travelswithalice

Halfway through the second course, there was a loud burst of applause from all around us and we wondered what had happened. As the couple a few tables away kissed, we realized it must've been a proposal. A very public proposal, the kind you see in the movies! And we missed it!

I wondered if they- or I suppose he- would do it again for our benefit but Paolo, the restaurant's manager thought not. He promised to give us a heads up next time.

We were at Grissini, at the Grand Hyatt in Hong Kong for dinner on Valentines Day. A PR girl took a photo of us and presented us a copy. Stuart stood it on our table wedged behind the dinner table candle. Not very romantic I thought. It looked like a Chinese Buddhist altar: photo of departed elders, incense, food offerings... I took the photo away.

We amused ourselves guessing the futures of the couples around us, based on their body language.

The girl had been texting between courses. I said hmmm no future there. Then they held hands. Stuart said they'll be alright.

The couple at the next table had left. Stuart said they were in deep trouble.

Another couple had risen to go. The man sped away ahead of the middle aged woman. She looked a little lost, embarrassed.

There was a bunch of flowers on the table by the window. The young couple excitedly took pictures in between courses.

Stuart and I planned our next holiday. We wondered if there was anywhere else we'd rather be that night. We thought not. And we thanked our lucky stars. In between sticky-beaking at other tables.

I wonder what the other couples thought of us?

At dinner with friends last night, Stuart said just as we were getting used to NY, we're leaving.

It's a beautiful winter's day. A golden sunrise woke me and beckoned to have a picture taken.


It's been an interesting week!

We talked about the weather so much you'd think there was nothing else going on here. Well, there was a lot going on and I'll try and talk about it all when I get back home. It would take more than a blizzard to get this city down. Manhattan, in particular, didn't even blink.

For now, here are some photo highlights.

Maybe it's because she's Russian. Or because she's so successful. Or because she seems to have it all: career, husband/partner/lover, baby. Or just because this is New York where taking celebrities down a peg is a popular sport.

But why in heaven's name deny the fact that she's so damn good at what she does? Some reviews have been scathing!

Is it her fault that when she's on stage, you really can't look at anybody else? Or that the magnificent sound she produces seems to come so naturally, so effortlessly? Or that she just looks like she's enjoying what she's doing?

Saturday's L'Elisir d'Amore was a joy to watch. Never mind that Netrebko out-classed, out-sang, out-danced everybody else on stage. This, of course she managed to do even if she was obviously trying to cede the stage to partner Erwin Schrott who also performed very well as the opera buffo's buffoon. I must admit his acting was more memorable than his singing. Not that there was anything wrong with the voice, it just didn't register- to me, at least- as well as the comedy. Or the look of him. He looks good!

Admittedly, Netrebko could have done no wrong as far as I was concerned. I had dreamt of seeing her perform for the longest time. Long before the maturing of the voice and the thickening of the divaesque figure. Mommy, my sister Baby, and I used to trawl for her performances on YouTube.

As always, I loved being at the opera! Just being there always gives me a thrill. Being in Box 25, looking down almost dead centerstage heightened the buzz.

And Netrebko didn't disappoint.

What an adventure!

It was "shall we stay or shall we go?" (Mayor Bloomberg had repeatedly exhorted the people of New York to stay home) right up to the moment I nervously stepped out of the taxi onto the mess of a pavement outside Lincoln Center. I hung on for dear life to my two escorts, Stuart and Erle, who half dragged, half carried me across the snowy, icy, slushy courtyard into the safety of Arpeggio Bar in Avery Fisher Hall.






A bottle of wine quickly doused any danger of hypothermia. It had to be Rodney Strong Cabernet Sauvignon on the recommendation of Pavel, star waiter and sworn friend to Russian diva Netrebko. He had vehemently and theatrically rejected Stuart's initial choice. Gagged and sputtered, almost fainted! What a character!



RIGOLETTO was well worth the battle. It was magnificently sung and brilliantly staged.

It would be difficult of course to screw up any production that had access to top-drawer performers like soprano Diana Damrau and tenor Piotr Beczala. But there was a moment of uncertainty about the whole Las Vegas thing when the tenor launched into "Questa o Quella," the first major aria of the evening.

A bevy of masked showgirls wearing blue tights, colorful feathered tails, and not much else waved quivering yellow and orange ostrich feather fans all around him. It felt a bit too much like an all-gay musical revue and there was nervous laughter from the audience.

It must have been about halfway through Act I when the awkwardness started to dissipate and everyone began to buy into the idea of a Rat Pack Rigoletto. The Italian libretto was translated into American slang, thus completing the morphing of the opera from 16th century Mantua to 1960's Sin City.

The real triumph of the daring re-imagining of the opera classic came at the very end. Stuffing the body of the dying Gilda into the trunk of a gleaming Cadillac was the genius touch. It was a powerfully indelible image of tragedy in the debauched world in which Rigoletto was a mere fringe-player.


The subway was the preferred mode of transportation for most of the freezing mob that poured out of the Met shortly before midnight. For Stuart and me, the cold was the least of our problems; we were sufficiently bundled up and insulated against the severe weather.

We determinedly brushed away the rain and snow from our face and eyes as we trudged along the one block from the station to our hotel. The real challenge was making sure we didn't slip on the icy ground. It was sweet victory when we finally sat, wine in hand, and watched the wintry street scene in the safety of the hotel bar.

It's 9 in the morning. It's -2C and the mix of rain and snow is vigorously blowing horizontally and spiralling upwards. I don't see any snow on the ground.

There are very complex weather systems involved here, so forecasts of actual amounts of snow accumulations are sometimes a little conflicted. Latest word is, about 5-8 inches of snow are expected in the city by tomorrow morning. Right now, an icy mix of rain, sleet with strong wind (expected to reach up to at 50mph later.)  As temperatures drop into the night, it will turn into pure snow which will start to stick and accumulate.

The overriding effect of all this on me is immense admiration for the city. The government appears to have everything under control. No lack of information; there are continuous bulletins on the progression of super storm conditions. Mayor Bloomberg gave a press conference yesterday explaining the state of readiness. Salt spreaders with 50,000 tons of salt for de-icing.  Snow ploughs at the ready. Don't expect him to personally drive the ploughs (you wouldn't want me to drive, he joked.) He warned of the danger of hypothermia, describing its symptoms and telling people to be aware and to call 911 immediately if suffering from shivering, dizziness, or disorientation. He is so out there, so involved, so accessible. He is amazing!

Ordinary New Yorkers seem unflustered by all this. The housekeeping lady yesterday shrugged her shoulders and said worrying doesn't change anything or make things better. She went on to tell me about the last one, Sandy, when her house in New Jersey didn't have electricity for 12 days and she had to stay in the hotel.

Life goes on in Manhattan. THE MODERN was packed last night; nobody looked worried or cold as they laughed, smiled, chatted, wined, and dined.

Today, at the stock exchange, it's business as usual, with the Dow up 40 points so far. New York Fashion Week hasn't missed a beat. Or a stitch.

My day breaks at 7; it's -6C.

It's clear and dry though, not too bad. Weather man says it's the calm before the storm. A historic major winter storm, a blizzard actually, featuring rain, high winds, sleet, ice, blinding snow, as well as possible power outages, and coastal flooding.

And it arrives on the evening of RIGOLETTO and continues into the afternoon of my date with Anna Netrebko in L'ELISIR. Great!

Victoria Harbour is back! All misgivings about this trip have vanished with the smog. I'm a happy traveller.