It seems a curse has been placed upon my US travels this year. My trip to San Diego was plagued by missed and cancelled flights in both directions. Utah suffered the same fate, and now, my journey to Nashville was shaping up to be no different. It all began the day I was supposed to leave. My original flight from Berlin, connecting through Frankfurt and Washington, was scheduled for 2:35 pm on February 13th. This allowed ample time for a morning practice session, my weekly tennis lesson (which I’d already missed four times this year!), a shower, packing, lunch with my wife, and travel. However, upon returning home from tennis at 11:50 am, a message on my phone informed me of the Frankfurt-Washington flight cancellation. The only alternative was a flight via Munich at 12:50 pm.
Panic set in. I was sweaty, unpacked, and far from ready to leave. Engaging turbo mode, I raced to the airport, managing to shower and pack amidst the chaos. I arrived at the charmingly small Tegel Airport (a perk of Berlin living – swift check-in and security, drop-off right at the gate) by 12:25 pm.
I made it to Washington early, only to discover my connecting flight was cancelled due to a “snow-storm” at Dulles Airport. A mere two inches of snow paralyzed air traffic in the US capital – truly unbelievable. Lufthansa accommodated me in a comfortable hotel about half an hour from the airport, with a connecting flight scheduled for the next morning, still allowing enough time to reach my first rehearsal in Nashville.
But fate, or bad travel luck, had other plans. No snow, no wind, perfect conditions, yet another cancelled flight! There went my rehearsal. The orchestra was understandably anxious. They booked me another ticket departing from National Airport, and after an almost 18-hour delay, I finally arrived in Nashville, the night before the concert. Sleep was out of the question; instead, I headed straight to a country music bar and surprisingly enjoyed myself immensely. Country music had never been my genre, but in a Nashville bar, it felt obligatory, and I embraced it!
The concert the following night was a blast. Haydn felt unusually effortless, a peculiar sensation. I even joined the second half orchestra section to play a rather uninspiring piece by P. Glass in the stunning new concert hall – a truly dull cello part. Sometimes composers show little mercy for musicians, prioritizing the overall effect of a piece over the performer’s enjoyment. It’s either excessively difficult (like that concerto by the dreadful PM Schneid I suffered through last summer) or so simple you might as well swap instruments within the orchestra for a challenge.
I’ll listen to it from the audience tonight; perhaps it’s better from that perspective. The choir and soloists (Cynthia Haymon, Nathan Berg) were excellent, as was the conductor Carl St.Clair, who had just been announced as the new music director of the Komische Oper Berlin that very day. After the concert, we (singers, conductor) gathered at our hotel and were presented with the most colossal plate of Nachos I have ever witnessed. It was nearly the size of my dining table, enough to feed ten hungry construction workers – truly astonishing. No wonder weight issues are prevalent here. Well, at least it motivated me to hit the gym this morning, and now, I must practice some Shostakovich No. 2 for next week.
