Anyway, the show was called The Last Ship, and it was a musical by Sting. I'd heard his original 2013 concept album years ago. Maybe not 2013, but pre-pandemic, at least. I was curious.
Told my husband. He was not equally curious, but he loves Sting, likes New York, and was up for a day out of town, for whatever the reason. So I bought tickets and then started looking at how to get there.
Back when I was more willing to suffer to get somewhere, I'd take the local SEPTA train to Trenton and then pick up NJ Transit. It was cheap, not too slow, and you were gold if you made your connections.
I often did not. Then there are buses. Surprise! They're not as cheap as they used to be, and you have to deal with traffic. So I went Amtrak, and buying that far in advance meant that the train tickets were less than the show tickets. (Show tickets were only $60, although, as it turned out, we were 3 rows from the top of the Met. But still an excellent view.)
We went up on Sunday, got in at 11:30, walked from Penn Station to Lincoln Center, had a lovely brunch, then went to the show. Which was fabulous. I regret being too high to see Sting's face, but his voice was as good as ever. The show is set in the northeast of England, in the shipbuilding town where he was born. Basically he feared going into that life so much that it pushed him to become something that would take him away, and The Last Ship is his tribute to that. Lovely ensemble cast, fabulous set, great music.
When it was over, we retraced our steps back to Penn Station, stopping at a nice little bar on the way for a glass of wine and to cool off for a bit. Then reverse journey, getting home at 10:00 p.m., just as a thunderstorm hit.
Between exhaustion (almost 10 miles of walking), the overstimulation of NYC generally and seeing a show, and the sound of rain, we slept WELL.
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