Favorite Concerts & Performances in Europe

When it comes to concerts and performances, Europe is like a chocolate box brimming over with artsy flavors. Venues in every city and town showcase a wide range of musical styles, from classical to traditional to rock.

In addition to music concerts, you’ll find plenty of theater and dance performances, along with festivals and special events.

Gregg and I reminisce most often about the many wonderful performances we’ve enjoyed during our European travels. Some of our favorite memories are of performances we stumbled across, often as a result of chatting with locals and fellow travelers, noticing posters and flyers, and checking out “What’s On” pages on local websites.

Gregg and I reflected in the ultra-modern façade of the Paris Philharmonie

Overview

While I’m always open to serendipity when it comes to choosing performances and concerts, I also believe in planning ahead. I suggest that as soon as you know the dates of your trip, go online and search for concerts, performances, festivals and other live events that will be on while you’re traveling.

A search for “musicals in London”, “classical concerts in Paris”, or “dance performances, Seville” should yield good results. You can also use generic searches such as “what’s on in Berlin” or “concerts in Vienna” and then narrow down the choices to focus on the music genres that interest you.

In this post, I share some of the memorable concerts and performances we’ve enjoyed, listed by city.

Amsterdam

One of Europe’s most beautiful concert halls is Amsterdam’s Concertgebouw, located across from the Museumplein. Free lunchtime concerts are held on Wednesdays in the small concert hall adjacent to the main hall.

On a recent visit to Amsterdam, we enjoyed a lively performance by two vibraphonists. Check the website to find out what’s on when you’re in Amsterdam. You’ll join locals and very few other tourists for a marvelous (and free!) musical experience.

Exterior of the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam, a great place to see concerts and performances in Europe
The Concertgebouw in Amsterdam

Barcelona

The Ópera y Flamenco performance at the astonishingly exquisite Palau de la Música Catalana is not to be missed. Even if Ópera y Flamenco is not playing when you’re visiting Barcelona, check out the Palau de la Música Catalana website to see what’s on and, if possible, get tickets. A visit to the Palau de la Música will quite simply blow your mind!

The magnificent stained glass at the Palau de la Música Catalana

Built between 1905 and 1908 by the modernist architect Lluís Domènech i Montaner, the Palau de la Música Catalana is designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. If you can’t get tickets to a performance, you can still take a tour of the building.

Berlin

If you’re a classical music fan, check out what’s on at the impressive home of the Berlin Philharmonic (Berlin Philharmoniker). The building itself is fabulous with wonderful acoustics and worth touring even if you can’t see a concert there. We enjoyed an awe-inspiring performance of Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring performed by the Deutsches Symphonie-Orchester Berlin.

Exterior of the Berlin Philharmonic, a stunning venue for  concerts and performances in Europe
The Berlin Philharmoniker

Check out the concert calendar and buy tickets from the Berlin Philharmoniker website.

Cologne

While we usually book tickets well in advance, we’re always open to attending concerts on the spur of the moment. One such memorable concert was at the Kölner Philharmonie, a magnificent concert hall a stone’s throw from Cologne’s famous cathedral and in the same complex as the wonderful Ludwig Museum.

We had just finished visiting the Romano-Germanic-Museum (a must-see!) and were walking past the Kölner Philharmonie when we noticed a poster for the evening’s concert. The programme appealed to us and so we inquired at the box office about tickets. The very friendly, English-speaking attendant told us that tickets were available and at a price we considered incredibly reasonable, at least compared to what we were accustomed to paying in Vancouver.

Two hours later, we took our seats in one of the most dazzling modern concert halls I’d ever been in. Built in 1986, the Kölner Philharmonie is constructed like an amphitheatre and provides near-perfect acoustics. Even the size and padding of the seats have been selected to ensure constant acoustics regardless of whether the seat is occupied.

Check the Kölner Philharmonie website to see what’s on.

Leipzig

Marvelous Leipzig is a must-visit for classical music lovers, particularly if you adore (like I do!) the music of Johann Sebastian Bach. Read my post about our visit to the Bach Museum (I still swoon when I think of it!).

