only a handful of shows are produced at this mini-Colosseum in the summer, and my wife (who also had never been to an opera) had the foresight to score two great tickets ahead of our vacation.
The show, appropriate to Verona, was “Romèo et Juliette.” So even though we were unfamiliar with opera, and really didn’t understand what they were singing, we knew the story. And even if we weren’t, who cared? We were in this ages-old setting, under the stars, watching this spectacle.
Romeo was wearing leather pants on a very hot August night.
That, my friends, is suffering for your art.