Review: Lucia di Lammermoor

I’m so grateful to live the life I do. There’s always something happening. I had something scheduled for every evening this week, including a film screening of The Master and Margarita and a candlelight concert of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, featuring ballet. The former was absolutely brilliant, taking creative license with Bulgakov’s novel to weave his lived reality into the fantastical narrative, but doing so in a way that feels as relevant today as it did in the 1930s. The latter was less impressive, but was nonetheless enjoyable. But my point is that it was a saturated week, so I was looking forward to the weekend for a well-deserved break, but then a friend group chat lit up, “who’s up for opera on Sunday?”

And that’s how I ended up joining a massive group of Russians, most of whom I had never met before, for the final showing of Lucia di Lammermoor at Royal Opera House. Apparently, one of the girls likes to celebrate her birthday in style — treating herself, her friends, and friends-of-friends to a cultural experience. It’s a wonderful idea, one I am already considering co-opting for the future.

Although I’ve grown into quite the opera fan (if my annual Glyndebourne visits are anything to go by), I’m still not anywhere near to being an expert. In fact, while I’d heard of Gaetano Donizetti before, I was not familiar with any of his works. Lucia di Lammermoor is based on Sir Walter Scott’s The Bride of Lammermoor, and despite all the Italian-sounding names and the Italian libretto is actually set in Scotland. It’s a tragic tale of a woman again getting the blame for everything and only being vindicated upon her death.

The storyline seemed like a fairly standard 19th century doomed romance, but Lucia’s eventual murder of her new husband on their wedding night somehow reminded me of Machinal, though, of course, the settings and storylines were completely different. Perhaps it was the parallel of one last gasp attempt to reclaim agency — before, inevitably, succumbing to madness. The singer in the role of Lucia, Liv Redpath, conveyed her complexity of character with such grace, and had an absolutely marvellous voice to match. But my favourite — as well as the audience’s favourite, judging by the reactions — was Xabier Anduaga as Edgardo. His last aria brought me to tears.

Reflecting with a few of the other opera goers after the performance, we realised we aren’t too familiar with the stars of modern opera. I’ve heard, of course, of Freddie de Tommaso, though I’m still not sure I’ve ever seen him perform (I was meant to, but I think there was a last minute casting change). Beyond him, I don’t know anyone else, but I would definitely place Xabier Anduaga among the rising talents. I may not know the judgment criteria of the most established opera critics, but I do know that I could feel his voice deep in my soul. Hopefully I’ll have more opportunities to catch him on stage.

Lucia di Lammermoor finished its run at Royal Opera House on 18 May.

Review: Kitty Yoga

I’ve long dreamed of attending a kitty yoga session. After all, it combines two of my favourite things. Finally, thanks to a gift from my husband, I finally got the chance to spend an hour amongst twelve week old British blue shorthair kittens this past Sunday.

And, well, it wasn’t quite what I’d imagined.

We were a group of twelve, and dispersed between the yoga mats were all sort of kitten toys, scratch posts, and baskets. I didn’t count, but I think there were seven kittens. They were running around and playing, not paying much mind to this group of strangers that had just come in.

As we were about to begin the yoga portion of our “experience”, a latecomer appeared at the door, disregarded the fact that everyone was starting the exercises, immediately grabbed a kitten, then dropped the kitten from a significant height. I was shocked — she wasn’t treating the kittens as living, breathing beings, but only as decoration.

It annoyed the instructor, too. She went through the rules of participation, stressing that we must treat the kittens with care. We then started a gentle, short session — a few stretches and a few breathing exercises.

The kittens’ breeder walked around the room with a laser pointer, encouraging the kittens to climb all over us. While it was definitely cute, it also felt a bit exploitative. She later told me that it’s not demanding on the kittens — they do it every weekend for 2-3 hours, but just for a month.

Somewhat unexpectedly, I really enjoyed the yoga portion of the experience. It wasn’t strenuous at all, but it was just what I needed — a reminder that my body requires regular stretching. In other words, my main takeaway is that I need to do more yoga. Probably minus the kittens.

