Why I Love London

Reason One: Oedipus

Yesterday morning I walked out into a bright, sunny, and cold London day and began walking towards the nearest tube stop. I got about a block before turning back to grab another layer. It was chilly. Once adequately clothed I retraced my steps and headed to the National Theatre to wait in line for Oedipus tickets. An hour in the cold with a book and maybe fifty other hopefuls payed off and I walked away with two tickets for the matinee performance. Two tickets, front row, £20--not too shabby.

Nick, my comrade for the afternoon, and I took our seats about quater to three and waited in anticipation. Soon the lights dimmed, the enormous gates on stage opened wide, and Ralph Fiennes as Oedipus strolled powerfully to centerstage in a well cut suit and adressed the audience seated before him. Less than two hours later, Oedipus Rex staggered through the same gates a broken and bloodied man, blinded by his own crimson hands and the cruelty of fate. A terrific production all around.

Reason Two: Ivanov

We left the theatre with a slight ache in our eyes, crossed the Thames, and found our way to Wyndham's Theatre. We asked about the possibility of getting tickets for the evening show. A queue would be formed at 5:30 for return tickets outside. We ran and grabbed a quick dinner, returned to the theatre, and took our place in the queue. The company in the queue was congenial, the dinner filling, and the temperature cooling. As darkness set in, what was once a cystal clear sky became a low ceiling of gray. The rain began, the hail followed, and the mercury kept dropping. Seventy-five minutes passed and finally our turn for tickets came: two tickets, third row of the Royal Circle (first balcony), dead center, £32.50 each. We forked over the cash, collected our tickets, and dashed for a hot cup of tea in a nearby cafe. Once warmed up and dried off we returned to the theatre, plopped down into a perfect view, and waited.

The curtain raised, Kenneth Branagh appeared, and Chekov's words (beautifully translated by Tom Stoppard) flowed like wine from the stage. Laughter and pain followed misery and mirth adding up to a beautiful sum. The cast was stellar, the star was astonishing, and I was enraptured.

Reason Three: Snow

We left the theatre and dashed into the Underground next door, but not without noticing the snow mixed in with the rain. As we surfaced across town, we ran amazed down the street as a wet snow fell from the sky, creating a slick slush on the sidewalks. The cars parked on the street were white, their hoods holding more than enough snow for a snowball. This is October; this is London. How bizarre.

A hot shower, a warm bed, and a day to remember is over. On to the next one.