classic weekend

Now that my friend has gone back to the US, I have a bit more time to reflect what happened during the last nine days. One thing was clear all along: He was damn lucky. In the middle of February he had all of one cloudy day – the others were sunny with bright blue sky – and did not encounter a single rain drop. Even though it was a bit cold the last few days, the first half of his stay was warm enough to leave the jacket at home.

My friend racked up a total of nine classical music concerts in as many days, days that included two packed with scientific talks, meetings and interviews. My final tally was six, also more than I've ever heard in a span of not even two weeks. As befits a well-written dramatic curve, the last day, Sunday, gave us the two best concerts of the lot.

But it was a day of frantic chases and hardly a minute of calm outside the concert halls. All started badly when my friend reminded me at breakfast that the concert would start half an hour earlier than I had thought. We jumped up at once, ran to the tube station, made the train (ok, not difficult with them running every three minutes) and got there just on time.

There was just enough time to get tickets – except there weren't any tickets, only an ominous "Sold Out" sign next to the line still lingering at the box office. While we were still contemplating the situation, a lady approached us with two spare tickets, which we quickly and gladly bought off here. Middle seats, seventh row, it couldn't get much better, except if we could actually take our seats, but the doors remained closed. Belatedly, we figured out that we had got the start time wrong and the concert would not start for another half hour. Good thing we were there early, though, because otherwise we wouldn't have got the tickets.

A little while later, we were treated to the precision, passion and energy of the Jerusalem Quartet, celebrating Beethoven and Ravel. It was a stunning performance, even for someone who like me doesn't know much about classical music. The quality of the interpretation was too obvious.

After the concert and the glass of sherry you get a the bar for handing in your ticket, we headed over to Brick Lane. This has traditionally been the place where Bangladeshi community is strongest, but recently, a lot of effort has been put into refurbishing some of the adjacent warehouses and the landmark Truman brewery. Now, there are lots of galleries, quick little restaurant, vintage clothes shops, arts and crafts markets and tons of people. At night, coffee shops turn into clubs, bars amp up the tunes, and the Rough Trade record store houses gigs. I wish it weren't so far from where I live, otherwise I'd go there more often.

It's a great place to get lost, and this is exactly what we did. By the time we had finished lunch, we realized we didn't have all that much time left to make it to Royal Festival Hall for the finale of Daniel Barenboim's Beethoven piano sonata series. Trying to get somewhere fast on a weekend is doomed to failure because of inevitable tube construction. Lines are closed, shortened, or delayed. We tried anyway, making a dash to Liverpool St., getting lost briefly in our search for the Circle Line, which apparently didn't run, changing travel plans in mid-air, sprinting through the maze that's the Bank-Monument interchange, and finally alighting at Embankment. We already had our tickets, and three minutes remained, but also a bridge to cross. It took us five, and the door to the auditorium was closed in our faces. There went the first sonata of the afternoon.

We were lucky that we didn't miss the last though, number 32, which was spectacular. Seeing Barenboim play, how he effortlessly gets the sounds from the piano, how he palpably fills the hall with a few little notes during the quieter parts, how the moment of silence after the performance is an integral part of the performance, all this is world-class and truly amazing. Afterwards, we stepped out onto the Southbank esplanade elated but calm, ready to enjoy the rest of the afternoon and the imminent sunset. Madness had stopped.

Except it hadn't really because just as I was getting my camera warmed up for the early evening shots, we ran into a friend from Belfast who just happened to be in town, doing the same walk at the same time as us. What are the chances?

Suddenly, all started anew. We had stories to swap and places to see. We covered another five miles running around London before we ended in night in a fine Persian restaurant, not far at all from home. And at some point, finally and thankfully, this Sunday ended, and rest got its chance.

By the way, the new camera is absolutely lovely.

More to come on flickr.