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Thea Musgrave and her husband Peter Mark at the House of Lords

Doesn’t everyone dash off to London for a long weekend when a friend’s opera is being performed there? Well, that’s who we’ve become. Our friend Thea Musgrave is a Scottish national who has lived in the U.S. for decades. To say she’s an important composer is something of an understatement: in 2002 Queen Elizabeth II named her a Commander of the British Empire (CBE) and in 2017 she was awarded the Queen’s Medal for Music, all in recognition of her contributions to British arts. So when the English National Opera announced they were producing her “Mary, Queen of Scots” several of her friends announced that if she was going we would too.

It’s worth noting that the question of whether Thea and her husband Peter would go was of no small curiosity. Thea, you see, is 96 years old and at this point traveling across the ocean is no small issue. But this was worth it so off we all went. It was great fun traveling with a bunch of friends, though sadly it meant that we were pretty booked up the whole time and didn’t even get to see old friends who live in London.

Here we are all dressed up for the English National Opera’s production of “Mary, Queen of Scots”

The opera, I should add, was really great. Modern and somewhat atonal but still approachable. The staging was distinctly minimalistic in light of the English National Opera’s financial struggle but the singing was without question world class. And importantly – for me this is a big distinction between contemporary opera and the 19th century classics – the story was tight and compelling. Mary became the Scottish Queen at the ripe age of six days (that’s right, six days old) when her father James V died. She was shipped off to France at age six, betrothed to the guy who would become Francis II. He reigned for less than two years though before dying so she returned to Scotland at age 19 to rule as was her right by birth.

Here I am with the poster advertising Thea’s opera

The opera covers the next six years as she tries – unsuccessfully – to fend off the powerful men who would usurp her power and authority. That tension and power dynamic make for an intense and thoroughly modern drama absent from older operas. It’s worth noting that while ultimately Mary failed to protect her crown – she fled to England where ultimately Elizabeth I had her beheaded (kind of the definition of a failed strategy) – she did succeed in one important way. Her son ultimately ruled as James VI of Scotland and, with the death of Elizabeth, James I of England. During his reign he supervised what became known as the King James Version of the Bible and lived as a raging homosexual, but that’s a story for another time.

OK, back now to our London trip. The opera was really good, the audience loved it, and it got really positive reviews. The crowning glory though was after the cast had taken their bows. While they were still on stage the artistic director came out and announced that they were honored to have the composer there in person. And then the spotlight hit Thea’s bright white hair as she stood and waved while the audience went wild. On and on the applause rolled, a five-minute standing ovation for our friend. I have to admit I had tears just running down my face, so proud of Thea and imagining what it must be like at age 96 to have that experience. A moment I will never forget – and will probably tear up at whenever I think about it.

The audience goes wild as the spotlight hits Thea

But of course there’s more to do in London than just go to one opera. The day we arrived Thea was being honored at the House of Lords and the eight or 10 of us from New York were invited along for the event. Sadly, I’d been diagnosed with bronchitis the day before we left New York so I really didn’t feel as though I could go – I didn’t want to tire myself out and I really didn’t want to expose our elderly friends to my germs. Mark made it, though, and said it was a pretty cool event. I mean, it was the House of Lords!

Mark, Sven, and Mary Beth all very dapper at the House of Lords

Oddly, we saw another little opera while we were in London. Entirely coincidentally an old friend of mine from Minneapolis was involved in the production of an obscure little opera literally the night before Thea’s debut so off we went to see Samuel Coleridge-Taylor’s “Dream Lovers.” It was a fun little escapade, reviving a lost 19th century piece, but not exactly the opera one would fly across the Atlantic for. But watching the production and then having dinner with Laura and her wife Mary was a great evening.

And still there was more music. Our NY friends Mary Beth and Sven came along as well, in part of course to see Thea’s opera, but also because their son Luca is in his third year as a pianist at the Royal Academy of Music. So one afternoon Luca performed a 45-minute piano recital for maybe a dozen of us. Now obviously I have an amateur’s ear but even for me it was obvious what a changed musician he is since he left high school less than three years ago.

Luca & his classmate Hayden play a four-hand Mozart piece at Luca’s private recital for friends. If you look closely you’ll note that there is a reflection of Hayden in Luca’s piano where Luca’s face should be. Wait, that guy is like six feet away. How did that happen? Ghosts and spirits I can only assume.

Oh, and one more musical interlude. Since we were in London for five nights and only had two of them taken up by operas we bought tickets for “Les Misérables” which has been playing in the West End (London’s equivalent of Broadway) for nearly 40 years. We saw it on Broadway probably 20 years ago or more and loved it then … and loved it again this time. Just an epic story with grand music and staging.