While in Leipzig, we attended a wonderful concert at the famed Gewandhaus where the young Clara Wieck (who became Clara Schumann and the inspiration for my second novel, A Woman of Note) debuted as a solo pianist in 1828. Many other famous musicians have played at Gewandhaus and for that reason I was curious to see a performance there.

Exterior of the Gewandhaus concert venue in Leipzig, Germany, a stunning venue for  concerts and performances in Europe
Gewandhaus concert hall in Leipzig, Germany

The ultra-modern Gewandhaus concert hall is nothing like the venue Clara played in, and is, in fact, the third concert hall to bear the name Gewandhaus, the first being built in 1781, the second in 1884 (designed by famed architect Martin Gropius), and the current hall in 1981.

We snagged tickets to a solo piano concert of music by Mozart and Chopin. What a treat, and, at less than $30CDN per ticket, probably the best value for a concert I’ve ever enjoyed. At the interval, we thought the concert was over. The pianist had played for so long that we couldn’t imagine he’d be able to perform any longer. As we prepared to leave, a local woman came up to us and told us in careful English that it was only the break and that we needed to stay for the second half. Gratefully, we returned to the concert hall to enjoy another ninety minutes of jaw-dropping music performed by the very hard-working pianist.

Check the Gewandhaus website to see what’s on.

Lisbon

When you’re visiting Lisbon, make time for a fado performance (or two). We favor the smaller clubs with intimate performances over the more touristy offerings.

A fado guitar; see fado performances while traveling in Portugal

Our favorite place for fado in Lisbon is Restaurante Canto do Camões on Travessa da Espera in the Bairro Alto. It’s low-key, with a friendly owner, good food, reasonable prices, and lots of fado. When we were there, singers dropped in, performed a few songs designed to rip our hearts out, collected a few euros from the proprietor, and then left, presumably to go sing in another place. Sadly, Restaurante Canto do Camões is now closed permanently; however, you’ll find other small restaurants that feature fado in the Bairro Alto and the Alfama.

You can also see fado performances in Porto and Coimbra. In Porto, we loved the performance at the Casa da Guitarra, which also included a glass of port. In Coimbra, fado is only sung by men. We saw a troupe of men who sing wearing traditional costumes at À Capella, a 14th-century chapel that includes a bar and tapas with the live fado serenades.

Skyline of Coimbra in Portugal, a great place to hear fado
Coimbra is a charming town and a great place to enjoy fado

London

The first thing I do after booking a trip to London is check out what’s playing in the West End and what’s on at the National Theater and the Globe. I’ve enjoyed so many memorable performances in London, starting in the 1970s when I was a student at Reading University, a 40-minute train ride from the bright lights of the West End. In those days, performances in London were so reasonably priced that even a student could afford them! Even now, I find that prices for musicals in the West End are far below what I’ve paid in New York.

View of a street in London's busy west end theater district; visit London to see plenty of awesome concerts and performances while traveling in Europe.
London’s busy West End has plenty of great theaters

Go to the London Theatre website, see what’s on and get tickets well in advance. You can also take your chances during your trip and purchase last-minute tickets, often at a reduced rate. However, I don’t recommend doing this for a performance that you really want to see.

But if you are flexible and open to seeing what’s playing, you could well get lucky. On a trip to London in 2018, I got a ticket for Mamma Mia on the day of the performance for just 40 GBP.

Before going to the theater, enjoy an early dinner at one of the many restaurants in the West End advertising pre-theatre menus.

And while planning your entertainment options in London, don’t forget to check out what’s on at venues such as the Albert Hall and the Barbican Centre. Another option is the lunchtime and evening concerts at the achingly lovely St Martin-in-the-Fields near Trafalgar Square.

Exterior of Saint Martins-in-the-Fields in London, a venue for classical music concerts
Saint Martins-in-the-Fields next to Trafalgar Square in London hosts classical music concerts

Paris

We love going to concerts in Paris. Spectacular venues such as the Opéra Bastille, the Paris Philharmonie and Sainte-Chapelle enhance the musical experiences, and the quality of the performances is always first-rate. Here are just a few of the venues to check out, particularly if you are a classical music lover.

