An Evening at The Opera House

I may be carrying all of my worldly belongings in a 65 liter backpack, but that doesn’t preclude my desire to experience the pleasures of high culture. So given the opportunity, Jeannie and I purchased tickets to a show at the world famous Sydney Opera House.

I prepared for our night of elegance by donning my finest attire—the striped shirt I reserve for special occasions (any event where a t-shirt is not up to standard), my jeans (freshly washed in the hotel Laundromat), and my hiking shoes (a distinct class above my Rainbow sandals). I looked dapper. That was until I saw a man, who looked strangely like Pavarotti, dressed in a million dollar tuxedo, garnished with a shimmering white scarf. I looked like riffraff.


Jeannie and I meekly followed Pavarotti up the majestic steps of the Opera House. We thought maybe under the guise of custodians we’d be permitted to see the show. With mild trepidation we presented our show cards to the usher, to which she took one glance and muttered, “You are entirely in the wrong place.”



Fortunately for us, she was right, and not just discriminating against my fragrance, eau de backpacker. Our tickets were for the show in the playhouse, located around the side of the Opera House, and not for the Baroque Showcase being held in the main theatre. So we parted from Pavarotti, and shuffled over to a side of the venue where I drew fewer downward looks. I should add that Jeannie looked more beautiful than any of the champagne sippers who frowned at my trail shoes.