In the afternoon we had a wander about the streets of Baden-Baden, marvelling at the extortionate prices of clothing on shop windows (you can’t get an outfit for a lot less that 5k). I found a little bobble hat I liked that was just under 15 euros. The shopkeeper asked where we are from: UK. Standard current response of laughter, followed by ‘best wishes to Boris’. A stark reminder that we won’t be going through the expedited queue at border security with that familiar blue flag with yellow stars saying EU members for much longer. We have a semi-serious discussion on if we can seek asylum in Germany if it does go to shit. And also ponder if the U.K. were ever really fully into EU as didn’t adopt the Euro like Germany did.
We have the Russian ballet this evening of Sleeping Beauty’ and decide to go back to the hotel to chill by the pool, & then get ready.
After a relaxed afternoon by the pool, we treat ourselves to a bus ride to the festspielhaus to watch the ballet.
We get in there… whoah. Having never been to the ballet, it hits us both that we must have missed the memo to dress like you are going to a grand ball. Leon in jeans and tshirt, and I have a casual dress and boots on, we feel a touch out of place. We go buy a pretzel each, as not eaten yet, and eat it very fast. We also buy a glass of something alcoholic to take in to make us feel a tad less awkward. We go to enter the theatre, as the show starts in a few mins.
We are stopped, you can’t take drinks in. Oooook! Wine downed, we try again. Nope! Not allowed to take coats in. Leon legs it downstairs and deposits our coats for a small fee. Cheek!
We take our seats and the show begins. The long and short, this takes talent and incredible organisation, choreography, and years of hard graft and commitment. The live orchestra sounds impressive but I do wish we could see it too, and the cymbals are a bit high in the mix, thus deafening you with every dramatic move. I find my mind wondering to inappropriate thought: The ballerinas look like dancing iced gems. Are they midgets dancing, that’s a bit odd, oh no they are kids. Why does it take so long for someone to give the queen a flower in this play? I think I prefer the panto. What would happen if I yelled he’s behind you? I really don’t understand the entertainment value of this. I must enjoy this, the tickets were very expensive! Why do we have to clap so long? Imagine if I got clapped for several minutes everytime I helped someone select some specs…. and so the thoughts went on. The first interval came after 20 min, and we got up and laughed to ourselves that this isn’t quite our crowd and we’d rather be in a lively blues bar. We go in for the 2nd round. A couple that really need to split up sit near us. The large headed man places himself in the seat infront of his partner, face like a slapped arse, and the distraught looking lady sits to the left of me (they must have been late, as missed the first bit). She is desperately trying to converse with him, rubbing his shoulder, and he is ignoring her. Leon comments he is an arsehole for not letting her sit in the front most seat. So the 2nd part begins. The ballet dancers feet and legs must hurt so much, and it reminds me of a series we watched about the darker underbelly of the world of ballet. They twirl and swirl, and waft about with more flowers than Morrissey. The evil queen gets her way that the princess pricks her finger on an ill placed knitting needle in one of the bunches of flowers. She takes ages to dramatically fall. And the curtain is drawn. Miraculously she comes tottering through the curtains curtsying and bowing to an adoring audience, and the 2nd part is done. We decide we want to go find some food and go round the Xmas markets some more. It’s a relief to be outside in the fresh air and we laugh and agree that was an experience, but not really one we will bother with again.
Off we go into the Xmas market. It’s Saturday night and a very diffefrent crowd. It’s heaving with drunk people and a lack of queuing system, so we abort mission to get street food, and he add towards Lichtentaller Allee to go to Rosso Bianco again.
The lasagne was not great to be honest. Considering they are meant to be Italian. Note to self to never order that again. No veg or bread with it, just a small square of overcooked tomato and cheese sludge still boiling cheese. Tasted better from a can of ravioli. Maybe I’ve been spoilt by my friend Samantha’s cooking. Leon kindly swaps his tortilini with me half way through, which is a little better. It’s like a polar opposite to the amazing salmon from last night. The great thing I did discover, is cherry juice (sauer kirsch), with amaretto. Yum yum! Like a cherry bakewell! Must introduce this to Katie!