Opéra Bastille

Seeing an opera in Paris is definitely a cool experience, and one that we hope to repeat as restrictions continue to lift. One of our most memorable opera experiences was seeing Götterdämmerung at the Opéra Bastille. Talk about mind-exploding!

Exterior of the Opera Bastille in Paris, a stunning venue for concerts and performances in Europe
Opéra Bastille in Paris

The Opéra national de Paris presents operas at two venues—the ultra chic and modern Opéra Bastille and the sumptuously decorated and historic Opéra Garnier. Check the website for the Opéra national de Paris.

Paris Philharmonie

The Philharmonie de Paris is just breathtaking! Located in Parc de la Villette in the northeast of Paris, the Philharmonie is a complex of buildings that also house exhibition spaces and rehearsal rooms. We attended a performance in the symphonic concert hall—a 2,400-seat über-modern venue designed by Jean Nouvel and opened in January 2015. It was a stunning experience.

Interior of the Paris Philharmonie

Check the website for upcoming performances and events.

Piano Concerts at Église Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre

Located just across the Seine from Notre-Dame Cathedral in the 5th arrondissement, the Église Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre is one of the oldest churches in Paris. Concerts featuring either solo piano or duos (e.g., violin and piano or cello and piano) are frequently held there—and they are well worth attending. We’ve been to several. Tickets are reasonably priced, the venue is deliciously ancient and atmospheric, and the quality of the playing is first-rate.

Exterior of Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre in the 5th arrondisement in Paris, across the Seine from Notre-Dame Cathedral. The church is a lovely venue for concerts and performances in Europe.
Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre is just across the Seine from Notre-Dame Cathedral

Check the website for upcoming concerts and keep an eye out for posters in the area (that’s how we discovered what was on).

Sainte-Chapelle Concerts

Fancy spending an hour or two staring up at sublimely beautiful stained glass supported by impossibly slender columns while listening to sublimely beautiful classical music? Then check out the website for Sainte-Chapelle’s concerts and purchase tickets for a performance. You won’t be disappointed!

Imagine listening to music surrounded by this view!

We’ve enjoyed several concerts at Sainte-Chapelle and have always been transported into ever higher planes of awesomeness. A favorite evening out is to enjoy the performance at 7 pm and then to wander starry-eyed through the cobbled streets of Île de la Cité to Île Saint-Louis and dine at one of the many small bistros in the area. Artsy traveling doesn’t get much better!

Seville

We’re firm fans of flamenco. See my post describing the flamenco performance we enjoyed on our first visit to Seville. In Seville, you can see flamenco at several venues. I recommend two.

A flamenco dancer dressed in red; a flamenco performance is not to be missed while traveling in Seville, Spain
A flamenco performance will captivate you!

Flamenco Museum

From the website, purchase the combo ticket that includes the museum and a late afternoon flamenco performance that will leave you breathless.

Los Gallos

Situated in a charming little courtyard in the heart of Seville, Los Gallos is an intimate venue with world-class talent. Sip the Sangria included in the ticket price and prepare to be blasted into the stratosphere.

Stratford-upon-Avon

Every time I visit England, I do my best to squeeze in a trip to Stratford-upon-Avon to see a performance by the Royal Shakespeare Company. I have been fortunate to see many wondrous performances there, including productions of Romeo and Juliet and Hamlet that both starred the incomparable David Tennant.

Exteior of the main theatre in Stratford-upon-Avon, one of the world's most famous venues for theater performances in Europe
Main theatre at Stratford-upon-Avon

When I was a student at Reading University, a two-hour drive southeast of Stratford-upon-Avon, I frequently made the trek to see a performance. I was studying for a degree in English Literature so taking in as many Shakespeare productions as possible was almost mandatory.

