The things we do...

You had to believe some of them (well, some of us) were doing it for the ritual; come Monday morning, many of the same seats would be available and even the Fille, already very well sold online, isn't so sold that a day would make a difference. Here's a picture of the line snaking a little past the fountain after doubling back on itself five-fold inside. The whole ride took about four hours from fountain to "next Window, please!" All sorts were in line: hip kids, folks who probably heard Melchior in the old house (a woman behind us left after two hours and was asked why. She said, "I'm 85, and this is just stupid.") The usual crazies, people speaking every language though of course more than anything, Russian. The weather outside was foreboding but, for the bulk of the afternoon, pleasantly if strangely autumnal, a little like summer in the Bay Area. Ten places ahead of us, alone, a woman who looked awfully like Maribel Verdu. Behind us, a lovely gentleman who didn't seem offended when we admitted, after the expected opener about what all are you queueing up for, that one thing was Butterfly out of a desire to hear better singing on that magical set. Immediately in front of us I heard a young guy asking the man in front of him about Trebazonko (Ein schoenes war!) and calling his lady friend on cell when he found out half of it had canceled. If you were there in pairs, it was possible to sneak off for lunch, throw a few crumbs for pigeons until they became too assertive, but the guards at the door were on orange alert and would walk to the line with you and say "does anyone recognize this guy? Was he standing near you?" Just after 4, we left, poorer, but with plans.