Bayreuth 2

I just returned from Hollander and this is the first time today the terminal has been free.
Last night at Parsifal there was an English gentleman behind me who looked and sounded like C. Aubrey Smith (I wasn't kidding about the gentleman part) and I heard him say, "They're the most harmonious couple I know: I've never heard them agree on anything." The rest of the audience is not at that epigrammatic level, unfortunately. And do not believe the rumors that no one coughs at Bayreuth. There are even a few whisperers. But on the whole people are attentive and interested and outlandishly dressed. There are many plunging necklines and bare arms that common sense or a mirror would tell the owners should be covered. I saw one woman in a brown and gold top with swirling designs and a big hot pink dollar sign over her breasts. It struck me as an odd thing to wear to Parsifal. I can't even quite get people eating ice cream cones and sausage during the hour-long intermission. It seems like eating popcorn during Mass. One elegant woman in a long black evening gown had dribbled ice cream on her chin. I saw from the back a woman in a rose-pink silk dress that had silk roses in the gathers. I was amused and charmed by this since Wagner had a rose-pink silk fetish. It looked like something the heroine of a 19th century novel would wear, so I walked around to see the girl. It would be harsh to say she might actually have been from the 19th century, but let's say the time had gone by.
I'm wearing shirt-and-tie and carrying my jacket, so I'm somewhere in the middle of the dress spectrum. Of course my shirts are a bit wrinkled since the hotel rooms have neither ironing boards nor irons, something I was assuming they would have. I see some in jeans, though that seems in context like more of a statement than is worth bothering with. A lot of people enjoy the dress up aspect. Many of them are taking pictures of themselves against the Festspielhaus or the plaque inside commemorating the world premiere of the Ring. I've been asked to take a few of these pictures for people. Happy to oblige! Although there are signs prohibiting cell phones and cameras in the theater, many carry them in and take photos during the curtain calls. The ushers, all of whom are pretty young blonde German girls before the constant smoking ruins their looks, smile and politely ask the offenders not to take photographs; the offenders smile and politely put away their contraband cameras, but only after snapping their pictures.
There is the occasional man in shorts in the crowd, in realistic acknowledgment of the heat, and I assume they were going inside, since the plaza in front of the Festspielhaus seems like an odd place to hang out. They were not among those with the "ein carte bitte" signs. I've seen several people walking around the Festspeilhaus before the performance with their dogs. I don't know where they keep them during the show, but perhaps in honor of Wagner's beloved pet there are facilities. It is usual to arrive at least an hour before the performance. For once I'm not the first to arrive at a theater. The seats are just as, or even more uncomfortable than, advertised. I figured that I sit on those plastic seats at baseball games for hours at a time so this wouldn't be a problem. Damn was I wrong. I guess wood is harder than plastic. Note to Bayreuthers: bring a cushion. I may try sitting on my jacket, which is otherwise of no use to me. When I wrote my first entry I almost commented on how perfect the weather was. Since then it has turned muggy and it poured intermittently today. Fortunately I missed getting caught in any downpours. It would be especially irritating considering how limited a traveler's wardrobe is.
The theater itself is a handsome building and the acoustics are indeed astonishing. It is smaller than any American opera house I've been in. As with Symphony Hall in Boston, a lack of funds and the resulting inability to slather excessively dainty ornamentation all over resulted in an appealingly rough-hewn building that has an understated elegance.
I went to Wahnfried today. As I signed the guest book I noticed that right ahead of mine was the signature of a Leona (if I read the name correctly) Vaz from Lisbon! An unknown relative, here at Bayreuth with me. Small world.
I slept poorly last night, which means either that I'm very jet-lagged still or that I'm back to normal. It's hard to tell.