Die Fledermaus

We celebrated the conclusion of our first weekend in Vienna by attending Johann Strauss Operetto Die Fledermaus. Getting there was quite the chore for my mitbeiwohnung and myself. We prepared ourselves with the utmost of care and then headed over to the Opera House, an hour early, accidentally. We had a slight miscommunication with our time-piece, but it worked out in our favor, or so we thought. As we sipped our drinks and ate our cake we realized we hadn’t seen any of the other finely dressed Americans from our group, and it really was now time to be where we were supposed to be. We paid our bill and peered around the corner of the squatty elephant of an Opera house we saw another small group that were very much like us: misplaced, but very classy I might add.

Thanks to the info-booth that remained opened even into Sunday evening we learned that we were supposed to be down the street at Theater an der Wien. We had 6 minutes to get there. So we do what any girl in high heels does, all the while trying to imagine myself less conspicuous than a girl dolled-up for the opera running down the street in stilettos.

I made it a block or two when I realized I was not cut out for this type of race and I did what any American would do: I removed my shoes and ran down the street barefooted. I kept a look out for rocks, glass and any other sharp objects that could cut my feet and I ran. I ran until I saw the rest of us, still enjoying their champagne outside the theatre. I stopped for a second to put the shoes back on my feet that already had some pretty gnarly blisters and joined our group. With ticket in hand I found my seat and took a seat in the Opera hall and waited for the show to begin (and for my heart rate to return to normal and for the sweat to quite beading on my forehead).

The lights dimmed, the show began, and I was surprised to see nearly the entire cast missing at least one piece of clothing. Some had a lot more clothing missing than others. Those who were better skilled at the game of strip musical chairs obviously kept more of their clothing. Nudity seemed to be the theme of the Operetta, and detracted from the overall story for me, not to say I did not enjoy it (the show, not the nudity). The vocalists were impressive and I found the male soprano quite entertaining. By the end of the show I was ready to sing along. “Glücklich ist, wer vergisst, was doch nicht zu ändern ist.” In addition to forgetting about the naked bodies and the gyrating man, I just wanted to forget about the blisters on my feet, I couldn’t help the fact that they were there anyways.

-slm