Travels through Albania: Berat, Sarande, Durres

I’ve wanted to go to Albania for a long time. Mostly to the mountains, if I’m honest, but since this bank holiday weekend getaway was a family trip and the majority wanted to go to the seaside, I reconciled with the fact that I’d visit the mountains some other time. Even without the (northern) mountains, the trip was a lovely taster of what Albania has to offer and, I must say, I’m impressed.

We squeezed in quite a lot for the three days we were there. As soon as we arrived to Tirana, we picked up our rental car — the rental cars are all very fancy — and drove to Dajti for the view. The weather wasn’t ideal for this activity, because it was foggy and raining and therefore the view was mostly a white cloud, but the food and atmosphere at Ballkoni Dajtit more than made up for it.

On the way down from the mountain, the fog cleared up and we stopped for pictures. A friendly Turkish guy who’d recently moved to Tirana to be with his Albanian girlfriend struck up a conversation, and as the girlfriend works at one of the ministries, I guess I can now say I know someone in the Albanian government. You never know when that might come in handy.

Our next stop was Berat to check out the city’s Ottoman-era buildings. We saw the famed castle, built in the thirteenth century by the Byzantines, from below, but didn’t have enough time to climb up — it’s a good thing, too, because after a short walk by the river, the rain started pouring down and we barely managed to stay dry by running to the car.

The sun had started to set by the time we left, and the rest of the mountainous journey down south to Sarande was mostly in the dark. By the time we arrived at our hotel, it was very late and I immediately went to sleep, leaving exploration for the morning. Sarande is a typical seaside town — full of cars and full of people. The beaches are quite rocky, but the sea is a lovely colour. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem that the local Albanians or the foreign visitors respect nature, because there was rubbish absolutely everywhere. I hope this will soon change.

After breakfast the next morning, we drove to Butrint, a settlement initially founded by the Greeks in the seventh century BC and later controlled by the Romans, Byzantines, and Ottomans. Their influence is visible in the many ruins, but the most striking element of Butrint is the surrounding nature and visible wildlife. There’s even turtles basking in the sun beside a Roman ampitheatre!

Unsurprisingly, everywhere we went in Albania referenced Ali Pasha, including, of course, Butrint. But what was interesting to me was the different discourses that even this one ancient city told about the ruler — one translation called him a tyrant, another heralded him as the “Balkan Bonaparte”. My only familiarity with Ali Pasha is references to him in The Count of Monte Cristo, so clearly I have a lot more reading to do.

After our visit, we drove to a nearby restaurant, where we encountered a strange Albanian custom — it seems everyone wants to tell you how to park. In the coming day, we encountered this phenomenon often. There was even an incident where a young woman was trying to park and the man behind her got out of his car, came up to her window, and ended up parking for her! Our hotel parking involved four or five employees standing around and shouting directions.

We spent the evening enjoying drinks by the promenade. The next morning, we were off yet again, this time to Durres, where we would spend the last night of our trip. On the way, we made a few stops — first to look around the Porto Palermo Castle (or Ali Pasha Fortress) and swim in the surrounding blue waters, then at a viewpoint overlooking the mountains and seaside, and finally at St Mary’s Monastery on Zvernec.

Climbing on the fortification offered a wonderful view of the sea and even the submarine bunker nearby. My brother-in-law is Albanian, and he shared the story of how, back in 1961, the Albanians stole four submarines from the Soviets. Not sure what ended up happening to them, but it seems like the Albanians still have them.

The monastery at Zvernec was probably my favourite of all the places we went and saw. We arrived closer to the evening, so the colours were absolutely stunning. It felt like a truly cultural experience, because the first people coming towards us on the pedestrian bridge connecting the island to the mainland were dressed in traditional outfits. The whole experience felt almost like a pilgrimage, and we left candles for the living and the dead at the tiny church.

Our stop for the night was Durres, so we drove the final stretch to the hotel, settled in, then ventured out again for a small evening meal. I didn’t have high expectations for Durres, as I’d been told it was a port city. While the traffic wasn’t great, the promenade and the city itself exceeded expectations, particularly the city’s Roman ampitheatre, which is the largest in the Balkans.

My feelings towards Albania are overwhelmingly positive. I definitely want to go back — and next time, I’m staying for longer than three days!