A Walker in the Suburbs

Ah, there is so much to say about visiting Manhattan. So much that when I first sat down to write today I didn’t know where to begin!

But I did/ do know this. Such richness, such crazy, jarring richness, is made possible by something we don’t have in the suburbs: urban density.

Here into less than 22.6 square miles flow three to four million people every day. Here are museums, concert halls, restaurants, libraries, universities, even cherry trees (take that, D.C.!). Here are all sorts of people rubbing shoulders (and sometimes bumping into) all sorts of other people.

I sample the city as if it were an exotic yet comforting stew, spoonful by delicious spoonful.

(It’s easier to photograph cherry trees than urban density. All that jostling, you know)

From the time I was a little girl I’ve heard on the radio, “Live from the Metropolitan Opera in New York City” — and last night we were there, in the very place.

Truth to tell, for most of my life that announcement prompted an immediate change of station. But lately that has not been the case. Living with an opera lover is starting to rub off on me.

Last year for Christmas, I gave that opera lover two tickets to Verdi’s “La Traviata.” I hoped he would take me along. And he did!

So we took the train to New York City and last evening walked six blocks downtown, entered Lincoln Center and were swept up into the crowd. It was a chilly Tuesday and the place was packed. Some women wore long gowns and some men wore tuxedos, though most were dressed more casually. In other words, it was an audience writ as large as New York City. And it was as enthusiastic as the city, too. Arias and choruses were greeted with applause and shouts of “bravo” and “brava.”

The beauty and pathos of the music would touch even the stoniest of hearts. Here was the human condition in voice and song — performed in a city that appreciates it.

For some people, attending a Met opera is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I hope it isn’t for us.