You can see Shakespeare productions at the Globe in London and the experience is highly recommended. However, I must admit that I prefer the productions at Stratford-upon-Avon. The seating is more comfortable, and the quality is top-notch. I liken seeing a production by the Royal Shakespeare Company as the auditory equivalent of looking at high-quality cut crystal. Every word and gesture is crisp and perfect.

When you go up to Stratford-upon-Avon to slake your Shakespeare yen, you also get the bonus of having time to wander the charming streets of Stratford. Sure, it’s a bit touristy, but so what? I love touring Shakespeare’s birthplace, paying my respects at his grave in the church, and watching the swans glide by on the River Avon.

Exterior of Shakespeare's home in Stratford-upon-Avon in England
Shakespeare’s birthplace in Stratford-upon-Avon

In August 2022, I’ll be visiting Stratford-upon-Avon again, this time to catch a performance of Richard III. Although admittedly not my favorite of Shakespeare’s History plays, I know I’ll see a production to remember.

Visit the RSC’s website for details about upcoming productions in Stratford-upon-Avon and London.

Venice

On one visit to Venice, we were strolling through the quiet streets after dark when we noticed a young man dressed in 18th-century garb and carrying a violin case hurry past. We caught up to him and asked if he was a musician. He told us he was on his way to play a concert of 17th- and 18th-century music in a church. Did we like music like that?

Is Vivaldi Venetian?

Yes!

We followed him to the church and half an hour later were sitting beneath a mural painted by Titian and listening to a selection of Venetian classical music favorites. Bliss! The orchestra was clad in 18th-century garb and the performance was obviously aimed at tourists, but that didn’t affect the quality of the musicianship or the depth of our enjoyment.

A mask and violin representing music in Venice, a place with many venues for concerts and performances
Hearing Baroque music in Venice just makes sense!

After the concert, we floated out into a warm evening to find ourselves moments later at the edge of the Grand Canal. A barge filled with another group of musicians in period dress slid past, the music wafting through the balmy air like the rustling of silk stockings.

Magical!

In Venice, several venues feature classical music concerts. Check out the Music in Venice website for programs and dates.

Verona

The Arena di Verona, the Roman amphitheatre in Verona, Italy, periodically presents operas to hundreds of fans who are mostly perched on the edge of very hard, very ancient Roman stone steps. We know because several years ago, we were such fans. To read about an evening that has become synonymous with disaster in our family, check out Meltdown in Verona.

Our experience aside, attending a performance at the Roman arena in Verona could be the magical experience we’d expected. The detailed RM Europa Tickets website contains information about all the opera festivals in Europe in 2022. You’ll find opera festivals in almost all European countries, along with a detailed list of venues and schedules, including the Arena di Verona.

The Arena di Verona, a venue for grand operas and other concerts and performances in Italy
Arena di Verona

Vienna

You can’t walk two feet in Vienna’s Stephansplatz without tripping over a bewigged young person trying to sell you tickets to a performance of Strauss, Mozart, or both. Vienna has several venues featuring tourist-oriented shows designed to showcase the oldie goldies of several of its most famous composers, particularly Johann Strauss.

The last time I visited Vienna, traveling solo, I attended a delightful string quartet concert at the gorgeous Sala Terrena, an intimate and heavily decorated venue in the center of the city. Mozart allegedly lived in the building in which the Sala Terrena is housed when he first came to Vienna as a young man. While you wait for the concert to begin, feast your eyes on the riotous Baroque frescoes and look out especially for the leopard! For more about my experience at the Sala Terrena concert, check out my post on Music in Vienna.

Interior of the Sala Terrena in Vienna, a charming venue for classical concerts and performances
Some of the frescoes at the Sala Terrena in Vienna

On the same trip to Vienna, I took the tram and then a bus out to Schloss Laudon (Water Palace) in the bucolic countryside surrounding Vienna to attend a concert that was part of the five-day Schloss Laudon festival. I discovered the festival while planning my trip to Vienna and was very glad I managed to snag a ticket for a performance that featured an early Beethoven piano trio in the style of Haydn and a marvelous rendition of Tchaikovsky’s piano trio.

