A night at the opera in Verona, or, When is opera not opera? When it's pure spectacle

We should have known this wasn't going to be a normal night at the opera when the crowd at the Arena at Verona started doing the Mexican wave. I'd only seen the Mexican wave at the football, so it was quite a shock - at the opera no less, but at Verona's Arena? But maybe that should have been less of a surprise, given that the ancient Roman amphitheatre - Italy's most perfectly preserved and built in AD30 - was a venue for gladiator matches long before it showed Aida. Admittedly, the opera hadn't started yet. Well, it had eventually begun after a lengthy delay of a couple of hours, as the mightiest and most foreboding black clouds we'd ever seen started rolling in before deciding to settle upon us. But then the performance was stopped soon after so the stage hands could batten down the set after the wind began to howl, knocking over an ancient Egyptian pillar or two that had so far stood the test of time. But the dramas had begun much earlier that evening...

When I'd gone to collect the tickets I'd been told would be easy to get from the press office, naturally they weren't there. Although I was encouraged to come back later while they would "see what they could do", when I returned there were no tickets, the opera was about to begin, and (despite showing my business cards and referring to the letters of commision I'd previously emailed; we were there researching guidebooks, you see), the guy in the press office melodramatically accused me of simply trying to get seats for free. I reacted appropriately, turning on my heels and storming off to the box office, determined to buy the most expensive seats left in the house and return to throw them in his face, then head off to dinner. However, when I asked the woman at the box office what seats were left and explained our predicament, she sincerely apologised - unfortunately there weren't any decent seats left, they'd sold out weeks ago, but she'd give me a couple of tickets up top for free! Thinking this must be karma, I forgot about the press guy and we charged in and hurriedly hiked all the way up to the top section to our giddy-inducing seats, well, um... steps. A couple of hours and a couple of beers later, and somewhat lightheaded from the altitude, we were being rained upon as those around us rose and cheered with each Mexican wave.

We contemplated leaving several times, but we couldn't. We were working after all and needed to experience this. However, when Aida finally started, we were wishing we had. From those seats up in the clouds we could barely hear the opera. We could barely see it either, but we had expected that, however, we somehow expected the acoustics (or speakers) would carry the sound. No such luck. All we could hear were the giggles and nonsense-talk of the American teenage girls in the last row behind us as they sent text messages and took photos of each other on their cell phones. And just as the Mexican wave had begun so a tidal wave of bored chatter started. People began showing eachother their new iPhones and their holiday photos. Nobody could hear anything, but nor did they seem interested in watching either. It suddenly dawned upon me... the people up here weren't really there for the opera. It was all about the spectacle. If they had come for the opera they'd have bought the expensive seats down below weeks ago, the seats where you could actually see the stage and hear the sound. They just wanted to be able to say they'd been. Or to prove they had by showing their friends a photo.

It's good to be a tourist in... Rome!

Before I tell you about our travels in Calabria, I must share something about our recent visit to Rome (post-Istanbul) where we spent a week gathering content for several travel stories, experiencing walking tours, hotels, restaurants, and museums, doing interviews with fascinating locals, and for my husband and co-writer Terry, shooting photos. Despite the fact that we were working, for the first time in a long time, I felt like a tourist. And, much to my surprise, it felt fantastic. We'd been to Rome a few times before, yet this trip was different. The first time we visited, a decade ago, Terry and I were spending a summer backpacking through Italy, Spain and Portugal. The second trip I took my mother as part of a summer sojourn to places she'd always wanted to go but had never been - Istanbul, the Greek Islands, Paris, Moscow, St. Petersburg, and Spain - as a way toward healing and learning to live again following my dad's death from cancer. The third visit was at the end of another long Italian summer for Terry and I that involved writing a book in Milan, followed by (our reward!) travel to some Italian places we'd never been together, a driving trip through Sicily, time kicking back on the Aeolian Islands, a jaunt to the Amalfi Coast and Capri where our days were spent walking and swimming and nights spent eating and drinking, and finally some days in each of Napoli and Roma where we did the design hotels, hot new restaurants, and hip bars. This trip to Rome was altogether different. For the stories we were researching we did a series of guided tours and walks (something we never do), and we stayed in the Vatican City and Via Veneto, where it's impossible to escape the tour groups and hoards of tourists. We were just two of tens of thousands of travellers clutching our guidebooks as we did the sights. Sure I was making lengthy notes and observing the people as much as the places, and Terry was carting around one too many cameras to be a tourist, but still we somehow got caught up in the flow. Like little leaves we floated down Rome's cobblestone streets, centuries of complex history surrounding us, and we loved it. For the first time in a long time I felt so exhilarated by a city, it was as if I was experiencing it for the first time. And it felt great. It felt good to be a tourist in Rome. But I'm not sure how many other cities I could say that about...

