Going Dutch

If someone said to me that, for my special birthday celebration, they’d bought me tickets to see a show starring some fella I’d probably never heard of, but here’s a list of his attributes:

• ·      he plays the violin, conducts an orchestra and a choir;
• ·      a personable chap with a catchy sense of humour;
• ·      invariably joined on stage by opera singers of whom you will never have heard, never having been to an opera in your life;
• ·      who will be singing arias that you will certainly not understand,

my response might have been,

“Mmm … an Amazon voucher would have been nice!”

But, thankfully, my sister is not as rude as me.

However, to my surprise and subsequent shame, my sister Paula had indeed heard of the great Andre Rieu and was immensely pleased with the gift. 

Now for those of you who are not familiar with the name – and if you’re under fifty, there’s every chance that you are not; Andre Rieu is a hugely successful performer.  His spectacular shows tour the globe every year, entertaining many thousands of admirers.  But perhaps, the most popular events in his year are the performances in his home town of Maastricht – a delightful city in the Netherlands, where, I would wager, every single citizen has not only heard of him, but is also a fan.

So where better than Maastricht itself for two ‘new-to-Rieu’ groupies to see what all the fuss is about?  And how convenient that Becky and Daz live less than half an hour away from this most attractive city, therefore earning them an invite to the big event in exchange for a few nights’ bed and board.   

Even I would now deem the Amazon voucher a poor second to this nice little trip. 

Andre Rieu’s Maastricht concert is performed in the open air in the huge central Vrijthof Square.  The colossal podium and two big screens occupy one side of the square; concert seats fill the centre and restaurant terraces line the other three sides.

So, where does one chose to sit in this gigantic arena?

After a bit of research on YouTube and a very helpful recce to Maastricht by son-in-law Daz I had three options to consider:

Option 1:  Buy concert tickets for optimum view of the stage, but unless seated on the first few rows you watch the action from the big screens.  Plus, the folding chairs are metal and look uncomfortable, but you do get a free bottle of water.  A bit tempted …

Option 2:  Buy ‘Terrace Experience’ tickets for a restaurant at the side of the square; no view of the stage but an excellent view of the restaurant’s own big screen.  Comfy chair, three course meal, bottle of wine.  Bit more tempted …

Option 3:  Get a move on and book tickets for one of the two restaurants that offer an amazing and direct view of the actual stage and screens.  Comfy chair, three course meal, bottle of wine.  Very tempted …

Dilemma?  Hardly.  Option 3 it was.

On the evening of the concert the area outside the square buzzes with anticipation as the crowd gathers to wait for the barriers to be removed at 6.30 pm when those who have booked for the terraces are shown to their tables.   The meal is a no nonsense affair with only two choices as it must be completed before the concert starts at 9.00 pm.

The race for tickets was worth it.  We had a great table with a fabulous view.  Within seconds our waitress had taken our order and the evening was underway.

We were sharing our table with Dutch people, who amiably shook hands and introduced themselves.   On learning we were English, my immediate neighbour, delighted at having been presented so easily with a victim, proceeded to force on me his numerous and newly acquired Brexit barbs.  

This continued throughout the meal.  Being a sensitive soul I was conscious that he may feel a little insulted by our decision to leave the European Union and, as I was in his country and eager to ‘fit-in’ I felt compelled to impress on him that I came from European stock.   In vain I boasted of my Spanish ancestry.  In my Dutch friend’s opinion, Bilbao, in northern Spain (from where my ancestors hail) isn’t ‘real’ Spain, so it doesn’t count. 

As this was a special evening for Paula (who, by the way, had so far spent the entire time trying to attract the attention of all passing cameramen in the hope of featuring on the subsequent DVD!) I was certainly not about to argue.   Especially with a Dutchman – they are giants after all! 

I suspected that, short of wearing a T-Shirt emblazoned with “I voted REMAIN”, there was nothing I could say to placate my neighbour, so I gave up. 

As it was, the marching band heralding the arrival of Andre and his entourage had reached its crescendo and Andre’s appearance on stage gave me the opportunity to curl, ever so slightly, my stiff British upper lip, and present him with my extremely English back.

Even Andre couldn’t resist a harmless jibe at us Brits.  As Maastricht welcomed him to the stage he talked of how music brings people together - people from all over the world - of all nationalities.  Indeed, he said, there were seventy-eight nationalities present in the audience that very night.  (Shame there wasn’t a Spaniard right next to my Dutch friend!)

For obvious reasons, Andre focused his attention on only one of those seventy-eight nationalities,

‘For all the English people here,’ he said, ‘welcome to Europe!’

The well-meant merriment at our expense soon waned to make way for a musical and visual extravaganza of epic proportions.   Whether to your taste or not, it is a true pleasure to witness the performance of singers and musicians of such excellence. 

There is no need to understand the language of the arias.  The haunting melodies, the drama of the music and the inspiring supremacy of the human voice is its own language.  An arrangement, as Becky will affirm, designed to cause the spine to tingle and the tears to flow.

But perhaps the highlight of the evening was the waltzing.  

And I’m not just talking about the one hundred professional couples that waltzed their way into the arena, swishing amongst the audience like the shadows of swirling spectres, before besieging the square in an enchanting, Disney-like, panoply of perfection.

No, I’m talking about Paula - and her waltzing.

After all, this was her special night.  And how often does one get the chance to waltz with a giant?  Especially when one has no idea how to waltz?  Not often, I can tell you.  I mean, they weren’t exactly selling tickets.  There was no raffle, no offer even, to barge your way through the merely ordinary to seek out the tallest, most elegant Dutchman that ever waltzed the Vrijthof.   But Paula was determined!  ‘I want that one!’  she declared.  ‘I want to waltz with him!’ 

To be fair, she has always had excellent taste.

Her wish would not have been granted had it not been for the lovely Daz, who waltzed her into the arms of this big friendly giant, bowing most apologetically to the angel in the white dress who was suddenly bereft of her partner, given that he was now stomping around the square with our kid!

Well, at least it wasn’t the conga! 

No, that came a few minutes later.   The jig of joy, or snake of shame – however you regard it - is a feature of all of Andre’s bashes.  Those who have enjoyed the concert from the restaurant terraces seem to be the ones who join the throng.  Can’t imagine why.  The wine, perhaps? 

To my amazement, we didn’t join it. 

Or, did we…?

Better order the Andre Rieu Live In Maastricht 2016 DVD to find out!