Hamburg

In Hamburg, get tickets to see a performance at the ultra-modern Elbphilharmonie, one of the world’s most stunning concert halls.

Conclusion

Before you travel, check websites for venues and performance times and budget as much money as you can spare for live entertainment. You’ll be making memories that last a lifetime.

And keep a lookout for local folk performances that are often free, with some even encouraging participation. You’ll typically find these advertised in flyers and on posters. Watch a flag-waving demonstration by young people dressed in medieval garb in Siena, dance the Sardana in front of Barcelona Cathedral along with hundreds of locals and tourists, watch a concert featuring ancient instruments in a tiny chapel in Les Baux de Provence, and more!

Keep your eyes and ears open; you never know what’s around the next corner.

Statue featuring several figures dancing the Sardana, a traditional dance in Barcelona, Spain
Statue commemorating the Sardana in Barcelona

Have you attended concerts while traveling in Europe? Share your experiences and recommendations in the Comments below. Here are some more posts that feature information about concert-going in Europe:

Meltdown in Verona

Meltdown in Verona is included in Pastel & Pen: Travels in Europe, a non-collaborative collaboration between Gregg Simpson and me. Gregg supplies the artwork, and I write the stories. I wrote this piece after one of the most fraught afternoons and evenings in my family’s travel history. Many years later, we can laugh about it, but at the time, our “Meltdown in Verona” threatened to tear us apart.

Two households, both alike in dignity / In fair Verona where we lay our scene.Romeo & Juliet, William Shakespeare

Almost encircled by a river, its buildings low and ancient, Verona looked as it had looked when Romeo rode hence to Mantua, when Juliet’s funeral procession snaked through the city gates, when the Montague boys crashed the Capulet banquet.

Fair Verona.

Yes, indeed it was. The tops of its brown weathered buildings shone warmly in the afternoon sun, a slight haze rose from the river, and a pale blue sky straight out of a Renaissance painting arched high overhead.

Several months earlier, an Internet search revealed that the Roman arena in Verona hosted an opera series. Although life-long music lovers, my husband, Gregg, and I had only recently discovered opera after attending a performance of Verdi’s La Traviata in an indoor theater with comfy seats and decent acoustics.

Imagine how much better, how much more authentic it would be to see a real opera performed in a real Roman amphitheater in a real Italian town! Could cultural tourism get any better?

I penetrated the clunky online ordering system and snagged the cheapest tickets for seats on unnumbered 2,000-year-old concrete steps. All that remained was to announce to friends who loved classical music that we were seeing Aida in the Roman arena at Verona and then to sit back and watch them turn green with envy.

At noon on a hot day in August, we drove into Verona and checked into our hotel. The opera wouldn’t start for nine hours, so our first stop had to be Juliet’s house. Juliet Capulet, that is. Her house, complete with balcony, gift shop, and statue with one bare breast glistening in the summer sun (don’t ask), must rank alongside the Green Gables of Anne fame on Canada’s Prince Edward Island as one of the most absurd, but lucrative, tourist attractions on Earth.

Romeo and Juliet had been my favorite play since I was a young teen like my daughter, and now it was hers. Gregg stayed behind at the hotel to watch the final hours of the Tour de France, and Julia and I set off for the Casa di Giulietta. Once there, we cheerfully handed over the entrance fee to visit a house belonging to a fictional character who, by definition, was a figment of someone’s imagination—a paper girl brought to life by a guy with a better than average knack for poetry.

Soon, we were climbing the stairs to the famous balcony and waiting while people took turns throwing out their O Romeo, Romeos. When our turn came, we stepped out onto the balcony and into the blinding flash of a camera.

The photographer gesticulated at me to nod, wave, and/or otherwise acknowledge that I’d buy the picture he’d taken. I decided to play it cool. Maybe, just maybe, I’d buy it, but I wasn’t letting him know that. No, Signor. If the picture flattered my good side, I’d consider parting with the cash. Otherwise, ciao baby.

I shrugged and turned away.

