J was a dedicated performer, showcasing remarkable skill. His physique was lean and elongated, with movements that had an enigmatic, almost French flair—quite the feat for someone from Kansas. He had trained under Ann Bogart, mastered the Suzuki method, and held a Master’s degree in acting, but it was his physicality, not his emotions, that brought his stories to life. This made him an ideal fit for the circus’s flexible performances. He took his craft—and himself—very seriously, often voicing his opinions with such intensity that they overshadowed others.
In the circus contract, I was referred to as the Official Partner, or OP, which simply meant I was J’s girlfriend. OPs had the freedom to explore as we wished. We would travel to six cities (Amsterdam, Barcelona, Vienna, Brussels, Madrid, and London), spending up to eight weeks in each location, with a week off between shows for travel.
Below are my experiences from each city during my year with the circus.
Amsterdam
For my initial six weeks, I resided in room 518 at the Renaissance Amsterdam Hotel. J had been there for a month before me and promised to set up the Internet and get me a phone card. Unsurprisingly, he did neither. Jet-lagged and feeling off-kilter, I could only cry as we exchanged worried glances, pondering our fate.
The bed was deceptively made to appear like a double, but was, in fact, two twin mattresses hidden beneath a dusty bedspread. I took a nap anyway, and when I awoke, J was off to rehearsal. I felt well enough to venture out and tackle Dutch transport to reach the big top (Le Grand Chapiteau).
Arriving at the circus tents, I was unprepared for the sight of J in black and red tights, a black cloak, and a Jester’s cap, scrambling to fix a makeup mishap. I stumbled through introductions, barely remembering names, but noted the performers with unsettling features, particularly the two women with bloodshot eyes. J informed me that it was a common result of the high-speed spins in Chinese Poles. My fears shifted from bloody eyes to velocity and spinning.
The performers had personalities that didn’t match my expectations. The family performing The Adagio Trio was too serious, and J mentioned that M, the five-year-old, was conceived to replace D, who was too large for his role. I instantly liked C, the boy who resembled a star from a French New Wave film but was relegated to the role of The Child due to a Russian wire walker taking his place.
After an hour, I left, and when J returned home from rehearsal, his face bore remnants of white makeup. My attraction had faded. We were invited to a party in E and M’s room, which turned out to be wild with acrobats dancing to trance music, drinking, and smoking hash. The Hand-to-Hand duo were poor dancers, while the wire walker indulged heavily in alcohol, and O, the Russian trapeze artist, performed back handsprings in a cramped space. Their metallic costumes resembled toned-down versions of their stage outfits.
I felt like I was at a frat party. These performers were not the creative artists I had envisioned; they were akin to jocks, preferring mainstream techno and popular clubs. Surprisingly, I liked them, but they were nothing like I had imagined.
After too many nights of sleeping in the crack between the twin mattresses, J, E, M, and I devised a plan involving Moroccan hash. We plotted to steal a real double mattress from an empty suite. We rushed down the hall, nearly succeeded, but ultimately abandoned the plan for wine instead.
My experiences living in Europe post-9/11 revealed that everyone wanted to discuss the bombing with me, often treating me as a kind of unwitting celebrity. It was unsettling, much like the moment a woman backed away from me upon learning I was Jewish.
We spent a week in Menorca before heading to Barcelona.
Barcelona
With J performing ten shows a week, I felt quite lonely in Amsterdam, but after our week in Menorca, I found my rhythm in Barcelona, a city known for its unique architecture and vibrant culture. I developed a fondness for Antoni Tàpies and white Cinzano, delighting in the small victories of hotel life, like discovering our chair turned into a couch.
I transformed our hotel room into a home by draping scarves over tables, crafting decorations, and stealing flowers from room service trays for a bouquet.
When friends Matt and Jeni visited, we drank too much, leading to a regrettable incident involving my sandals and a subway stop. Meanwhile, circus dynamics often revolved around individual performances and rivalries. J was frustrated by a five-year-old’s antics during shows, but I found myself distancing emotionally.
I enjoyed my time in Europe and wanted to stay on for the year, but my feelings for J were muddled. I celebrated small milestones—selling my first book, taking trampoline lessons, and even teaching C and others fake American phrases. I also met David Sedaris and learned how to swap out mattresses without being caught.
Vienna
After two months in Barcelona, we headed to Vienna. We spent our break in Portugal, indulging in cheap port and experiencing a bullfight, which led me to become a vegetarian—again. Upon arriving in Vienna, we took an impromptu trip to Prague, where I accidentally overpaid for a ring. It was a humorous lesson in currency confusion.
Back in Vienna, I found myself spending more time backstage, often with C than with J, whose emotional distance became more apparent. I began to enjoy the rhythm of backstage life, filled with pre-show rituals and camaraderie among performers.
Brussels
After two days in Brussels, I discovered a vibrant city brimming with music and culture. I felt at home among the locals, especially in the African district. J and I took a trip to Antwerp, exploring record shops and toy stores, but we made the mistake of seeing a dreadful show called Puppetry of the Penis.
I learned that pharmacists wrote prescriptions in Belgium, and street snails were delicious. Circus gossip revealed that J’s contract renewal was in question, which was a relief since I had my own doubts about him. I began to embrace the local language, often ending sentences with French phrases, which did little to alleviate the scrutiny we faced as Americans.
Ultimately, living in the circus was a whirlwind of experiences, emotions, and realizations about love, identity, and the peculiarities of life on the road.
For more insights on home insemination, you can check out intracervicalinsemination.com. If you’re looking for an authority on home insemination kits, makeamom.com offers excellent resources. Furthermore, for guidance on fertility treatments, WebMD is a valuable source.
Summary:
This narrative explores the life of a woman accompanying her partner in a circus, detailing her experiences across various European cities. The challenges of adjusting to circus life, emotional distance in her relationship, and cultural learnings highlight the complexities of love and identity on the road.