Double Petersburger: Seconds

Before I forget all the glorious details, I want to write about The Magic Flute. Yet again, my overwhelming impression was that theater is much more alive and experimental in Russia than in the United States. If I saw Magic Flute at the Met, it would probably be a fairly traditional production. Here, however, it was somehow both modernized and timeless. The costumes of the principals were very simple: good guys in white linen, bad guys in black metal and leather. Chorus members looked like peasants and sat right next to us around the stage. Most beautiful were all the inventive Asian elements sprinkled throughout the opera like so many scallions on a bowl of peanut butter noodles. The dragon was a huge shaggy Chinese New Year beast, who, at the curtain call, was revealed to be two fourteen-year old kids. Garlands of leaves were strung throughout the performance hall, and the actors did moved all over the space. The Queen of the Night looked like the villainess from some 1980s cartoon, all purple and gray. She has the best aria, but Papageno was a better performer. He totally stole the show, and even gave us an autograph afterward. Did I mention the opera was translated into Russian? It would have been nice, if we hadn't been so excited to practice our burgeoning German study...

That night we went to a funny club called Zhopa, which means "ass." It was the kind of place I would have loved when I was 17. There were tons of teenagers making out and the music was mostly 1990s American pop. I had dancing for about an hour, but somehow managed to stay there til nearly 4 a.m. That's why I feel so gross today, but I'm engaging the germs in total war.

Well dear readers (especially Jason's and Matt's parents), this will probably be the last post for a couple weeks. We are heading to Amsterdam in a few days, thence to Berlin, Prague and one morning in Austria. I'll write from Moscow (with love), if not before. Wish us safe travels and we shan't disappoint.

One love.