Home Again

We had every intention of blogging at least once or twice while away in Europe last month and this, but we really had more than enough to do just experiencing things without tackling more writing than we normally do, which is actually quite a lot since we always keep a daily journal (we call it "the bullshit book") and write a couple thousand words about each piece of theatre we see. So the description and reflection have had to wait until now.

We shifted our annual trip abroad by a couple months this year to celebrate our newfound freedom to travel outside the peak tourist season and also to see what difference it would make to experience familiar locations at a different time of year.

The result? London is pretty much the same all year round, except for average temperatures being somewhat lower or higher. Rain is a constant. The crowds, the congestion, the pollution, the malfunctioning services, and the brilliant cultural attractions are steady factors year round.

But the French countryside in October is...well, seriously transformed compared to August. Rural France is a seasonal affair attuned to the eternal cycle of planting and harvest, not to mention the cycle of teaming vacationers drawn to the many remarkable tourist sites, such as picturesque medieval villages, walled cities, grottoes, and prehistoric cave art-- overrun in summer, charmingly deserted in the fall.

Along these lines, we had two distinct sorts of experiences this year: very rich theatre and museum going taken at breakneck pace in London, and very relaxed and inspirational participation in the rural activities of the Dordogne region of southwest France.

I know no one really wants to read more than superficially about someone else's vacation. Even bloggers mustn't be arrogant enough to think otherwise, so let's just take one sample of each of those experiences and call it done.

In our opinion the most significant theatrical event of the current season is David Hare's new play "Stuff Happens" at the National Theatre. Hare sets himself the task of depicting in full detail how America and Britain came to be entangled in the Iraq mess that we seem to share. It is an even-handed, but powerful examination of history that's so recent that it's still bleeding. Alex Jennings, one of England's most exciting classical actors, is a slack-jawed, but not dim-witted George W. Bush; the comic genius Des Barrit is a VERY SCARY Dick Cheney; Nicholas Farrell the deeply betrayed but ever-stalwart Tony Blair, and the American actor Joe Morton is the closest we have to a hero here as the cautious, loyal, sensible, diplomatic, and ultimately frustrated Colin Powell. All your other favorites are there as well, Rummy, Condi, Wolfy and many more speaking lines taken from the public record and, then, when necessary, remarkably scripted by Hare to fit as well as possible with what is known about private meetings and conversations.

"Stuff Happens" is about as timely as theatre gets, and Hare has crafted a work that could, if it were seen by enough people, change attitudes and affect elections more than any debate or stump speech. Of course, the problem is that maybe three or four thousand people see it in a week, and very few of those are American voters. But it will run for awhile, and I'd not be surprised if it becomes a film one day soon.

Our most memorable day in France, though, was timely only in the sense that mid-October is harvest time for the local vineyards, and when it's time to pick grapes they can use all the hands they can get. We stay with friends who are just retired from teaching like ourselves, and their neighboring village commune invited us all to lend a hand last Saturday with the vendange of a relatively small vineyard--the size that about 20 people can rip through in one day. So there we are amidst all these very friendly, loquacious French men and woman--many of them considerably older than we are--stooping over the vines with our secateurs and snipping off all those little bunches of wine grapes and filling our paniers time after time. It's the kind of healthy labor that must at least in part account for the longevity of these folks, and it was the kind of experience that many California urbanites would pay for.

We, of course, didn't have to pay, nor were we paid except by inclusion in the most incredible communal mid-day meal. There's no need to detail the seven courses, except to say it wasn't anything like having dinner at some trendy French restaurant in, say, San Francisco. It was simple peasant fare prepared with love and gratitude, served to all hands at one long table in the landowner's--Jean-Claude and Claudette's-- living room which for the day had been converted into a dining room. Indeed, our hostess talked assertively about preferring the term "peasant" to describe her station in life. She sees nothing to be ashamed of, and neither do we.

Needless to say the meal was received and consumed with authentic appreciation and enthusiasm over a period of two hours before we all trekked back out to the vineyard to finish off the harvest. Absolutely unforgettable!