J was a dedicated performer with remarkable skills. His physique was lean and elongated, and his gestures had just the right amount of flair to evoke an air of mystery, reminiscent of French artists (though he hailed from Kansas, which made this quite the feat). Having trained with renowned artists and studied various methodologies, he brought his physicality to the forefront of his storytelling. This made him a perfect fit for the circus world. J approached his craft—and himself—with intense seriousness, often projecting his opinions so forcefully that they overshadowed others, drawing all eyes to him.
In the circus contract, I was designated as the Official Partner, or OP for short, which essentially labeled me J’s girlfriend. The role of OPs allowed us to explore our whims. Our travels took us to six cities—Amsterdam, Barcelona, Vienna, Brussels, Madrid, and London—spending as much as eight weeks in each location, with a week off between shows to roam freely.
Here are my reflections from each city during my year in the circus.
Amsterdam
For the first six weeks, I called room 518 at the Renaissance Amsterdam Hotel home. J had settled in a month prior and promised to ease my transition by setting up the Internet and securing a phone card—but he did neither. Feeling jet-lagged and premenstrual, I found myself in tears. We exchanged worried glances, silently questioning our fate.
The bed, disguised as a double, was really two twin mattresses hidden beneath a dust-laden bedspread. I took a nap anyway, and upon waking, I felt well enough to brave Dutch public transport to reach the circus tent—Le Grand Chapiteau. Arriving at the yellow and blue tents, I was unprepared for the sight of J in black and red tights, high-waisted suspenders, arm-length gloves, a flowing cape, and a Jester’s cap. He was frantically trying to fix a makeup blunder. The performers were quirky, but one family, who did The Adagio Trio, had an air of seriousness about them. Rumor had it that M, their five-year-old, was a replacement for D, the 13-year-old who’d grown too big for his role. I instantly liked C, who looked like a star straight out of a French New Wave film. He was a professional wire walker, though a Russian took that role in the circus while C played the part of The Child.
After an hour, I left the tent, and when J returned, remnants of white makeup dotted his skin like a neglected canvas. Any attraction I felt had faded.
We were invited to a gathering in E and M’s room, filled with acrobats dancing to trance music while indulging in drinks and hash. The Hand-to-Hand duo were dreadful dancers, and O, the Russian trapeze artist, was tumbling through a cramped room. Everyone was dressed in metallic attire, reminiscent of their stage costumes but more subdued.
The atmosphere felt like a frat party, and the performers came off less as artistic souls and more like jocks. They preferred techno music and bustling clubs over anything unique—my assumptions about their personalities had been completely misguided.
After too many nights spent on the uncomfortable split bed, J, E, M, and I devised a plan after consuming some Moroccan hash. We decided to swap out the twin mattresses for a proper double from an empty suite. In a chaotic series of events, we ended up abandoning our mission mid-process, opting for a glass of wine instead.
Living in Europe post-9/11, I found that many wanted to discuss the tragedy, their reactions often seeming starstruck by my proximity to it. This strange response felt oddly similar to when a woman recoiled upon learning I was Jewish—I never understood how my appearance hadn’t given it away, but it illustrated how few Jews she had encountered.
We took a week off in Menorca before heading to Barcelona for six weeks.
Barcelona
With ten shows a week, I barely saw J, and Amsterdam had left me feeling isolated. However, a week in Menorca rejuvenated me, and upon arriving in Barcelona—where the architecture dripped like melting wax—I began to find my footing. I fell in love with Antoni Tàpies and Cinzano (white) in this vibrant city.
Living in a hotel room taught me that small victories can lead to great happiness. I discovered our chair transformed into a couch, and the coffee maker doubled as a stove. Redecorating became my new pastime; I would drape scarves over tables, cover unsightly artwork with brown paper, and replace the floral bedspread with something simpler and chic. I even stole flowers from room service trays to create a bouquet.
Matt and Jeni visited, and after a night of heavy drinking, a series of unfortunate events led to me leaving my sandals at the subway station after a sympathy-puke incident.
Circus rivalries were a constant source of drama. J was convinced someone was tampering with his shoes during performances, and I had a hunch it was M, the five-year-old contortionist who was far more talented than his age suggested.
J’s emotional unpredictability left me feeling lost. I cherished Europe and wanted to extend my stay, but I wasn’t sure about my relationship with J. Meanwhile, I sold my first book, purchased my first cellphone, took trampoline lessons with L, collaborated with C on short films, and became J’s unofficial fashion consultant. We playfully taught our European friends fabricated American expressions, which they readily accepted.
Vienna
After two blissful months in Barcelona, we transitioned to Vienna. Our two-week break in Portugal was filled with cheap port and a bullfight, which led me to reconsider my dietary choices. Upon settling in Vienna, we impulsively traveled to Prague, where I mistakenly overpaid for a beautiful ring, convinced I had snagged a bargain.
I devoured 24 books over five months, yet I questioned J’s emotional depth. He seemed all intellect and no heart. I wanted to stay on tour, but I was uncertain about our future together. As I adapted to the backstage routine, I found camaraderie with C, especially as J and C’s friendship began to wane. Each show was a whirl of activity, with performers balancing their pre-show rituals with the chaotic rush of getting on stage.
Brussels
In Brussels, I found unexpected joy. Despite warnings of boredom, the city buzzed with life—upcoming concerts, theater festivals, and vibrant flea markets filled my days. J and I enjoyed a short trip to Antwerp, but a disastrous puppetry show left much to be desired.
I learned that pharmacists could write prescriptions, and I discovered a love for street snails. The musical scene was thriving, and I spent less time at the circus tent, instead immersing myself in the local culture. I discovered that I wasn’t the only one questioning J; C shared that many found him pretentious—a sentiment that, oddly enough, reassured me.
With so many French speakers around, I unwittingly adopted their phrases, which only served to heighten my American identity—a fact that was often scrutinized.
In summary, my year with the circus was a whirlwind of emotions, cultural experiences, and self-discovery. From the highs of new friendships to the lows of relationship uncertainty, I learned that life on the road was as unpredictable as the performances we put on.