And then there were the group outings. A group dinner at an Ottolenghi restaurant that Mary Beth & Sven love (and that I missed while nursing my illness). A group lunch at an Indian restaurant in the very cool Brick Lane neighborhood. An art exhibit centered in 1504 Florence where Michelangelo, Leonardo Da Vinci, and Raphael all crossed paths. The British Museum. The Tate gallery to see dozens of Turner paintings.

All in all it was a pretty hectic few days. For the first time ever though, I feel as though I started to get to know London. And definitely enjoyed it. From here we’re taking the train to Paris for five days and I find myself thinking “Why don’t we do this London/Paris trip more often?” Why not indeed.

Curtain call for Les Mis

Sarah, Gena, Mary Beth, Carla, Luca, Sven, and Mark at the Ottolenghi restaurant. Note the empty chair where I should have been but for that damned bronchitis thing.

Luca & Sven

We were sitting at the bar at the Corinthia hotel where we were staying after the Dream Lovers opera and who should walk in but Broadway star and Tony winner Billy Porter. Turns out he is performing as the emcee in Cabaret just across the street from the hotel and came in after the production with his entourage. It seemed as though he really didn’t mind our fawning over him.

That was the night we had drinks and a light dinner with Mary and Laura who were pretty star struck by Billy

Mark with the Cabaret poster

And finally, one of those “This exists in the world?” photos. We’re walking to our group Indian lunch and what do we come across but a micro-laundrymat … in the parking lot of a gas station. I suppose it’s convenient in certain situations…

Mark on our fabulous beach

Last summer we spent nine weeks in France and apparently that’s not enough. For much of the fall we didn’t plan any travel, waiting first for Mark to have knee replacement surgery and then to figure out if he was going to do the second in quick succession. Once he decided to defer the second knee – maybe he won’t need it and we were seriously tired of not being able to plan travel – we started splurging on our planning. After a couple quick and short trips to the University of Michigan and the University of Minnesota, our first real adventure was off to St. Martin and St. Barts, neighboring islands in the French West Indies.

Our first stop for four nights was St. Martin. The island is a little odd in that since 1648 it’s been split between France and the Netherlands; about 60 percent of the land is French, but 60 percent of the population lives on Dutch side. Stranger still, the French side is part of the EU, while the Dutch side is not. (It turns out Sint Maarten, as it’s known in Dutch, is one of four constituent countries of the Kingdom of the Netherlands, along with the Netherlands, Aruba, and Curaçao. Who knew??) Thus on the Dutch side they primarily use the U.S. dollar while on the French side they use the Euro. Odd.

Beach chairs and umbrellas immediately outside our room. Very civilized.

Oh, and here’s a pretty cool trivia fact if this question ever comes up. Should anyone ask you if France shares a land border with the the Netherlands you will sound brilliant when you point out that they do here on St. Martin.

As usual, our beach vacations are just that: beach vacations. No one comes to these Caribbean islands for culture or adventure beyond maybe scuba diving. And the beach we were on – the Baie Longue, or Long Bay – was spectacular; for my money one of the greatest beaches I’ve ever been on. And the way it is laid out naturally, with a land barrier on one side and undeveloped land on the other it was for all practical purposes a private beach.

There’s always a little rain in the Caribbean but this time of year it’s distinctly manageable. And when it comes with a nice rainbow you really can’t complain.

As is typical for us about the only thing we have to research and plan once we get here is where to eat. One of the joys of coming to France, of course, is the great food. And for the most part we weren’t disappointed. We had dinner off-resort three times; one was really good, one was quite good, and one was good enough. The really good one was just across the “border” – it’s just an imaginary line, no customs or even need to slow down – into the Dutch side. A lovely little French restaurant in a little beach town that was fun.

The other two nights we went into Grand Case, the biggest town on the French side. A lively beach town that reminded us the kind of place we would have stayed 10 or 15 years ago. Some good food and a surprisingly good beach bar for a pre-dinner martini.

And so after a few perfect days on the beach it was off to St. Barts. We had booked a boat for the 45-minute commute and were really looking forward to it. It took almost as long to drive from our resort

A beautiful burrata appetizer at Le Pressoir in Grand Case

to the port where the boat was going to be but when we got there we learned the boat had been cancelled, some sort of mechanical problem.

Now our experience is that when an airline cancels a flight they work with you to find some alternative transportation. Not so this boat company. Nope, we’re not running. You can go to the French side of the island and see if there is anything at that port but we don’t have any information. Fortunately our taxi driver had hung around to see if we were going to need help and so he started driving us back to France. En route we go online and discovered that we could buy plane tickets for a little after noon, yet another example of the advantages of just being able to buy your way out of a challenging predicament. Now, the airport was at most 15 minutes from our hotel but between the drive to the port, the confusion about what to do there, and then the drive back – including a 20-minute delay while some massive yachts went through a draw bridge – we were almost two hours in the car. Frustrating!

