La Bayadère

After relocating to a hotel in the business district (I am here for work, after all), I returned to explore more of the city.

It was—you guessed it—another rainy day.

I'd read that the views are stunning from the tower of the Westerkerk. Alas, that appeared to be accessible only to groups, by reservation.

Boat tours were running, but not enticing given the weather. I decided to visit the flower market, housed along one canal mostly in floating greenhouses. Of course, this is not really the season; the first stall had a colorful array of flowers. The rest? Tulip bulbs, mostly ... and lots of tchotchkes.

Having mastered the bus, tram, and train, today I tackled the Metro. I had picked up an OV-chipkaart to simplify my travels: keep it topped up, then just tap on, tap off. Tonight I have a ticket for the ballet, and their website warned of disruption at the nearest Metro station due to ... yet more construction.

The National Opera and Ballet was a short walk from the flower market, and the Metro would take me back to my hotel's neighborhood. Before puzzling out the route (and coping with an unexpected delay, a broken-down train), I wandered through a nearby street market.

At first glance, it was typical: Vendors hawking their wares on tables set up under portable canopies. At second glance, it was unusual. There were at least four stalls offering bicycle gear: saddles, locks, and heavy chains. I overheard one conversation: “I could sell you a cheaper chain, but you will be back in a few days after your bike is stolen.” There was also a bicycle mechanic in one stall, stocked with a vast array of wheels and other necessary parts.

Near my hotel, sparks flew as a well-dressed man applied a power tool to a chain. Presumably a chain securing his own bicycle.

After my trial run on the Metro, returning for the ballet was a breeze.

For me, this was a rare opportunity to see a full-length performance of La Bayadère.

In the first act, the male lead failed to stick a landing and came down hard (but gracefully). He seemed sheepishly grateful for the enthusiastic applause he got when he took his bows.

The final act unfolded behind a mostly-transparent curtain. Perhaps to contain the swirling clouds at the feet of the dancers? It dampened the luster and rendered the action slightly out-of-focus.

But it was Act III's “The Kingdom of the Shades” that I was most eager to see in context, having seen it performed separately by the San Francisco Ballet. I was surprised to recognize the music before the first dancer appeared, but I knew this piece had made a huge impression on me. The sight of the corps de ballet descending, zig-zag, onto the stage in a seemingly unending stream of arabesques is simply unforgettable.

Unforgettable.