This beautiful, serene scene is proof that the last few weeks have been so worth it, and stands in stark contrast to the flu ridden, carnival infested, estranged weeks of rehearsal.

The estrangement was not at all Oper Köln's fault; their opera house is being refurbished, and they have been banished to a large blue tent for performances, and various far flung buildings in odd parts of town for rehearsals.  I was constantly lost, and I wasn't the only one.  Our rehearsals were made all the more . . . interesting, by the insistence of the Opera House in Muscat on all references to alcohol being removed.  This production, in common with many, had been rather high proof, and it proved a challenging experience trying to extract the booze without altering the spirit of the original production (it had been put on a couple of years ago, then Muscat wanted it, but in English; hence my engagement, along with a cast of fabulous native English speakers).  We had two weeks; this is an incredibly short amount of time to whip into shape something where four of the major players were making their role debuts and the entire thing is being constantly reinvented, yet is constrained to stick as closely as possible to the director's original vision.  Not helped in the slightest by various illnesses including the flu (which got me for the first time in about fifteen years; it was Not Nice) devastating the whole company.  And the fact that carnival was swirling drunkenly around the flats that the opera house had rented for several of us right in the middle of town . . . wonderful if you're in the mood; not so much if you have rehearsals morning and evening, and could have done without the party music until 5.30 a.m.

We struggled through it, anyway, and were rewarded (before heaven; how nice!) by our residence at the fabulous Royal Opera House Muscat.  This amazing building was only finished in 2011, and is beautifully detailed and so well thought out.  The only thing I found a little odd was the lack of clocks in the dressing rooms / make up rooms etc. (My very sweet Arab dresser promised to pass on this tidbit to the management.) Other than that, they'd even painted lines along the bottom of the walls directing you to stage right or left (for those that don't regularly work in such places, I would just say that the backstage areas of opera houses are generally the most labyrinthine and impenetrable places you've ever wandered around lonely as a rather bewildered cloud).

I suspect we were all a little nervous as the first night approached; we hadn't even had a proper run through before the dress rehearsal.  However I have to say I have seldom worked with such a marvellous cast of colleagues, and I was thoroughly impressed by the level of professionalism and sheer artistry shown all around.  Having been warned that the Muscat public was a bit cool, prone to clapping mainly Arab productions, we were flabbergasted to get a standing ovation, with the entire public leaping to its feet within seconds of the curtain going down at the premiere, and laughs in all the right places.  Glorious!

OK, so we didn't have a heck of a lot of free time, but what a wonderful place to perform.  And the hotel provided the best buffet I think I've ever snarfed, including an Arabian pudding called Umali which I swear was laced with crack or something, as EVERYONE who tried it came back for second helpings, and third, and...  even those who, like me, aren't that bothered about sweet stuff!  (And who, for reference, no longer have waists...).

I'd be back here like a shot if invited, if only for the glorious feeling of walking across the courtyard to the catering room in the interval, of necessity in costume, and having waltzed past the security detail in camouflage, to step outside into the richly smelling, warm, luxurious evening; so different from the German cold, which shuts down the senses one by one.

Should anyone be interested in photos of the production, there are some lovely ones here.  

More musings on language etc.  I was talking about the power of our level of fluency in a foreign language to unconsciously influence the perceptions of others, and I KNOW I've waffled on about such things before, but I couldn't find the relevant post (goodness I write far more than I think I do!).  Apologies therefore to those who have been bored by this subject before!

What brought this on was the realisation that of the books I am currently reading, two of the "just for the heck of it" category are in German.  That is a definite first.  I have previously read books in German very conscientously, as self-assigned "homework".  Somehow I appear to have got to the stage where they have shuffled over into pleasure rather than duty.  I am very pleased by this; it represents a step change in my reading of the German language which means there are now thousands of books which I haven't read available to me at my local library!!  (You probably won't appreciate this excitement unless you are also an expat bookworm, mind).  (Another drawback is often having to fish a dictionary out of the assorted cushions whilst making the bed, but we'll pass swiftly over that one.)

Interestingly, I have recently noted a slight impatience in the response of native speakers to my attempts at German.  Took me a while to work out what that was about; it would appear that because I have tried (I cannot help BUT try, somehow it is hardwired into my being) to cultivate a native accent, then the better I get at the language, the fewer mistakes are tolerated.  I was a little freaked out by this at first.  However then I got thinking about a good friend of mine whose first language was NOT English, but who spent a certain amount of time in Hawaii whilst growing up.  He sounds American.  However sometimes, due to English being in effect his third language, he makes grammatical mistakes.  And those mistakes are FAR more shocking than those of people speaking with a noticeable accent.  They jar.  And therefore I am actually more inspired by such disapproval, rather than dispirited.

The original subject I wrote about (somewhere) was the disdain which is often felt for those who don't speak "our" language.  It's not a conscious decision, that; but the automatic assumption of superiority is only really obvious once you've experienced the other side.  Once you've sat there, Cambridge degree totally useless in the circumstances, helplessly allowing strangers to judge you  by your lack of witty response to the topic (the time lag involved in translating the subject laboriously into your native language, thinking of something decent to say, then translating it back, basically means that it's inevitable that you're going to be at least three topics behind.)  This realisation means that (damn it! it was so easy!!) you are never again going to be able to dismiss someone simply because he or she does not have complete command of your language.  You now know that a lack of fluency does not automatically mean a lack of thought.  It's a powerful realisation, and one which can really connect those of us reckless enough to charge into learning another language.  I do really feel, however, that at least trying to learn such languages allows us slightly more intimate insights.  Damned bloody hard work.  But maybe worth it.

Cycling back home this evening I found myself laughing with pleasure.   Some of this was no doubt provoked by the brilliant slip road off the bridge - there's no street lighting, so unless there are cars somewhere you're pretty much zooming along in the dark, but the best thing is it used to be riddled with potholes and they recently resurfaced it, so it's a brilliantly smooth ride, and the feeling of successfully rounding the corner at the bottom, having failed to hit anything vital or fall off the edge, generally provokes a feeling of joy.  However the giggling persisted, and I realised that this wasn't particularly unusual.  I quite often cycle home and find myself laughing.  So thinking about it, either they are sneakily infusing the water supply here with Ecstasy or something, or I am thoroughly enjoying many of my evenings out.  (Well yes OK it could have a little to do with the marvellous wine too, but given that you can lose your driving licence here for being under the influence whilst riding a bike, probably not so much.)

No, the thing is, I have met, and continue to meet, such wonderful people, and have great conversations, which leave me feeling thankful to the point of grinning all the way home.  I think a lot of it has to do with being an expat.  I was discussing this with a friend tonight.  Sociologically speaking, we're programmed deep inside to get on better with "people like us".  And moving away from one's home automatically shifts the boundaries of who gets defined (I'm speaking of the subconscious here, obviously) as "people like us".  Over here in Germany, well it now includes anyone I socialise with who has English as their mother tongue.  Birthplace, accent, social status - all the things which divide us amongst ourselves - here become irrelevant.  And I feel all the better for it.  I have wonderful friends now who I probably would never have met to talk to seriously had we all been in an English-speaking country.  Oddly enough, I think I have almost learned more about how other people's brains work differently (so fascinating!) from interactions with other expats than from socialising with the natives of whichever land I happen to be living in.  Obviously not always; I enjoy hugely the experience of gradually mastering a language, and have done my fair share of return-journey laughter from the sheer joy of having communicated properly with people in a new language.  But I am thoroughly grateful for this experience, and maybe it has permanently broadened my mind.

Certainly makes cycling back home a lot more fun!