The Cool Travel Guide to: getting the most out of archaeological sites (part 2)

Here are some more ideas as to how to make the most of your ambles about archaeological sites:
4. Use your imagination. I mean, really use it. Don’t just look at those old stones and see a building, but try to visualize the form and function of the place, the shape and feel of the neighbourhood, the structure and organization of the city. Sure, seeing a brothel in one of Pompeii’s main streets is surprising and the latrines at Ephesus are funny, but just begin to imagine the people that frequented these places, how they interacted with each other, and the society and time in which they lived.
5. Hone in on the detail. It doesn't matter if you don't care about the big picture. All the more reason to take a close look at the flamboyant patterns on the pillars, the intricate carvings on the stones, the fine detail of that script above the castle entrance, the elaborate structure and so on. Simply appreciate the architectural design, the aesthetic value, and the craftsmanship that went into creating the work.
6. Try to find new ways of seeing the site. Forget about replicating the postcard shot. Instead, lie on the ground, look through a window, stand on your head if you must. Find fresh ways of seeing the place and your experience and perspective will (quite literally) be unique.
7. Take your time. Enjoy the picturesque surroundings. So you don’t have time to read a book, you don’t like museums, and your imagination’s not your strong point, then fine. Simply kick back and take in the scene. Enjoy the leafy setting, shady trees, fresh mountain air, sea breeze... or don’t. You’re hot? You’re sticky? It’s a desert setting and it’s sweltering. Then think about how people who lived here 2000 years ago must have suffered before air-conditioning. Or, as I first suggested, just enjoy the stunning setting.
8. Do go prepared: take a bottle of water, snacks, sunscreen, hat, insect repellent... trivial as they may seem, they'll go a long way to improving your experience.

The Cool Travel Guide to: getting the most out of archaeological sites (part 1)

Do all but the most impressively striking of archaeological ruins look like piles of rubble to you? You can’t be blamed. So many guidebooks give such glowing reviews of ancient sites and write so evocatively about them that, regardless of the condition they're in, or how important or interesting they may be, the completists among us just can’t resist ticking them off. Yet, unless you’re an archaeologist or historian, some sites simply may not be all that compelling. For one, the ruins may be so ruined, it's impossible to even identify what they were. Here are some tips to getting more out of the experience:
1. Read about the ruins before you visit and go beyond that one column in the guidebook. Thumb through a history book or guide by a respected archaeologist who specializes in the period/area you’re visiting and knows how to write. For instance, for Syria, Ross Burns’ Monuments of Syria* is a must. With a more complete understanding of the site’s history, society, culture, who lived there, why they built it, what happened to them, and why it’s important, you’ll get so much more out of the experience.
2. Visit the nearest archaeological museum before you head to the site, because seeing the extraordinary tablets, splendid statues, fascinating artefacts, exquisite jewellery, and perfectly-formed pottery and glass, found at a site will bring those old rocks and mounds of dirt to life. As you wander the site, you’ll better appreciate the place in which they were made and used, and get a kick out of making connections between the stuff on display and the people who created it.
3. Get a map of the site and use it. Whether it's the map on the site's own brochure, or, better yet, one from a book like Burns’ Monuments of Syria, follow it. Don't just wander around aimlessly. The map will help you make sense of the rubble and help you to see that those low stone walls you're looking at were actually rooms within a grand palace. With a bit of imagination, you'll be visualizing a whole city in no time.

* I could happily travel Syria with Burns’ book alone to guide me, but if you’re planning a trip do look out for our update of our Lonely Planet’s Syria and Lebanon guide coming out mid-year. We’ve include an enlightening interview with archaeologist Greg Fisher who we met in Damascus. Unfortunately we can’t reproduce that interview here, but maybe Greg will email in with some additional tips.

Touristic experiences #2: staged tourism and the charm of cute children

What is it about cute smiling kids in traditional costumes in foreign countries that we find so disarmingly charming? Flick through the back pages of a travel magazine to the ads for tours to South America and Thailand hill tribe treks and there'll be a couple of rosy-cheeked little kids in colourful clothes leading some llamas or sitting on the steps of a church smiling sweetly. In this case the children in my picture are posing at a lookout in front of vistas of the Golden Triangle, the point where Laos, Myanamar (Burma) and Thailand meet. We would never use a guide if travelling for pleasure but when we're working and reviewing a resort we try to get a taste of the activities available to guests to best assess the experience on offer. At the Four Seasons Tented Camp at the Golden Triangle, there's a range of activities, from mahout training and elephant treks to excursions to the Opium museum, Burma, and the Golden Triangle. The latter involves a ride on a longtail boat to the very centre of the meeting of the waters of the Mekong and one of its tributaries so you can see the three countries around you, rides on a songthaew (the open-air truck typically used as a taxi in Thailand) and tuk-tuk (a motorised Thai rickshaw), a stroll around a market to see the squirming creatures and crunchy insects that are the local delicacies, a visit to a temple to learn how to make a wish and be blessed by a monk, and this trip to the lookout. While we came to the conclusion that the excursion was a wonderful compact introduction to Thailand for first-timers to the country, we were uncomfortable (once again! - see the previous post by my partner Terry) with the song and dance show. Okay, so the kids didn't dance. But they did sing, they recited something to the effect of "You can take our picture for 20 baht" in half a dozen languages, they posed in front of the Golden Triangle, their hands first in the traditional Thai wai gesture and then fingers formed in rabbit ears, and they smiled very sweetly. (We noted, however, that their most sincere and spontaneous smiles came at the end when we handed over the money.) This form of staged tourism is cheesy and awkward at the best of times - don't you think? - but it's quietly discomforting when it involves little kids who should be in school. While we adored our eager young guide, we were embarrassed and uncomfortable with being placed in a position where we felt required to take photos of the children, yet we didn't not want to take the snaps and insult both our guide and the kids. So we took our pics - Terry using the opportunity to get some insightful close-ups of the children, me politely following our guide's suggestions - and we very generously tipped the kids. We told ourselves the money was paying for their education and putting food on their family's table but still we felt our uneasy. If there's one thing that I don't find cool about travel, it's tourism. And the more staged it is - it doesn't matter how cute the kids are - the more it makes me want to stay at home.

