The Living Death

There’s a club which is somewhat famous among international students in Wroclaw. Many of my classmates habitually go there during the week. I’ve never been; I have no regrets.

Where I have been is the opera house. Possibly more often than most people on my program go to their aforementioned evening venue.  I’ve attended 16 operas since September. Some I’ve seen before. Yet, I still go. The art form often transports one to another world. Sometimes I’m convinced that it acts on the mind as a drug.

I first took in an opera 8 years ago. It was during my first trip to Poland.  A sojourn which defined my future interests, and aspirations. My captivation by the art awoke in the world’s smallest opera house.

 What began as a casual interest in the old-world novelty of opera transformed over the years. Most opera companies rely on popular classical operas to fill seats. They’re often popular for a reason; you find yourself attending titles you’ve seen before. Instead of novelty, you relish hearing your favorite operatic moments preformed live. Few new works are written or preformed.

Opera is far from popular in the larger sense. In LA, I went to the opera relatively rarely. I attended most-all operas in Romania, Hungary and Poland by myself. Who else would want to go every other week?  After a while it became like a quasi-religious ritual. The experience became internalized. I only began attending shows with someone who shared my passion for high culture during the second half of my time in Wroclaw. At first, it felt odd discussing with another person between acts.  I found that a night at the opera can be a shared experience.

 Wroclaw also maintains some mystique of times gone by. I started going to the opera while traveling. In LA, company directors pride themselves on importing performers from far corners of the world. In Wroclaw, I came to understand the concept of yesteryear’s opera star. Wroclaw is Poland’s opera Mecca. This may sound banal. But, the city stages more productions than any city in Italy. The company does so with a tight cast of talented performers. You come to know the singers after a time. You develop your favorites.  

Yesterday I saw Rigoletto for the third time. I found Opera Wroclawska’s modern staging a compelling metaphor for the sympathetically tragic intransigence of the title character. I used to decry modern scenery. Now the staging has become almost as important as the singing.  

My friend had trouble understanding the story. There’s no tradition of opera in her country. She’d never seen Rigoletto before. The staging confused her.  I was surprised at first. Then I remembered similar frustrations. I wouldn’t have understood the staging had I not seen two traditional interpretations before.  I explained the plot to her. It dawned on me how much I’d changed.

The world’s changed too. Though commissioned by kings, dukes and aristocrats opera had a wide appeal. Now it holds a cult following. La Scala recently reduced its upcoming season from 13 operas to 10.

I recently read an article in which a prominent soprano calls opera a ‘dying art form’. She maintains that we largely re-stage works of the past and eschew modern alternatives.  Indeed, I can’t name any regularly preformed modern opera aside from Nixon in China (one of my favorites).  

 A group of young people attended Wroclawska’s Rigoleto. They applauded the Count’s famous solo with wordless shouts of approval.  Some claim we’ve made opera into something it isn’t.  That it’s become un-egalitarian. No longer a place to let your proverbial hair down.  The opera of times gone by isn’t the opera I know. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The most tragic character in opera isn’t the one who dies.  It’s the person that must go on living. Many opera’s lay bare the living tragedies of individuals. It’s somehow fitting that this should reflect the art itself. If opera must die. Let it live on nobly in death.    

The Opera of Growth in Peru

As an opera fan traveling through Peru, I was constantly reminded of the premise of John Adams’ “Nixon in China,” which portrays the perils of a closed society attempting to take its place on the world stage. Peru is an economy that is opening to the world after years of being governed by policies of isolation and mismanagement. It is an environment of contrast and volatile change at a record pace, where innovation and ignorance walk hand in hand. It is a world of cultural, economic and political one-upmanship, where promises of greater power push aside the philosophy that stimulated its growth.
Our business visits began with a trip down the coast. It was at this point that I got my first look at the Peruvian coastline. The Pacific Ocean butts up against a practically barren desert. In contrast to the picturesque Andean villages, the settlements along the coast looked forlorn, like the land they inhabit. However, this bareness hides a wealth of natural resources. Our first stop was Peru LNG, a natural gas liquefaction plant. While we were not allowed to go into the plant itself, it was interesting to hear about how the company put into place its complicated supply chain, and is continuing to grow.
From there we continued to the TACA fishmeal plant. The Peruvian fisheries are some of the richest in the world. I enjoyed hearing about the overfishing in the 1970’s that almost destroyed this resource, and how current sustainability policy has successfully prevented further destruction. This was also the only firm I visited where the company’s sustainability program was not counterproductive to the goals of the firm.
One of the advantages of the Peruvian coastal desert is that, while rainless, the climate is humid and rather mild. Using runoff water from the Andes, parts of it have been turned into very fertile farmland. In order to see this in action, we visited “La Hoja Redonda” orchards. While this company exports citrus and avocadoes to the US, the amount of regulation imposed at the urging of American agricultural interests makes the export efforts hardly worth it. In fact, at certain times of the year, the company chooses not to export to the US, due to pointless regulations which make it almost impossible for their produce to be deemed acceptable by the U.S. government when it is in fact perfectly fine. These barriers not only inhibit free trade, but also essentially amount to price-fixing of the local produce market, and should be removed.
As one of several Spanish-speakers on the tour, I had been doing some informal translation during the trip. When we visited the Talma airport ground services headquarters, the native speakers who were supposed to be translating were otherwise occupied. The warehouse manager came over and began speaking Spanish to my small group. Noticing the blank stares from my colleagues, I immediately stepped in and started translating. He explained company’s drug screening procedures, including a demonstration with a drug-sniffing dog. The entire presentation lasted only about ten minutes, but I enjoyed translating so much that it was one of my favorite moments on the entire trip.
Most of the companies we visited at least paid lip service to protecting the environment, even if they did not have much of a program. Environmental issues seemed to be included in their presentations to meet the expectations of the visitors. Owing to my upbringing and experience in the journalistic disciplines, I had been asking probing questions the entire trip. However, at the Backus brewing company, the presentation essentially consisted of nothing but the sustainability director extolling the company’s attempts to become carbon neutral, and its responsible drinking campaign. While most of my peers were asking about their methodology, I raised my hand and directly inquired as to the impact of these efforts on the company’s bottom line. After a good 10 seconds of stunned silence, the sustainability director grudgingly admitted that her efforts had negatively affected the company’s profits.

As in the opera “Nixon in China,” the subject of what all of this means to Peru is a complicated one. Even the Peruvian executives we met seemed to shy away from the philosophical implications of Peru’s growth. Instead they seemed much more interested in portraying a semblance of confidence, security, and belief in their own rhetoric. From the politicians to the executives, to even some of those in our own group, the appearance of conviction seemed more important than reality. And, like the character of Lady Mao, the press release image they project often conceals the ominous truth lurking just below the surface. This is an election year in Peru. The outcome will determine whether Peru will return to a philosophy of protectionism, or continue to grow precariously. Beneath its veil of confidence, Peru is a country perched on a precipice of uncertainty. I leave you with the final lines of ‘Nixon in China:’ “Of all of what we’ve done, how much of it was good?” Peru is a country in search of an answer.