Those of you who follow my blog will know by now my love of opera, and possibly, the fact that I used to sing. In fact, given a stiff drink or two, I can be persauded still to render a few bars of Strauss in public – usually the Champagne overture from "Die Fledermaus". Indeed, the last time I did so, in a packed KABB in Shanghai, I received an ovation and two glasses of complimentary bubbly on the house. That may have been to shut me up, but nonetheless, I tried.

One of the enduring legends about Opera however has been the role of the Castrati – a long outlawed practice of severing young pre-pubescent boys from their testiles in order for them to develop a particular, some say exquisite, high male soprano richer in tone than the current female version given the larger male chest size. Very few recordings exist of Castrati singers, however I have seen, on several occassions, sheet music from the original composers specifying the role.   Prepubescent castration for this purpose diminished greatly in the late 1700s and it was illegalized in Italy in 1870. This didn’t prevent Castrati from entering the profession however, and the last known such singer was Alessandro Moreschi, who died in 1922. A rare, 100 year old recording of him singing "Ave Maria" can be heard here: 

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It’s always a pleasure to visit New York, although I must admit it did seem a little on the chilly side arriving from Miami. And having flown to Miami from Bombay, I wasn’t entirely dressed for a chilly November day in the Big Apple. However, all that negativity passes when I check into the Algonquin Hotel.

Travelling so much has made me look out for hotels specific to my character, international chains are fine, but rather lack character. So around the world I have a list of preferred hotels, and in New York the Algonquin is my choice. Opening its doors in 1902, it’s located at 44th Street in Midtown. The Algonquin has also been designated as a New York City Historic Landmark.

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Miami – Mimo, Royal Terns & Black Beans

I’ve just been in Miami for a conference, and it’s always good to visit. I always find America to comprise of greatly differing cultures and cities (after all, like India, it is comprised of many different states) and Miami has a charm and character all of its own.

Many of the legendary Miami art deco buildings were created by the architect Morris Lapdius, and the so called “mid-century modern buildings” known in style as “Mimo”. Frank Lloyd Wright and Bauhaus are all part of this school, but Miami born Lapidus went a step further. Often described as ‘mad’ or simply ‘crazy’, Lapidus’s basic style revolved around his beliefs that “Less is a bore” and famously, “Too much is never enough”. Stating that his buildings were “the crazy hat for women, the dazzling tie for men” he created many of Miami’s now iconic buildings and hotels, including the one I stayed at, the Eden Roc, located right on South Beach.

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It has been a long –held dream of mine to visit St. Petersburg, home of the Tsars, of one of the worlds greatest museums, of caviar, vodka and the famed palaces of the boyars of old. Appropriately, it was Russian opera that inspired me – hearing that Anna Netrebko was to sing the leading role in Tchaikovsky’s opera “Iolanthe” at the Mariinsky, conducted by Valery Gergiev – well a night at the opera doesn’t really get much better. Accordingly tickets were booked online paid for, and all I had to do was a get a Russian visa. Now the palava with that is another story – I find it hard to be in one place at one time long enough to stay the week or so needed to process a visa, but this time it was complicated as I needed to apply for work visas for China and India too. In one of those horrid quirks of life, all my major visa applications had to be completed all at the same time. And with time running out, I made the final, Russia visa with just 48 hours to spare when Anna Netrebko was due to walk the boards at the Mariinsky.

But as you know from my previous article, that deadline was met, with more than satisfying results. However, what of the rest of St. Petersburg?  Quite simply, it is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Curiously reminiscent of Venice, Peter the Great built it to rival the canals of that wonderful city. He also visited Manchester, in England, another canal-riven European city whose regrettable treatment of their waterbound legacy means much of it is now buried amid industrially inspired wasteland. But Peter succeeded, and St. Petersburg is grand indeed. Canal trips can be taken along the Neva as it wanders through the city, stuffed full of architectural wonders. Palaces exist on every corner, and it was one, the Taleon Imperial Hotel , where we decamped. Built for a sister of Catherine the Great, it stands, proud as ever, on the canal. Evenings were spent at the Hotel Grand Europe, where I would sit in a corner of the bar, enjoying an excellent Bossner Baron cigar and splendid Armenian brandy. The cigar – and I have searched assidously to find a supplier to no avail – are apparently the work of a Russian from Siberia, (of I presume German extraction) whose business prospered, and now wealthy, wanted to find a cigar to his own tastes. In doing so, he travelled to Nicaragua, where the Bossner brand is made. The Baron, which is a thick, dark torpedo served in its own sandalwood box, is an excellent smoke, in fact one of the best I’ve had. But apparently only available at the Grand Hotel Europe. However, I shall keep an eye out for its availability elsewhere, and if you like full bodied cigars and see one, purchase immediately.

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While St. Petersburg is the female of the pairing, Moscow is very much the male equivalent. I had expected a somewhat grim, Soviet inspired city. What I saw was something quite different – Moscow is sheer grandeur. While Stalin’s modelling of the city has left massive buildings dedicated to the rise of the proletariat, the so called “wedding cake” style of architecture, his vast avenues and colossal structures provide a certain majesty to the city I had not expected. When added to that is the Tsarist legacy of the Kremlin, and the many other palaces, churches, museums and opera houses that appear in every space in Moscow, it is apparent that the city is at the apex of European majesty. The yang  to St. Petersburg’s yin.