We wandered at leisure through the bare rooms of Juliet’s house. The brochure said that the house was genuinely old and had, allegedly, belonged to the Capello family who were the prototypes for the Capulets. There was also evidence that the building had served as a brothel, although the brochure didn’t indicate what evidence.

We descended to the courtyard and approached the photographer. By this time, we’d realized that the photos taken of people on Juliet’s balcony were printed onto white china mugs. Now there was a souvenir worth flying ten hours in cargo class to get. We loved tacky souvenirs on principle, and this was a souvenir that put the tack in tacky.

In vain, I searched for “our” mug, but alas, ‘twas not to be. When I asked the photographer, he looked surprised.

“I didn’t think you wanted it!”

Since I doubt that I’ll ever again stand on Ms. Capulet’s balcony, I must live my life to its conclusion unaccompanied by the photographic proof of my presence in Verona on that sultry afternoon in August.

Our visit to Verona that had started with such promise thus began a slow crawl to its ultimate destiny as a synonym for disaster in my family’s collective memory.

I soon cheered myself up with a bright idea. Why not walk over to the Roman arena and pick up our tickets for the opera? We could then return to the hotel, pick up Gregg, and enjoy a leisurely dinner at a quaint Veronese trattoria without needing to worry about queuing. Since it was 4 pm and the performance didn’t start until 9:15, the arena area would be deserted.

We arrived at the arena to find hundreds of people, most armed with cushions and newspapers, already stationed outside the various entrances. Fear twisted my stomach. We didn’t have numbered seats, which meant that we had to get in line right away or else …

After circumnavigating the arena (and it’s a big one), we found the ticket area. Not having anticipated that I’d be picking up the tickets early, I didn’t have my confirmation number.

“I need the number, Signora.”

“It’s at the hotel. But look, here’s the Visa I used to book the tickets.”

Grave headshakes, multiple keys pressed on the computer, soulful murmurings in rapid Italian.

“Please! People are already starting to line up!”

More key pressing, more murmurings, then a sharp intake of breath. It wasn’t looking good. The attendant squinted at me. “Name?”

I resisted the urge to tell her it was printed on the Visa and instead meekly spelled it out for her—all four letters.

Grimacing, she shook her head as if I’d gotten it wrong. I spelled it again.

A flurry of key pressing, murmurings rising in volume, another headshake.

“Please!”

Finally, with a sigh audible to everyone shuffling impatiently in the queue behind me, the attendant passed the tickets through the wicket and into my sweating palms.

“Where should we go?” I asked.

“Right now, go to entrance 65.”

“But my husband is at the hotel!”

“Get him right away,” she barked, as if I were short a few brain cells, which, as events transpired, was not an unreasonable assumption. “You must line up now to get a good seat.”

“Now?”

Si. Don’t wait another minute!”

Oh. My. God.

Clutching $150 worth of unnumbered seats on 2,000-year-old arena steps in one hand and Julia in the other, I hailed a taxi. I could see the crowds around the arena expanding exponentially. By the time we returned, who knew how far back in line we’d be? Would we see anything at all?

We found Gregg lounging happily on the bed in the air-conditioned hotel room watching Tour de France cyclists roar down the Champs-Élysées toward victory.

“We’ve got to go right now!”

“What?”

Now! The lady at the ticket booth said we needed to line up.”

“It’s not even 5 o’clock. And I’m watching the Tour de France!”

“We don’t have time! We have got to get in line! We can take turns going out for food.”

You’d have thought we were rushing to catch the last flight out before the Revolution.

With what seemed like agonizing slowness, Gregg got himself ready for the Great Experience to come. While his mood was not what I’d call enthusiastic, he was nevertheless moving. After all, we’d anticipated this evening for months. I knew he was as excited as I was to see a real opera in a real Roman arena in a real Italian town.

Less than an hour after I’d left the ticket booth and with the attendant’s exhortations sending poisoned darts into my brain, we arrived back at the arena. I led my family to Gate 65.

You have to visualize a Roman arena and its placement with relation to the pavement to understand the situation in which we found ourselves. Over the centuries, the base of the arena had sunk while the pavement had risen with the accumulated debris of the ages. Gregg peered over the railing into the ten-foot-deep trough.

