In this dream I am flying into an European city, and I have my violin with me. I know instinctively that I am there to play as part of an orchestra. Momentarily I wonder what my position is and what pieces we will play, but soon I am distracted by getting off the plane.
Emerging from the plane, the landscape reveals no clues and I still have no idea where I am. I am travelling with a man who has a cello, and we get into a taxi with our instruments. The taxi driver doesn't speak English, but drives through many narrow streets before we finally emerge at a canal. We are in Venice! I think to myself, what a beautiful place to play music.
We get out of the taxi and into a gondola. The gondolier is extravagantly dressed, as if he is part of some show, but the gondola itself is old with peeling paint. I am sceptical about taking our instruments onto the gondola, but seems like we have no choice. The gondolier pushes away from the side of the canal, and we are smoothly gliding down it.
I soon realise that we are all alone and there are no other gondolas around. We emerge from the small canal into a much larger one, but still there are no signs of people on gondolas. On the ground though, people walk about just like in any other place.
I turn to the man I am with and ask him if he has been here before. Sure, he says, but it was much busier last time. As we turn a corner, I see that the water is sloping in the canal, such that only half of the canal is covered with water. We travel further and I start seeing people walking in the canals, and I wonder where all the water in Venice has gone. Here I was worrying about our instruments getting ruined, there's hardly any water to row our gondola in!
The gondolier points out a structure in the distance, a grand majestic hotel. A few hundred metres from it, we hit a sandbank and the gondola abruptly stops in the middle of the canal. The gondolier jumps out and kicks the gondola violently, sending our instruments half into the air. Watch it!! The man calls out loudly. The gondolier throws up his hands and gestures for us to get out of the gondola.
We start walking down the canal, lugging our instruments. The violin is remarkably easy to carry, I thought to myself, whereas the man seemed to really struggle with his bag and his cello. We arrive at the lobby of the hotel, a beautiful place with a huge chandelier over the entrance. We join the line to the reception desk, and recognise some other people with instruments.
As we reach the front, I see a tall middle aged woman wearing a heavy winter coat, her hair carefully set in curls. She is holding some sort of woodwind instrument (?a clarinet), and is gesturing wildly at the check-in clerk, speaking some unrecognisable language. Next to her is a teenage boy with a sullen expression, his clothes untidy and his fingernails grimy, holding a large brass case (?a tuba). The boy looks away as the woman raises her voice even more, and the clerk looks at me for help. I approach the woman and ask her what the trouble is.
They don't have any more rooms! She shouts. They put me in the same room as this little stinky boy! The boy looks embarrassed and stares intently at his feet.
I am a lady! How am I supposed to sleep in the same room as a little boy? She snarls at the clerk, who murmurs apologetic words.
Why don't we swap so my friend here can stay with the boy, and I can share a room with you? I offer to her, gesturing to the man I am with. After all, we are part of the same orchestra.
She smiles at me widely and says, that would be wonderful, thank you so much.
The man looks quite cross now. He leans over and says something in my ear, which I can't quite catch. He says it again, and I still don't understand him.
Then I wake up.
Emerging from the plane, the landscape reveals no clues and I still have no idea where I am. I am travelling with a man who has a cello, and we get into a taxi with our instruments. The taxi driver doesn't speak English, but drives through many narrow streets before we finally emerge at a canal. We are in Venice! I think to myself, what a beautiful place to play music.
We get out of the taxi and into a gondola. The gondolier is extravagantly dressed, as if he is part of some show, but the gondola itself is old with peeling paint. I am sceptical about taking our instruments onto the gondola, but seems like we have no choice. The gondolier pushes away from the side of the canal, and we are smoothly gliding down it.
I soon realise that we are all alone and there are no other gondolas around. We emerge from the small canal into a much larger one, but still there are no signs of people on gondolas. On the ground though, people walk about just like in any other place.
I turn to the man I am with and ask him if he has been here before. Sure, he says, but it was much busier last time. As we turn a corner, I see that the water is sloping in the canal, such that only half of the canal is covered with water. We travel further and I start seeing people walking in the canals, and I wonder where all the water in Venice has gone. Here I was worrying about our instruments getting ruined, there's hardly any water to row our gondola in!
The gondolier points out a structure in the distance, a grand majestic hotel. A few hundred metres from it, we hit a sandbank and the gondola abruptly stops in the middle of the canal. The gondolier jumps out and kicks the gondola violently, sending our instruments half into the air. Watch it!! The man calls out loudly. The gondolier throws up his hands and gestures for us to get out of the gondola.
We start walking down the canal, lugging our instruments. The violin is remarkably easy to carry, I thought to myself, whereas the man seemed to really struggle with his bag and his cello. We arrive at the lobby of the hotel, a beautiful place with a huge chandelier over the entrance. We join the line to the reception desk, and recognise some other people with instruments.
As we reach the front, I see a tall middle aged woman wearing a heavy winter coat, her hair carefully set in curls. She is holding some sort of woodwind instrument (?a clarinet), and is gesturing wildly at the check-in clerk, speaking some unrecognisable language. Next to her is a teenage boy with a sullen expression, his clothes untidy and his fingernails grimy, holding a large brass case (?a tuba). The boy looks away as the woman raises her voice even more, and the clerk looks at me for help. I approach the woman and ask her what the trouble is.
They don't have any more rooms! She shouts. They put me in the same room as this little stinky boy! The boy looks embarrassed and stares intently at his feet.
I am a lady! How am I supposed to sleep in the same room as a little boy? She snarls at the clerk, who murmurs apologetic words.
Why don't we swap so my friend here can stay with the boy, and I can share a room with you? I offer to her, gesturing to the man I am with. After all, we are part of the same orchestra.
She smiles at me widely and says, that would be wonderful, thank you so much.
The man looks quite cross now. He leans over and says something in my ear, which I can't quite catch. He says it again, and I still don't understand him.
Then I wake up.
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