5–9 July 2012 (MY 304)
Don Giovanni, Romeo and Juliet, Aida

2–6 August 2012 (MY 324)
Carmen, Turandot, Aida

The first magic moment comes well before the conductor raises his baton. Unless you have led a team on to the pitch at Wembley, or won the New Hampshire primaries, you are unlikely to have experienced anything quite like the wall of heady high spirits which hits you as you emerge from the entrance tunnel into the arena.

Filling the vast ellipse of the nineteen-hundred-year old Roman amphitheatre are fourteen thousand happy people, bubbling with joyous expectation of the spectacle which is to follow. Even the most dour of dusty-hearted opera purists cannot help but be uplifted.

Then the floodlights go down, the chaotic chatter quietens to a reverential whisper, and the enveloping dusk is pierced only by flickering candle flames as uncountable as the stars above. Magic again; for these special moments the Verona Festival remains without rival.

The list of unique assets continues. There is the inestimable advantage of the stage and auditorium, one of the largest of ancient amphitheatres which, though built for rather less refined spectacles (‘arena’ is Latin for sand, used in quantity after the slaughter of animals and gladiators) provides miraculously sympathetic acoustics. The elliptical form also seems to instil a sense which can best be described as resembling an embrace, bonding the audience however distant or disparate the individual members might be.

Then there is the benefit of being at the heart of one of the most beautiful of Italian cities. Verona is crammed with magnificent architecture and dazzlingly picturesque streets and squares. Surprisingly, the city seems scarcely deflected from a typically Italian dedication to living well and stylishly by the annual influx of festival visitors.

Enough of the spectacle, what of the music? Most performances reach high standards, with patches of stunning singing. For the (largely Italian) casts, to perform at Verona is still a special event, and there remains as an incentive to excellence the typically Italian expression of audience disapproval, instant and merciless. Besides, the younger singers know that they will be judged by more agents, casting directors and peers in one performance than usually would see them in a season.

Opinions vary concerning the best place to sit. All the seats we have booked are numbered and reserved (no queuing for hours and elbowing to seize the best of what remains), and a proportion are poltronissime, cushioned stalls seats, which we offer for a supplement. The rest are on the lowest tiers, the prime gradinate, with clear sight lines, while plastic seating is mercifully interposed between you and the marble.  

Perhaps the greatest difficulty confronting anyone wanting to attend the festival is finding somewhere to stay; hotels up to two hours’ drive away can be full of opera goers. We stay just five-minutes walk from the arena in the centre of Verona.

These tours are accompanied by an art historian who leads walks around Verona—there are no specialised talks on the operas.

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