Latest Winners

Jan-Feb 2021: Bel Woodhouse

Mar-Apr 2021: Michael Kompanik




Please login to vote.
Saturday, 17 December 2011

A Day at the Ukrainian Circus - Page 2

Written by Bobby Fox
  • Print
  • Email
  • AddThis Social Bookmark Button
Rate this item
(0 votes)

    During intermission, children lined up for elephant rides. But more impressive was the enormous swing brought down from the rafters. And when I say enormous swing, I mean a swing that spanned all the way across from one side of the arena to the other. I watched with utter fascination as five to six children were strapped in at a time before being swung back and forth by some sort of contraption made up of levers, whirligigs and gremlins. I gave serious thought to going on it, but without a child of my own, I held myself back.

      The second half of the show began innocently enough with a half-naked gymnast twirling up and down a rope. The second act became the realization of my worst nightmare as a couple dozen clowns ran out onto the ring, then up and down the aisles, searching for some poor soul to include in their act. I made it a point not to make any eye contact with them whatsoever, but in retrospect, I think this may have only have hurt my cause. Because as it turned out, that poor soul turned out to be me as I was pulled from my seat against my will by the clowns and dragged down the aisle and onto the ring below.
      Olya, meanwhile, couldn’t stop laughing as I looked to her in a desperate plea for help.
    The clowns brought me down onto the ring, where I was suddenly surrounded by over 20 clowns. One clown in particular kept running around me in circles, making funny faces three inches from mine. This was – without a doubt – what hell is like. In fact, I was in the 6th circus ring of hell. And about to enter the 7th.

    The leader of the clowns commanded me to do something. In Russian.

    “Nyet, Russiky,” I desperately pleaded. But apparently, he either couldn’t understand me, or chose not to, and continued speaking to me in Russian, repeating the same command over and over until it occurred to him that I couldn’t speak Russian. Once this understanding was established, he gestured for me to sit upon the raised feet of the clown down on the ground below. Another clown was positioned in the same manner five feet away. I did as instructed – or at least I thought I did, but I was apparently not positioned the way they wanted me to be. Another clown helped adjust me into the proper position, at which point the clown that was holding me up began bouncing me up and down as though I were sitting on a spring. But my position was still apparently not to his liking.

    The more they tried, the more it was becoming evident that it was no use. The poor clown holding me up was struggling to withstand my weight any longer. His legs buckled and I fell right on top of his face. He rolled over, holding his nose in pain. As several in the crowd booed, I was scolded by the clown leader, who pointed toward my seat. I slowly headed back to Olya, bowing my head, ashamed and traumatized. Just what it was that the clowns wanted me to do, I never  knew. But I imagine it had something to do with being catapulted from one clown to the next. I couldn’t really imagine any good coming from that, so it was for the best that it didn’t work out.

(Page 2 of 3)
Last modified on Sunday, 16 December 2012

Search Content by Map


All Rights Reserved ©Copyright 2006-2021 inTravel Magazine®
Published by Christina's Arena, Inc.