Turandot

On Friday night, we went to the opera in the Arena di Verona. Tickets for a plush red velvet armchair in the stalls cost a fortune, but if you are prepared to sit for five hours on a hot stone step, you can get a seat at the top of the arena for under 20 euros.

I went to the opera in Verona last year, to see Rigoletto, and, although it was worth going just for the experience, it wasn't necessarily something that I was desperate to repeat. Turandot was different though. It had all the over the top extravagance that you expect from opera, with a gorgeous set, an exciting story, an enormous cast and fantastic performances. Sometimes the stage was so busy that I didn't know where to look – at the opera star singing the arias or the acrobats and dancers who were creating a virtuoso backdrop to the story. Like everybody else in the arena, I was looking forward to hearing 'Nessun Dorma', but I didn't expect it to be so entrancing that it sent shivers down my spine. The poor orchestra didn't even get to the end before the whole of the audience burst into applause for the singers.

I like the idea of going to the opera in an enclosed theatre, where I would probably see and hear what was going on better, but the atmosphere in the Arena was something special. Sitting there with my wonderful Italian friends, in a building constructed by one of the world's great civilisations, listening to music by a native composer, I was reminded that there are many things about Italy that are hard to beat.