Let's talk about how I got to go to the ballet for free. Friday was simply a bizarre day in general: in the morning, I completed my final registration at the Université de Lyon, so of course I ran all over creation, turning in this form here, paying for health insurance there, making a photocopy in that office there. Chaos. It all went off without a hitch, except for the part where they forgot to give me my password and login information for the university computer labs. Simply to type this column, I had to wait like a vulture, for someone who appeared to be finishing his session, and then ask him if he would kindly allow me to stay logged on under his name. Nice people, here in France.
Later, I had to give an oral presentation, as it was the final day of my pre-university intensive language class. I was signed up to say something about Western relations with Iran, but at this point, I'm not even sure what I meant to say, much less what came out of my mouth. Disaster.
Then, somehow, I forgot to eat lunch. You know how that happens, on occasion. So I ate dinner super-early, and then I realized that there was all this time stretching out ahead of me before bedtime. "Ugh, I'm so bored!" I thought, but I didn't really want to call my Univeristy friends, because I just didn't feel up to going out clubbing or sowing my wild oats. I'm just not a party person. I'm into more low-key things, such as... ballet.
So, I decided to go for a walk. I ventured out to Place de la République, which is the grandiose pedestrian mall, replete with department stores and fountains, slick-as-ice street vendors as well as unshaven alms-beggars, and at the center, an ornate carousel that makes me wish I was five years old again.
At first, I went the wrong direction, past the McDonald's with free Wi-Fi. I saw a middle-aged lady walking a Chihuahua get pushed down by a tattooed man at an entrance to the subway. Two girls came to her defense, screaming at the man and helping her to her feet. As I continued in this direction, things continued to get more and more sketch. When I decided I could turn around without being too obvious (I didn't want to appear lost), a man smelling of alcohol touched my arm and said something to me that I didn't understand. I quickened my pace, keeping my face neutral and my eyes straight ahead.
I walked the half mile to the other end of Place de la République, where one finds l'Hotel de Ville and the Musée des Beaux Arts. I decided to stop by the steps of the opera house on the chance that there would be something interesting happening. The previous Friday, there had been an amazing jazz band with the drummer who looked more like a tuba player and the trumpet-sized soprano trombone that one of the trumpet players broke out at one point during the performance. I remembered the trombone players had been very handsome.
This time, there was a sort of break-dance jam going on, with amateur break dancers taking turns and showing off their skills. I made a mental note to try and stop by the opera house every Friday evening, and as I watched, a well-dressed 40-year-old-ish lady approached me and asked if I was going to see the ballet. All I had to say was no, but somehow that was a struggle, because I wanted to explain why I was actually there, and so she asked me if I spoke French and then she switched to English. Yes, my French really is that bad. She explained (in English) that her husband builds sets for the opera house, and that he had received six complimentary tickets, but it was only the two of them and their three children. They had an extra ticket, if I wanted to go.
But of course! How much more amazing could things get? Well, there is also the fact that we were sitting in the second row... tickets like that would probably run about 60 euros, or 85 dollars. I'll spare you the details of the actual performance, except to say that the show was "Forsythe," named for the choreographer, and it was a very contemporary ballet. I liked two of the three dances very much, but of course, I'm into that kind of thing. Any good dance performance makes me wish I could be a dancer as well, but at 20, I think I'm a little old to break into the ballet scene. The husband gave me a complete history of the opera house, as well as the details of set-building for this particular spectacle.
At the end of the evening, the Bouchard family gave me their contact info, saying, "In case you ever want to come over for dinner so you can practice your French, or if you need help with anything."
Amazing! I just may get in touch with them, at least to thank them for their generosity, if nothing else. And if things don't pick up soon, as far as that whole goal of making friends with French speakers goes, I am definitely going to invite myself over for dinner.
Andrenne's column runs biweekly Wednesdays. She can be reached at alsum@cavalierdaily.com.
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