Back in the room, I changed into slacks and collared shirt and headed for a quick lunch one block away to a sushi place that had one of those cool conveyor belts that parades tasty bites of sushi just inches from your face. They need to invent something that soys and wasabies the roll and drops it in your mouth.
Jumped on the Metro Rail for two stops to Circular Quay. This is the heart of the city where Sydneysiders and tourists converge and either hang about the area or move out of the center by ferry, train or bus. It’s Saturday and the area is buzzing. Sidewalk cafes and shops are filled with people just kicking back.
I walked leisurely the quarter mile along the harbor side promenade towards Bennelong Point and the Opera House. Many languages are heard; various levels of dress are seen. Heading north on the promenade, the Harbor Bridge looms large to the left, heavy dark girders flanked by massive, stalwart concrete pylons. To the right the white, gossamer curves of the Opera House.
I needn’t comment on the iconic qualities of the building form, nor the inimitable siting in this beautiful harbor. Close up, some of the detailing is clunky and the building lacks finesse. The Opera House delivers in its big confident gestures: the great flight of steps to the upper plinth, the confident vault
The raw, saw-edged concrete is visible throughout the interior. The walls, windows, stairs and other program elements are subservient to the structure which defines any sense of ornament with the stepping of the ridged rib structure. The over-riding impression I had was of an undecorated Mayan architecture in the act of overturning and fragmentation. Utzon’s design comes from the same school as Eero Saarinen, that Scandinavian modern expressionism through idealized organic structuralism, which I think was far ahead of its time and still has repercussions in today’s architecture.
Though the entire complex is called the Sydney Opera House, the larger of the sails actually contains an orchestral Concert Hall (that night the wonderful soprano Kiri te Kanawa is performing). The opera hall interior is small, but intimate. The principal direction is upwards. The concrete ribs of the giant shells all sweep towards the apex of the roof. The seating area coats the bottom half of the space while the rest is just free space. I feel like I am inside a spacious Victorian bustle.
I had booked tickets to the Opera months ago. I chose a matinee so that I could be in the building during the day. Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Mikado was playing, which I had never seen. The alternative was a performance of Aida. So did I want a light comic opera featuring characters named Nanki-poo and Yum-yum or ponder a story of verboten love by a mixed-race couple who at the end are entombed together? Sells itself. I am on vacation after all.
The performance itself was well sung and played to the hilt for laughs. Some of the dialogue was given a current twist,particularly the Lord Executioner’s ’List”, although some of the Aussie political and pop culture references were lost on me, this was well-received to the audience. I was surprised by the number of children in the audience, but perhaps this was because of the comic tone of this particular opera, rather than the high brow cultural leanings of Sydneysiders.
Leaving the Opera House, I found a shady spot on the promenade to take in the passing parade with a strong coffee and enjoy it for a bit longer.
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