Taking the Train to the Opera

“The train is four minutes ahead of schedule,” says Gérard with a slight accent, laughing. “Where are you headed?” I ask. “To Berlin, to see the Philharmonic.” 

I had been wondering for hours what this man was up to. He is wearing a brown patterned shirt and a tie, and keeps leafing through a small, dark notebook while looking at a flyer from Bolzano. Did he just come from there? I wonder what he has written in his notebook? (I desperately want to know his story.) “Every seat has a story”—a major airline launched its new campaign with that slogan this year. I sometimes ask myself the same thing on the train. What represents this person's story?

We got to talking. After Berlin, he plans to take the train to Hamburg, to the Elbphilharmonie, and after the concert there, straight on to Vienna. “Only 43 euros per trip,” he says. Gérard is traveling with an Interrail pass. “For pensioners, the pass is 40 euros cheaper,” he notes knowledgeably. I have to smile and am amazed at the same time. From Bolzano to Berlin and back south again. Yet, this seems to be nothing new for Gérard. He tells me that he has been listening to operas for 40 years, all over Europe. In total, he has attended over 3,700 performances! He has even flown across the pond for them. “Do you know the Ring of the Nibelung?” he asks me. “Wagner!” he exclaims. He has seen the Ring in New York, Chicago, Seattle, and San Francisco. Where in New York, I ask him. The Metropolitan Opera, of course, he answers. “Silly question!” he says, grinning. That was where it was best.

 

He writes down everything about the operas he has seen in his little notebook. When a shrill sound rings out from every seat around us at 11:00 a.m.—a test alarm was triggered on mobile phones for the nationwide warning day—it remains silent in his corner. Gérard doesn't have a smartphone. “I don’t need one. I don't have the internet either.” I want to know how he orders his opera tickets. “I am well informed,” he says. During his stopover in Hannover, he plans to buy a ticket for an upcoming show.

Gérard used to be a postman in France, and operas have always been his passion. He has been retired since 2012, and his pension feels like a full salary to him; in France, he explains, you get more than in Germany. He has been to Berlin, Hannover, and Hamburg hundreds of times. Smaller cities like Lübeck have also won him over. He likes Munich particularly well. He doesn't carry much luggage when he travels—just a black briefcase, nothing else. If he needs something, he likes to go to Galeria. “It’s cheaper there than in France.” There is no camera in his luggage, either. “It’s all in my head,” he says, tapping his forehead.

Before the train stops in Hannover, I want to know what his favorite operas are. “Mozart’s Figaro and Der Rosenkavalier by Strauss,” he says, beaming all over his face. Then he tucks his briefcase under his arm and strides toward the exit. On his way out, he knocks on the bathroom door. “Tickets, please!” He laughs and steps off the train.

I gave my fellow passenger the name Gérard. In reality, he has a different first name that rhymes with Gérard.