'It's an operetta, not Wagner'
This disarmingly self-aware line inserted into the tonight's "sing-speak" recitative aptly encapsulates Lehar's "The Merry Widow," two-and-a-half hours of polkas, marches and mazurkas ― a lot of sprightly nonsense, really ― involving a cute made-up country, an immense inheritance and a comic misunderstanding over a ladies' fan. (When it comes to opera, magic potions and mistaken assumptions run neck-and-neck as the leading tropes.) All performed in Estonian! C'mon, I had to go.
To me, the height of bliss is sitting in a European opera house. I would never consider doing this back home, but in the most cultured of continents, it is the pinnacle of cool. Yes, I have fetishized an entire land mass but offer no apologies. My appreciation for this part of the world started on a chilly November 1973 day in Luxembourg and has never waned.
Back when Germany and the USSR were playing badminton, with Estonia as the birdie, the opera house took a direct hit from a Soviet aerial strike, as did the nearby St. Nicholas Church. Both were quickly rebuilt. Friday's performances, sets and orchestra were top-notch, tickets were pretty cheap, and the "Widow's" music is quite good, which helps. I woke up Saturday with its waltz leitmotif in my head.
Intermission ...
Bows are taken. This clap-in-unison thing is a reminder that you are 10 time zones from home.
The cloakroom queue ...
Hefty metal cloakroom token. Would make a nice souvenir, but I need my 50-year-old surtout back.
I walk the long way home, hoping to intuit my way to the top of the Patkuli Steps.
The nearby Estonian Drama Theatre, the closest thing Estonia has to a national theater.
An old truck in front of St. Nicholas Church, which I think has been converted to an art museum. As a whole, Estonians aren't big on faith. A 2009 Gallup poll concluded this country is the world's least religious.
Cobblestones everywhere. The city's center is highly pedestrianized, but seemingly not by fiat. I just think there are intense disincentives for motorists to try their luck here.
Estonia's best-known novelist, Jann Kross. Arrested by the Nazis for promoting Estonian independence and nominated several times for the literature Nobel.
Not ready to sleep, so I ascend the hill. The streets up here are nearly deserted.
I run into a couple of dead-ends before I notice an opening at the end of embassy row. A viewing deck at the top of the steps yields views of Kalamaja and beyond.
The stairs are lit, so I wouldn't hesitate coming up here at night if you're thinking about it.
Oh, before I forget, the opera house and adjoining concert hall each have their own little parking lots, and the gate arms are violin bows and conductors batons.
