Thursday night, finding no room at the inn (Portland's Motel 6), I drove most of the night to Eugene where I stayed at the "O So Homey" Trucker's Paradise Lodge, featuring no wake-up calls and bad coffee. At the front desk May, in her usual accustomed manner, was more than helpful. She indicated all the ways to lock myself in for the night "so as to avoid the other clients, don't cha know..."
Arriving in Ashland at 9 AM, I still managed to be late for the 10 AM ceremony and tour of the Allen Pavilion. Silly me—I thought the tour started at the Member's Lounge and then moved to the Pavilion. But no, it started at the Pavilion and then ended at the Member's Lounge. At least I was first in line for the free champagne. (La vie, c'est pas mal du tout...). I then checked into the Iris Inn Bed & Breakfast.
Two hours later, I hit the street with a will to spend... After all I had at least until 2 o'clock to roam.
At 2PM, I saw La Bête an overwhelmingly hilarious parody of Molière and the classic French tradition of theater. The main character is a cross-dressing version of the Cowardly Lion imitating Bozo the Clown (at least that's what he reminded me of). It was written in 1991 for Broadway, and will next be seen in the 1993 London season. I must say that this is the best performance I have seen to-date at Ashland and I didn't even know that my best friend from childhood, Cynthia Bosco, was playing one of the leads...
Dinner at 5:30. (Again I was late!!!) Chardonnay, sea scallops, and chilled Russian Vodka soup. If you ever need a good restaurant in southern Oregon, I highly recommend Le Châteaulain.
The 8:30 performance was All's Well That Ends Well, which opens with a debate about the evils of virginity that lasts for at least 20 minutes. You know Shakespeare. The staging however was brilliant—sets were done in the Napoleanic tradition with costumes based on the 3rd Régime.
9AM arrives. Some how on Friday I had this brilliant idea that a trail ride was in order to replace my default hiking trip. The horse was named Charger, I was going incognito under the name of Chicken. Charger was an ex-race horse put out to pasture. I was an ex-cheerleader put out to left field. Charger and I were in last position on the string, which as it turned out was a bad thing. Charger moved one foot at a time in spite of my constantly kicking him in the side. We were constantly at least 10 minutes or more behind the pace and every one was angry because they had to wait for us at each turn. We reached the high pasture, only to find the gate locked...
A one-hour ride proceeded to stretch into a 2.5-hour ride. The guide had to go back for the key. Then part of Charger's tack broke. So a second guide had to go back for replacements. The situation continued to worsen. My backside began to ache. You see, when a horse moves one foot at a time instead of in tandem, you feel every bone in its butt with four times the frequency of a normal ride. Charger had a VERY bony butt. By the time I got back to the barn, I thought I wouldn't be able to walk to my car on my own. I hadn't been on a horse in ten years. Now I remember why.
Noon arrives. I drive back to the B&B. Collapse on my bed (butt up) and moaned for several hours.
6PM arrives. Dinner was bread, water, apple and cheese. Mainly because that's what I had in my room and there was no way I was going anywhere until I absolutely had to.
The 8:30 performance was Henry VI which I kept calling Richard VI because the Duke of Glouchester was so predominant. Then I called it Henry III and by the time it was over I didn't know what it was except there was a Henry and a Richard. One was a pious old fool and one was a demented young fool. I showed up a half hour early and rented three seat cushions. My seat was in the second row, so I didn't have to worry about getting spit on. The lady behind me was incensed because her husband wasn't early enough to get any cushions or blankets and she was quite vocal to him about the fact that I had three. So I turned around and told her all about Charger and left field. She was quite for the rest of the performance.
Too bad concessions ran out of mulled wine, because sitting through a 3.5-hour performance only caused continuing grief to my harrowed muscles. True to Shakespearean standards, everyone dies in the last act that was on the loosing side. Except of course, they had sent the heir of Lancaster to Brittany for protection. Which means Richard III will be shown next season. What a cliff hanger. Too bad I already know how it ends.
9AM breakfast is served. No horses in sight, so I decide to venture out.
Lithia park has a lovely arboretum where I spent the morning reading trash mysteries and drinking espresso. Very relaxing until the swan starts chewing on my latest knitting project and a chase ensues. Just imagine the rest.
At 2PM I saw the Max Frisch play Firebugs. Written after WWII, it discusses the fact that so many people said they didn't know what was going on in terms of the concentration camps. Here the metaphor is an arsonist who is loose in the city and begins destroying every major public property. After act one, a lady got up and walked out. I had heard her speaking beforehand to her neighbor and I have the feeling that it was too memory-intense for her. The play was very disturbing, especially in light of current events in Eastern Europe. There was a Greek chorus of six firemen who continually stop the narrative action and debate with the characters about their actions.
Dinner at 5:30, again le Châteaulain. OK, so I ordered Escargots... but they were covered in garlic, herbs, and cream, so you couldn't really even tell that they are related to the slug genus. Lamb in a Burgundy reduction, followed by blackberry-nectarine sorbet covered up the slug breath problem, so I was fit for public appearance after all. Also, I had some White Pinot Noir, which if you don't like heavy red wines is an excellent alternative for red meats. It's somewhat dry like a good oaky white, but still has enough body to stand up to the red meat. I had Ashland vienyard's 1990. Worth trying a bottle.
The 8:30 performance was As You Like It. Again a very good production and it contains my favorite line: "Men have died and worms have eaten their bodies, but not for the sake of Love." (That's my favorite quote when some guy is pestering me for a date.)
Monday, I drove home without any truck stops or incidents. However, there was that nice young highway patrolman I talked to in Roseburg. If you do decide to make a trip to Ashland, be sure to allow for plenty of driving time.