Mark ready to board our little prop plane for the 10-minute flight to St. Barts

The one redeeming part of the whole fiasco is that the plane ride was pretty cool. There were six of us on this little prop plane and the entire time from boarding to landing was probably no more than 15 minutes, certainly not more than 20. They led us to the plane, we buckled in, the pilot taxied about 10 yards to the runway and off we went for the 10-minute flight to St. Barts. And the best part was the arrival there, where the plane flies pretty low over a hill and then does a steep dive down to the short runway. Definitely cool and given that there are hourly flights between the two islands the pilots do it often enough you can be pretty confident of surviving. Oh, and one last nice thing about the flight. They boarded 30 minutes early like most flights do, but boarding took only seconds. So they took off and we landed 10 or 15 minutes before we were supposed to take off!

Next stop St. Barts.

The view as you enter our hotel. The water really is that beautiful.

And sunset from our front porch

The water was warm, clear, and calm. And as you can see it wasn’t too crowded even in the middle of the day.

Mark is sometimes more artistic than I am

Sometimes way more artistic

A really wonderful shrimp and scallop dish at Bistro Caraibes

Mark at the Blue Martini bar. Normally European cocktails are at best barely adequate but these were really good. And just minutes after we got there it got surprisingly crowded. Nice to see a good business doing well!

Breakfast overlooking the sea on our last morning. A little meat, a little cheese, some smoked salmon, sparkling water – this is heaven.

And finally, a view of our room and beach. For three full days those second-to-last chairs on the left were our paradise.

Mark waded out into the water to take this shot of our beach and the hotel. Definitely a slice of heaven!

What a trip this has been! From the cities in the very north of France, through Normandy along the English Channel and two weeks in Brittany, down The Atlantic coast to the beach at Biarritz, up into the center of the country and then the Alps. Finally now we’re down on the Mediterranean, the French Riviera. The vacation of a lifetime, except I’ve probably had a few of those in this lifetime.

I first encountered the Mediterranean nearly 50 years ago when I sailed through the Straits of Gibraltar in 1974. I loved it then and I love it now. There is just nothing like the color of the sea on a bright sunny day and then you add to it the great cultures and cuisines and landscapes you find everywhere. It’s pretty heavenly and kind of begs the question: why doesn’t everyone live on the Mediterranean?

The walk from our hotel into town. Not a bad view at all.

From our lovely boutique hotel in St Paul de Vence it was only maybe a 20 minute drive to the Nice airport where we dropped off the car before catching a train up the coast to Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat. (The French, if you hadn’t noticed, are apparently seriously fond of dashes….) Once we got here it was mostly just beach time.

One highlight was the walkway from our hotel into town. It was maybe a 20-minute walk but on a pedestrian path right along the coast. Mostly shaded, walking past a couple pretty impressive mansions, but always with the stunning view of the Mediterranean and the many yachts that congregate near a port. The other highlight was that our hotel had a small private beach with loungers and umbrellas that made for some very relaxing afternoons.

The private beach and the sea

The only downside to the stop was that we really struggled to find good food, about the only activity that could compete with the beach. There was some good food at our hotel but one, it was at best hit or miss, and two, it’s kind of boring to just eat at your hotel. We went to one little family-owned restaurant that’s been open for nearly 40 years, a place called Captaine Cook, and while the food was OK it was in a spot with no breeze or air moving and at 85 degrees that was just too hot. Another place practically rushed us through, though again the ambience was nothing to keep us lingering anyway. On our last night we finally found a good restaurant right on the port, but otherwise the pickings were slim. On the up side though our hotel made genuinely good martinis so that was always worth looking forward to.

Pretty much every restaurant we went to during this trip had burrata and tomatoes on the menu. This, on our first lunch in Cap Ferrat, may have been the best of the lot – and the best dish we would have for a couple of days!

Mark at the cute but HOT Captaine Cook with a pretty good fish bisque

Having a little pre-dinner drink in the town plaza. If you look at the open windows right above my head you can see – and Mark certainly noticed – a white kitty lying on the window sill.

When he zoomed in to take this picture I assured him it just too far away and would look like hell. Sometimes I’m just dead wrong.

While the food here wasn’t great, we did have some amazing oysters, a type from La Rochelle that our friend Shideh had recommended. They were every bit as good as she’d suggested.

Mark on our walk into town

The port. Apparently people like boats here.

My eternal vision of the Mediterranean