“It looks like the pit of hell!”

“The ticket lady said we must get in line now.

“I’m not spending the next four hours down there.”

“But…”

“Are you crazy?”

I looked down at the tops of heads bent over newspapers or chatting volubly with neighbors. The noise level would make a soprano wince, the temperature had to be in the mid-forties Celsius, and the space between bodies was a few inches at best. I tried to imagine standing down there with nothing to do, nothing to read, and nothing to eat for the next four hours.

Perhaps Gregg had a point.

“How about I get in line while you and Julia get something to eat?”

“That’ll take all of an hour and then what?”

“Well, you and Julia can get in line and I’ll get something to eat. We can take turns!”

Even to my ears, my Mister Rogers jollity sounded forced. To Gregg, it sounded insane.

What followed was not pretty and not for repeating. For the next four hours, the argument raged and cooled, flared, calmed, and raged again fanned by hunger and frustration until every hidden pocket of our relationship lay bare and exposed. After a month in Europe with barely a cross word, the strain had become too much. In one not-so-glorious eruption, we made up for it—and then some.

But as all arguments eventually do, ours petered out and with grim determination, we resolved to see the opera—and to enjoy it.

We staggered back to the arena to find that only the very worst of the cheap seats were still available. No matter. We’d paid for them and now fought for them and we were damn well going to love them.

After forking out the equivalent of $15 to rent three rock-hard cushions, we climbed and climbed and climbed up, up, up to the very brink of Roman heaven to find a meter’s worth of space ten rows from the top. While we were not exactly behind the stage, we had what could best be described as a sideways backside view.

A food vendor sold us drinks and desiccated ham sandwiches, and a libretto vendor sold us Aida Cliff notes packaged in a hot pink booklet with all the words in English, Italian, German, Dutch, and French. I settled down to read the synopsis. For those who don’t know, the gist of the opera is that Aida, a slave girl in ancient Egypt, falls in love and ends up willingly burying herself alive with her lover.

And we thought our relationship had its rough spots.

As the sky darkened to deep indigo, people-squashers (seriously) waded into the crowd and directed latecomers into two-inch wide spaces, exhorting the rest of us to squeeze together. At one point, a portly German tourist fell on top of Gregg and would have bounced all the way to the bottom of the arena if Gregg hadn’t grabbed his arm and hauled him upright.

Over the course of the final twenty minutes, a voice who spoke five languages informed us that the performance would begin in twenty minutes, fifteen minutes, ten minutes, five minutes, two minutes, one minute. The orchestra struck chords, the stage lights snapped off, and the entire arena burst into flame.

Almost every member of the 20,000-plus audience set fire to the wick of a birthday candle and then held it carefully aloft so the wax wouldn’t drip down the necks of the people in front. I didn’t want to appear rude by looking behind me, but the back of my neck prickled in anticipation.

The effect of so many thousands of candles flickering in the soft evening breeze was breathtaking. For a few moments, I felt transported. Here was a lifetime experience, one to share forever at dinner parties, to cherish with secret contented smiles in the years ahead. I looked over at Gregg and grinned, our argument forgotten in the magic of the moment.

And then the music began. At least I think it did. Aida, minuscule in a gold lamé halter top (I’m not kidding), appeared on stage, and we heard a thin stream of high notes and the faint whirring of violins. I strained forward and tried to look entranced.

The opera progressed as operas do. One person sang, another person sang, they sang together, one person stomped off, another entered, etc. Every so often, chorus members clad in floor-length blue and silver robes and with faces caked in bright blue makeup drifted on to the stage and sang.

The production designer was obviously heavily influenced by mid-1970s Olympics opening ceremonies. 

At one point, several cast members leapt into canoes and paddled across a pool of water. Canoes? In Italy? Our Canadian souls appreciated the gesture, but really? Meanwhile, other cast members cavorted up and down the stage waving what looked like giant wedges of aluminum foil. I couldn’t quite get the connection with ancient Egypt, but I’m not too sophisticated in these matters.

