DECEMBER 7: THE CURTAIN GOES UP ON THE OPERA SEASON AT LA

SCALA IN MILAN

While today's date, December 7, may not mean much to people living outside of Italy, the
feast day of Saint Ambrose is a major date in the calendar in Milan. For it marks the
opening of the season at La Scala, the city's opera house. This year, the season opens with
Bizet's Carmen, conducted by Daniel Barenboim, with sets by Emma Dante.

The great and the good as well as the not-so-great and not-so-good are going to be there,
jewelry a-glitter, and they all then retire to grand gala dinners. Which explains why the
opera starts at 1800, as opposed to the usually 2000 or even later.

Long a political occasion, where the unemployed come out to embarrass those whose
problems are anything but money-related, the opening of the season at La Scala has
turned nasty at times. The police usually manage to keep everything under control,
though, and it all ends quietly.

All of which got me thinking about the last time I had been to La Scala. I realised it was
not the wonderful performance of Rossini's La Donna del Lago, or the ballet version of
Fellini's La Strada, but something else entirely. So I went back into the archives and
found a piece I had written for the July 2004 issue of HelloMilano magazine. Here it is:

"Just recently I was invited to La Scala. These things happen in Milan, especially if you
are a member of the Foreign Press Association. Along with the invite, came a note on
dress code. Rather than get all indignant over the fact that they thought I did not know
how what to wear to such a high-profile location, I paid very close attention. Especially
as, they said, we would not be allowed in wearing anything (on our feet, that is, not
altogether!) but flat, rubber-soled, shoes. Birkenstocks it was, then. Fine by me. That's
what I wear all summer anyway.

When we got there, more sartorial input. Not only were hats to be worn, but they were to
be provided for us. Because they are no longer part of the fashionable person's wardrobe,
and would be hard to find? More than likely. Indeed, despite the fact that the word
"millinery" to describe women's hats is named for Milan, which was the place for stylish
headgear in 1688, which is when the Merriam Webster's Collegiate Dictionary dates it
to, there are now only two hatters left in town.

So, to get back to what I was talking about. Which was ... oh yes, La Scala, visit, hats.
The appointment was for 2pm, which is an unusual time for an opera house, but they
were waiting as we arrived. A quick welcome, and then we came to the hats. One each.
The same model. To stop us arguing, I guess. Bright yellow. Sturdy, well-made.
Innovative material. Nice little eye-shade effect on the front. Not so much a chapeau as a
helmet, actually. Rather than being designed to embellish the bonce, these nifty little
numbers were obviously meant to protect the cranium from encounters of the painful
kind with objects subjected to the laws of gravity.

Suitably hatted, we made our entrance into the hallowed spaces of what is, if not the one
of the finest, but surely one of the best-loved opera houses in the world.

At which point, to be honest, in addition to our jaunty little yellow helmets, we could also
have used something to cover the ears. The sounds in there were like nothing I have ever
heard before -- at La Scala, or elsewhere. Percussion was the order of the day. Drills,
jack-hammers, regular hammers, you name it. Which meant that the site engineers, the
people from the Milan City Council, and all the other big-wigs who were explaining what
was going on with the massive refurbishment programme -- for this was the reason we
were there -- had to scream at the tops of their voices.

That said, some people were being very quiet. Not a squeak was to be heard from the
women applying gold-leaf to the boxes, many of which are still privately-owned.
Concentration was the order of the day as they worked in spaces that, in times gone by,
had been frequented by Byron, Stendhal and the like. And would again, just as soon as all
the work was done.

We left them to their work and, closely watched to make sure we did not trip over any
tools, workmen, and other obstacles, proceeded on our tour.
It was very interesting to see things like the great chandelier, that aglow with myriad
bulbs rises to the ceiling to mark the start of the performed, now wrapped in plastic, and
very stationary. Then there was the Palco Centrale, or Central Box (aka Palco Reale, as it
was known before 1948 when Italy became a republic, and as it is still known now to
closet Royalists). Usually velvet-red, now all cement-grey. In fact, apart from us and our
yellow hats, the predominant color was grey.

And the dust. Yikes. We were all coughing when we came out. So much so, that it was
only when we were on our way home that we started wondering. Will it really, as they all
insisted, be ready to roll on December 7, 2004? And then we remembered the comment
in that day's newspaper that, yes, December 7 was for definite, but that then the workers
would go back in until July 2005. With the definitive opening on Dec 7, 2006."

Which is how it was.

As everyone else who lives in or near Milan, we see the opening night as a ray of hope.
That, maybe, this season, we will get to a show. It's not so much that the rickets are
expensive (which they are), but there are so few of them and so few performances. Not
more than one or two a week, between December and June (excluding Easter, of course).
Life is certainly easier since the advent of the site: www.teatroallascala.org, where you
can make reservations. Check on the program, as well as the dates when bookings start
for each performance. If you are in Milan during the season (see above) you could also
check out the scheme whereby returns and unsold tickets are available on the night, two
hours before the performance, from the Scala Ticket Office in the Duomo subway station.
Anyway, that's it for now on La Scala. Let's check back in this time next year to see if I
have managed to achieve my ambition!