A dramatic night in steamy Verona

A steamy night in Verona and the British are wandering around the opera arena in dinner jackets and sitting at tables outside the Cafè Emanuel reading the score of La Traviata.

Many Italian opera fans, on the other hand, know the score and have made their way round the corner to tables reserved in the Bottega del Vino to drink the local masi and fork up platefuls of beautifully cured ham served by waiters in black waistcoats and long aprons.

The arena at Verona, built by the Romans in the 1st century AD, was a theatre where you came to see men die. Much of the outer wall was lost during an earthquake but the passageways floored in blood-red marble and the seating and floor of the ancient coliseum remain.

Franco Zeffirelli, who designs many of the productions, says you should close your eyes walking into the arena, to experience the impact of the space. When I finally looked around, I was in the middle of vocal, gesticulating Italians illuminated in soft gold light. I heard the clinking of glasses and the hubbub of 17,000 Verdi connoisseurs.

We were to see the finest singers in the world, but Italian audiences won't hesitate to give the bird to anyone they disapprove of and, however famous you are, it's still possible to die publicly in Verona. The protests are only vocal as the company has stopped opera-goers hurling cushions into the orchestra pit, lighting barbecues and watching football on portable TVs.

My seat was some way from the stage and, as I focused my binoculars, an impeccably dressed, elderly Italian touched my shoulder and offered me a glass of wine while his wife passed a slice of sausage and a tomato. "Ernesto," he introduced himself. "Welcome."

At 9pm the conductor lifted his baton and silenced the thousands at a stroke. The first act opened with a 200-strong chorus dressed for a glittering reception, the scene reflected at the back of the stage in 30ft-high, gilt-framed mirrors.

As Alfredo and Violetta came to the end of their duet and the stage lights dipped, I crept away to buy a bottle of grappa and cake to share with my new friends.

La Traviata is a story of tragic love, ending with Violetta's death and reconciliation with Alfredo, her lover. By the beginning of Act Four, Ernesto and I had consumed most of the grappa and were emotionally drained.

On stage, Violetta lay dying from consumption, around her, the men in her life rigid with grief. In the distance I heard the faint caterwauling of football supporters, but the hatred generated by their noise only added to the depths of the emotion. As Violetta sang her final aria and passed away, 17,000 Italians erupted with cries of "Bravissima" and thunderous applause. In the uproar, Ernesto slid slowly from his seat, tears streaming down his face.

It was midnight, and as the principal performers took their bows, the orchestra lit cigarettes and left for home. The arena was suddenly silent and I returned to my seat and helped carry Ernesto back to his car. Opera in Verona is an unforgettable experience.

WAY TO GO

John Gibb travelled to Verona with Exclusive Destinations (01892 619650). Three-night breaks in August from £686pp. Opera tickets £25-£130. Verona Opera runs until 1 September.