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Young valkyrie at the Met, NYC

A few months ago I attended the final run of Otto Schenk's production of Wagner's Ring cycle. It was four amazing nights of opera, running over sixteen hours in length. The audience thrilled to the romantic production. The week felt like a celebration even as it bid farewell to a beloved staging.

Almost as much fun as the opera were the operagoers. Behind us, an opera-lover went on at length about various operas he had seen to a rotating cast of guests. He was knowledgeable and opinionated and looked on the surface to be the antithesis of an opera-lover, let alone opera-goer. He spoke in a heavy New York accent about the singers he loved and those he hated. He compared different productions and performances. He offered up gossip and thent old stories about the first operas he had seen, the operas that he returned to again and again.

At intermission, we ate snacks, drank champagne, and watched the crowd from the various balconies. Occasionally we would step out into the night and wander through the plaza or stand upon the terrace. We'd watch diners as they made their way quickly through various meals and desserts at the restaurant and wonder that so many patrons could be served in time for the next curtain.

I took this photo during one of the intermissions. The girl was not alone in wearing a her helmet—my companion and I wore ours for the final performance—but here she was isolated. She may have been looking to us as kindred spirits.