The other surprising thing was the sheer volume of local culture, in particular theatre, that was on offer. A thriving society enjoys an array of cultural choices, and Moscow has one of the most vibrant cultural scenes I have experienced. In seven nights in Moscow we attended five operas and the Bolshoi. That range of program is difficult to attain even in New York. For the record, we saw Rubenstein’s “The Demon”, an evening of Viennese arias, Rimsky-Korsakov’s  “Maid of Pskov”, Mussorgsky’s “The Fair at Sorochyntsi”, and  Khachaturian’s magnificent ballet “Spartacus” .  Of these, Rubenstein’s “Demon” was probably my favourite, an opera well overdue reappraisal in the West. Examples of the Demon’s arias – in which he professes his love for the doomed Tamara – can be found on Dmitri Hvorotovsky’s recent CD “Heroes & Villains”

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I’ve always wanted to visit St. Petersburg, and due to a combination of factors have finally arrived. At some points in your life you just have to go do things without any thoughts of how to carrying them out. Such it was when Meggie told me, when I’d just arrived back to Beijing from my sailing in Thailand, that Anna Netrebko was singing lead soprano in Tchaikovsky’s opera Iolanta, with Valery Gergievconducting, at the Mariinsky Theatre.

For those of you unfamiliar with the world of Opera or Classical Music, Valery Gergiev is currently one of the worlds greatest conductors. He is the Principal at St. Petersburg’s legendary, Tsarist opera house the Mariinsky Theatre, itself one of the great opera houses in the world. Gergiev is also the principal conductor of the London Symphony Orchestra amongst several others. Anna Netrebko is now considered almost certainly one of the greatest soprano’s at present, matched possibly only to Katherine Jenkins in popularity. (Americans tend to prefer Jenkins, Europeans Netrebko). Tchaikovsky needs little introduction, expect to say that his opera Iolanthe was his last, is definitely not related to the Gilbert & Sullivan piece of the same name, and is one of his prettiest works.

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I’m not a big fan of Dan Brown’s works, both his “Da Vinci Code” and “Angels & Demons” (now both films), I find heretical and full of mumbo jumbo. While I enjoy a decent yarn alone with everyone else, his passing off as ‘faction’ much of his work to the gullible seems pseudoism to a degree that while may earn him millions in book sales, is rather disheartening to those of us who recognize a snake oil salesman when we see one. And in any event there are far better works than Browns turgid misrepresentations of history out there if one cares to search for them. One of these is “The Fiery Angel”, a 1908 novel written by the Russian Valery Bryusov. In it, he relates the apparently true tale of demonic possession in 16th century Cologne. It depicts a love-triangle between Renata, a passionate young woman, Ruprecht, a knight and Madriel, the Fiery Angel. The novel tells the story of Ruprecht’s attempts to win the love of Renata whose spiritual integrity is seriously undermined by her participation in occult practices. The novel is a meticulous account of sixteenth century Germany, notably Cologne and the world of the occult. Characters such as Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa and Faust appear alongside a description of a Black Mass. Indeed, Faust appears at a tavern with Mephistopheles, the latter of whom, annoyed with the slow service, eats the waiter alive. It’s not exactly box-office friendly, more Quadruple X in content.

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I’ve just spent the weekend being seduced by Salome – a statement that would cause not just tantrums in the girlfriend department but also concerns over my personal safety. Watching Richard Strauss’s opera of the same name – and then Carlos Saura’s wonderful Flamenco ballet about the lady, it has been quite an experience. But first, for those of you unfamiliar with the tale of exotic seduction, striptease and subsequent murders than accompany Salome’s bewitching, yet ultimately sordid tale, let’s have a quick look at who she was. The enchantress – for she surely was – crops up in the Bible of all places, in the Gospel of Matthew, almost immediately before Jesus does the miracle thing with 5 loaves and 2 fishes, and as an encore, walks on the surface of Lake Galilee in a storm. Matthew tells of the demise of John the Baptist, who has been imprisoned by King Herod for saying nasty things about his wife. Not any old nasty, like her hair looks straggly and she eats too much garlic, but really nasty, about, her incestuous love affair with her brother and how she killed her previous husband to get her hands on Herod. The latter was not amused, and John languishes, defiantly, having been thrown down a well, yet still spouting off about how the son of God will come and demand retribution for all their sins. Herod is spooked, and keeps him alive while not wanting to merely execute him.

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I was lucky enough this past weekend to attend a rare evening at Beijing’s National Center for the Performing Arts (known locally as the Egg) just behind the Great Hall of the People on Tiananmen. I’ve been several times to different events; however this was my first occasion to view the National Ballet Company. On offer was a danced version of “Eugene Onegin” – Pushkin’s poem of tragic love and jealousy gone wrong. Backed up by the National Ballet’s own symphony orchestra (I don’t know of any other ballet company to have their own dedicated orchestra!) the music on offer was Tchaikovsky – but not from his score to the opera of the same name. Instead, the orchestra played Kurt-Heinz Stolze’s orchestration of Tchaikovsky’s “Seasons” and themes from Rimini.

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The Ganges River flows into and across India from sources high up in the Himalaya, with its source tributaries being in Tibet. As I noted on my 2point6billion China/India commentary, both China and India have recently embarked on studies into Himalayan glaciers to determine the rate of melt. During the Monsoon however, the river crashes down the Indian Himalay, thunders through Rishikesh and then makes its way right across the country.

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