Touristic experiences #1: Thailand's 'longnecks'

There’s been so much written about and so many photos taken of the ‘longneck’ tribes from Burma (Myanmar) who reside in northern Thailand that it’s almost redundant to talk about them in terms of a Thai travel experience. Do you visit them or not? My partner Terry and I have been discussing the issue. This blog is by Terry:

By visiting the ‘longnecks’, the displaced Burmese women who wear brass coils around their elongated necks, are we perpetuating a method of lifelong discomfort (at the least) for these women that’s the equivalent of the lotus shoes that kept Chinese women’s bound feet tiny and ‘feminine’ (albeit deformed)? Or are we supporting a displaced tribe that relies on the income generated by tourists to survive? While the Lonely Planet Thailand guide we perused in a hotel gave the visit a positive spin, Rough Guide took the opposite tack. Given that Lara and I spend our lives telling people where to go (so to speak!), we decided we’d better visit to form our own opinions...

The signs proclaiming "longneck this way" as we approached the co-operative tribal village on the outskirts of Chiang Rai reinforced my already apprehensive outlook. Surely people visiting the women could at least learn the name of the tribe, the Padaung, a sub-group of the Karen tribe, and those putting up the signs would have enough respect to do the same. To me it was very much “roll up, roll up, see the mustachioed woman!” It placed the women at the ‘freak show’ end of the range of touristic experiences.

The entry fee was steep for Thailand and we wondered how much money the ‘longnecks’ were getting out of this. A disinterested little Thai girl served as our guide, taking us first to meet a beautiful old woman from the Akha tribe. She wasn’t a ‘longneck’, but was the kind of grandma whose face lights up when she smiles, revealing a life well lead and an old age well earned. I took her portrait and hoped that it captured in ones and zeros some of the spirit she possessed. Next, we were led to a simple building where a group of tribespeople played traditional music. While the elaborate headdresses were in place, enthusiasm was conspicuously absent. Some t-shirt-clad members of the troupe clearly wanted to be anywhere else but standing in front of a couple of travellers looking for a ‘cultural experience’. The embarrassment of the situation was evident on both sides. Before the song had finished several had their headdresses off and were wandering away.

After passing the obligatory stands of handicrafts our guide happily pronounced ‘longneck!’ with a flourish. As soon as I saw the intriguing face of the first Padaung woman sitting on the verandah of her wooden hut weaving textiles on a primitive loom, I knew I couldn’t shoot any photos to sell (I left the task of shooting pics for this blog to Lara who chatted to the woman about weaving). I’d seen this very woman on countless postcards and her image had been exploited enough. From a purely aesthetic point of view, she was photogenic, but I felt no compulsion to photograph her. I like to shoot portraits when I feel that someone has an interesting face and sense a confidence in themselves and who they are that can shine through in a photo. Here I felt that I'd just be shooting her for her physical oddity rather than her beauty of spirit, which, I must say, she certainly possessed. We asked her about her weaving and moved on. We met a couple of other ‘longnecks’, both of whom I'd also seen on postcards, but while several tourists snapped away, I just wanted to leave. On the way back to the car we crossed paths with two cute ‘longneck’ children with a couple of rings around their necks. I thought of what lay in store for them in the future – drinking through a straw, working a loom, and being happy-snapped by gawking tourists as they live their life in what is essentially a cruel neck brace.

I often make jokes about my professional digital SLR camera being the ‘soul stealer’, as it’s so big, especially with a flash attached, that it makes people apprehensive when I shoot their portrait. And in some customs the creation of an image or likeness of a person is seen as stealing their soul. I always ask before shooting a portrait, but with the ‘longnecks’ the price of admission gives you carte blanche to snap away. To me, there’s never been a more soul-stealing experience than this. Every snapshot someone takes of the Padaung women is directly contributing to the creation of another generation of young women who have to uphold this tradition. There’s no doubt about it. The complexities of cultural identity aside, the commodification and marketing of the experience is just as abhorrent as the practice itself. Many other cruel decorative practices, such as the Chinese lotus shoes, have been phased out. So should this. The fact that another generation of women will suffer the same indignity aided by my financial contribution makes me uncomfortable. Do you think you’d feel the same way?