The Wandering Two…

“Milan is a true metropolis: strong and fearless but welcoming, too. Little by little, I came to realize that I could become someone here. “
– Giorgio Armani

Yankee Stadium is the towering cathedral of Baseball’s world. (I mention this to build a little perspective.)

More specifically, last night in Milan, we saw a production of Adriana Lecouveur at Teatro alla Scala. It is, well… the Yankee Stadium of Opera’s “world. (The performance was a “home run”, but I’ll cover that in a bit.)

Our attendance represents a thwarted journey that reaches back about three years, just before the advent of global Covid. 

When the “plague” descended globally, no businesses (lodging, travel, entertainment) were prepared to deal with the avalanche of rescheduling, cancelations, or refunds.

As chaos spread, we employed charm, then diplomacy, or muscle to reclaim our expenditures from confused, or reluctant vendors. 

One venue proved to be troublesome. After repeated reversals, Teatro alla Scala (“yes, no, yes, maybe, we’ll see”), held firm to their “no exceptions” rule. 

Finally, I called the opera house ticket office and, after prolonged on-holds and disconnects, I reach a Box Office Agent.

I explained that we were barred from international travel by government mandates, and yes –  we understood that the tickets were non-refundable under normal circumstances. 

I’ll call this Agent “Renato”, because to deny him individual identity would be a disservice to this narrative. In exasperation, I describe our entire thread of misfortune. “Renato” melodiously (fill in Italian accent) proclaims to me (and all my descendants): “I am looking out of my window, and the sun is shining! People are walking everywhere, and everything is Ok! So…no refund!!!”

It might be constructive to add that at this historical moment, the epicenter of Covid was …Northern Italy. For the complete record, Capital One eventually intervened on our behalf.

Fast forward,…to this year’s journey, we once again attempt to purchase online tickets to La Scala. We delight that opera’s reigning Diva, Anna Netrebko, will be in the title role of Adriana Lecouveur!

I won’t bore you further with 3 days spent on 2 separate websites, attempting online access to this dream attraction. We, crushed by maddening Milanese internet circularity, resolve that our only hope to attend will be a last minute purchase at the Opera House on game day!

Just before our arrival, we learn that the Mayor of Milan has banned the Russian Netrebko from performing at La Scala because she didn’t condemn Putin’s Ukrainian gambit with sufficient vigor. (She actually lives in Vienna and NYC.)

Additionally, the Italian lead tenor for the production contracted Covid during opening night a few weeks before our scheduled date. Heroically, he finished his performance, albeit, hoarsely. 

The probability of landing a coveted ticket is now gaining in our favor – the company is down two Stars, and war is exploding in the East. 

Ok! We are now in Milan. Our modern “garret” apartment is just down a quiet backstreet from Teatro alla Scala. It is an hour before showtime and we have no excuse not to go over and finally make something happen!

After waiting in a short Box Office queue, we inquire if there are available tickets for tonight. The agent starts speaking in very distinct, accented English. We look at each other and laugh. It is unmistakably Renato behind the window! And, he has great tickets for us at a big discount!

We excitedly enter the grand mirrored lobby hung with crystal chandeliers. A subdued crowd in tuxedos, heirloom jewelry,(some sporting opulent lip enhancements), raise champagne flutes. These are our companions Saturday evening at La Scala. 

Our seats are terrific. We are surrounded by local gentry, Germans, French, Spanish, and a few ‘mericans. Rapt attention throughout. Even during the second act, no one dares to be dozing. 

The production is, after all travails, quite spectacular. Soaring arias and energized musicians animate a vast architectural set. Replacement voices rise to the challenge. The conductor beams triumphant in his debut here at La Scala!

Yes, somehow, …it all worked out. 

As they say in Baseball – we made it to the BIGS!

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All photos taken and edited on iPhone 13 Pro Max.