Occasionally, the acoustics improved, and we’d hear a snippet of an aria. At this point, the two women behind us started singing. Now, I have no objection to anyone expressing themselves in their own country and in their own language, but it’s difficult to retain benevolence for people who drown out the professionals with voices that, to be charitable, were really, really bad.

Who knew that outdoor opera in Italy was a participation sport? It was sort of like soccer without the sweat.

By the end of the first act, our cramped muscles and concrete-hardened butts were screaming.

“My back’s really sore!” Gregg moaned.

“I know,” I replied tightly. “Let’s go.”

“Really?” Julia looked up from the libretto. “I like it!”

Now, there was a surprise. Despite our best efforts, Julia had resisted the lure of classical music, and opera in particular. She’d consented, grudgingly, to see Aida but had vowed not to enjoy it, yet here she was asking to stay while we could hardly wait to leave. I wavered for a few seconds, not wanting to nip this new-found interest in the bud.

But then I looked at the agonized set of Gregg’s jaw. He had a pathological hatred of crowds and, as a very tall person, dreaded being cramped.

It was time—finally—to admit defeat.

We stood up and began to edge along the row.

Scusi, scusi, oh, sorry, pardon me, scusi, ouch, sorry, scusi, prego, scusi …”

The row went on forever. I trampled toes, elicited angry gasps, felt my face burn with embarrassment. We got to the end of the row only to find…nothing. There was no way out. No aisle. Nothing. Just row upon row upon row of tightly packed opera lovers all watching the stage.

The stage? Oh no! The lights came up and the performance began again. What we thought had been the start of intermission had only been a two-minute pause.

Scusi, scusi, oh, sorry, pardon me, scusi, ouch, sorry, scusi, prego, scusi …”

We reached our cushions and sank down to the accompaniment of various disapproving clucks and whispered Italian curses.

Act II was excruciating, but at least it ended with the famous triumphal march loud enough to drown out the singing women behind us. The lights went up and the five-language voice promised a 30-minute intermission. From out of nowhere emerged coolers, wine glasses, and even little tablecloths as audience members settled down for a good half-time opera supper.

We resolved on escape. But to do so, we’d have to step in the tiny gaps between people from row to row in a near vertical descent.

Scusi, scusi, oh, sorry, pardon me, scusi, ouch, sorry, scusi, prego, scusi …”

One English woman seated next to a side railing that we—and others before us—had decided denoted a thoroughfare, hit her breaking point just as I reached her. As I gently tried to squeeze between her and the railing, she shifted her considerable bulk and left me with two equally dire choices.

I could stand still and never see my family again or I could step on the woman’s thigh. I chose the latter.

“Do you mind?” she squawked.

And then she punched me. Hard. The woman could have tried out for England’s national boxing team—heavyweight division.

“I’m doing my best!” I wailed, as my other foot landed on her ankle. I heard bone crunch and then I was free and running, expecting at any moment to be tackled to the dirt. I rounded the corner into the stairwell and almost collided with an attendant. He motioned toward my hand with his stamp. “Returning?”

He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.

Outside in the cool, uncrowded evening air, we walked past an open tent being used as a dressing room for the male chorus. Most of the men were naked except for tight blue leotards stripped to the waist and in some cases knees and leaving nothing to the imagination.

Cigarettes hung from bright blue faces, bare bottoms and sweat-slicked thighs glinted in the dusk, eyes stared with gloomy resignation.

Gregg wrapped one arm around my shoulders, I took Julia’s hand, and together we walked away from the arena and into the floodlit streets of fair Verona.

Fin de Tour de France by Gregg Simpson

About the artwork: Gregg had just finished creating Fin du Tour de France when Julia and I burst into the hotel room and dragged him out to the Verona arena and the start of an evening that became a family legend—and not in a good way, although we laugh about it now. The pastel celebrates the race to the finish line on the Champs-Élysées in Paris, French flags flying.

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Pastel & Pen: Travels in Europe for more of my stories inspired by travels in Europe and by the pastel drawings created by Gregg Simpson.