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“… Rome, it should be said, has not bothered to join the race for (civic) status. Rome doesn’t compete. Rome just watches all the fussing and striving, completely unfazed. I am inspired by the regal self-assurance of this city, so grounded and rounded, so amused and monumental, knowing she is held securely in the palm of history.”
—Elizabeth Gilbert, Author

Sciascia Caffe, in Rome’s blossoming Prati district, the “quieter” bank of the Tiber, highlights our enjoyment of returning to Italy. 

Our daily routine immerses us in this temple of Roman caffeinated culture – a respected institution “dal 1919”. 

Sciascia brings together everything we cherish in the Eternal City. Allow me to set the frame… 

Let’s start with product. Fragrant espresso, cappuccino, cafe latte, pressed “molto caldo” from chrome spigots by cheerful, energetic baristas, crisp in white shirts, black vests and ties. 

Sciascia’s signature touch is optional (required, really) melted, 85% chocolate, drizzled in the cup. Just enough to arouse rich coffee notes and creamy texture.

The worn counters and furnishings are aged oak; opaque mirrors reflect decades of use. Patrons stand at the bar downing shots of energy, passionately greeting neighbors, trading hourly-refreshed gossip.

The bustling service salon hums with discharging steam, hearty laughter, and distinctive C sharp clanging of porcelain cups arriving on saucers aligned on the counter.

Almost everywhere on bar tops, narrow glass panels hold enticing pastries, Cornetta (Italian croissants), biscotti, and bite-sized snacks.

Here’s the drill: Arrive with gusto, buy your coffee ticket, consume your demi-tasse, and off you go! Repeat every 2-3 hours!

At the entrance near the cashier’s birdcage, those choosing a more leisurely cadence can, for a surcharge, linger over conversation at tiny tables that now spill onto the sidewalk thanks to epidemic space planning. 

The queue for ordering and payment is surrounded by pastel-themed Pasqua (Easter) boxed cakes, cigarettes, and seductive wrapped candies. 

What truly defines Sciascia is the clientele – each cast in classic roles of life in the Prati: 

-Silver, stooped gentlemen bundled in camel overcoats, carrying themselves with quiet dignity. 

-Trade workers with fashionable uniforms, utility belts, and brimmed caps.

-Businessmen sporting impeccably tailored suits, colorful hosiery, and bench-crafted leather shoes.

-Stately ladies carefully dressed, scanning one another’s never-out-of-style cashmeres with printed silks, while cradling miniature Schnauzers. 

-Proud Carabinieri posing in black uniforms, silver handguns, and red braiding.

And … a couple of travel-quenched, appreciative Californian wanderers …taking it all in. 

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All images captured and edited on IPhone 13 Pro Max.
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“The moment I saw the brilliant, proud morning shine high up over the deserts of Santa Fe, something stood still in my soul, and I started to attend.” – D.H. Lawrence

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August finds us in the rented Tesuque Hills “Butterfly House” above Santa Fe.

New Mexico summers are the confluence of natural wonders, cross-cultural nourishment, and abundant gratitude for this yearly replenishment.

Art, adventure, delicious food, opera, mountain hiking, friendships, unpredictable thunderstorms, and music in the plaza shape our days.

As you can judge from the pictures below, creatures –  wild and domestic – animate our rambles.

Included is a shot of two relaxed steers taken on a remote road in the Santa Fe National Forest. We hike this broad path weekly and occasionally see cattle having drifted afar from their grazing companions among the timber and alpine meadows.

One photo that “got away” is our close encounter of the “bear-kind”. Upon rounding a curve in a familiar forested canyon, we saw a jet black silhouette hustling out of the tall trees onto the road – about 150 feet ahead. “That ain’t an Angus cow,” I alerted us with confused courage!

Indeed, an energetic juvenile brown bear turns toward us, looks quizzically, and scampers away – probably to inform Mama of the visitors!  We calmly, yet determinedly, back-step hoping to disguise our vaporous primal fear. 

No, I didn’t get the money shot, so please indulge us with your imagination. (However graphic evidence of bear metabolism is provided, herein – no imagining required.)

We trust the other photos will convey Santa Fe’s beloved iconography…

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All images captured and edited on iPhone 13 Pro Max. Click any pic to surf the photo carousel: