Send in the Clowns

by William Keane (Australia)

I didn't expect to find Ecuador

For a family travelling together, what could be better than a night at the circus? Everyone loves the circus, don’t they? Driving into the small town of Olon, on the Ecuadorean coast, our kids could hardly have missed the colourful, but charmingly dilapidated circus tent erected in a vacant lot. “Circus Tonight 9pm” said a hand-painted sign. “Mum, Dad, can we go?” We quickly overcame our concerns about our tired kids having another late night. So what if it is in Spanish? This was an opportunity for an old-fashioned family night out… an authentic cultural experience. At 9, we bought tickets and waited for the doors to open. A few locals were milling about nearby, as was a small group of 30-something Americans, who had been to the circus before and assured us that the experience would be memorable. A round of tequila was suggested. Since there was no sign of the doors opening, we all decamped to the bar next door for some fortifying drinks. The doors to the big top finally opened at 9.40. We handed our tickets at the door, bought the kids some truly disgusting looking toffee apples and took our seats in the front row. Almost immediately, we were approached by a 9 year old usher, flanked by two 6 year old bouncers. In rapid, businesslike Spanish, the usher peppered me with questions. I don’t speak Spanish but I heard the words “boletos” (tickets) and “gringo”. I explained in my usual Spanish-accented English that we had already given our tickets to a guy at the front door. The 9 year old and her henchmen were unconvinced. Another spray of Spanish followed. These kids meant business. It took another 10 minutes of insistent bickering before they gave up and went off to hassle someone else. By this time, the crowd had built to about 20 and we wondered whether this circus required a quorum before it would start. At 9.55, a fanfare blared from the speakers. Would there be circus now? No, there would not be circus now. Instead, a bored looking man shuffled on and arranged boxes on the empty stage. At 10pm, there were promising, furtive rustlings behind the curtain. Would there be circus now? No, there would not be circus now. At 10.05, the announcer/DJ began excitedly introducing something. We couldn’t tell what it was, but the word “spectacular” featured prominently. The expectation built, then faded, as the announcer reached crescendo after crescendo. By this stage, the kids were wilting. Please, let there be circus? At 10.10, the curtain parted and here, finally was circus! Well, actually, there were two plump, sullen dancing girls, half-heartedly shuffling their way around the stage, gesturing randomly like exhausted game-show models. This was followed by a guy who wrapped lengths of hanging fabric around his arms and hung upside down a bit, to polite, if not enthusiastic applause. Then, two blokes sporting sweat pants, clown shoes and strangely curated facial hair. They picked out volunteers from the audience and conducted a dance competition. Our eight year old won, largely thanks to the enthusiastic cheers of our new tequila-fuelled American friends. Next came a magician, who entered to a deafening blast of Rage Against the Machine’s “Killing in the Name of”. He bowed. He posed. He loosely tied himself up, then wriggled free. He celebrated extravagantly. Was this comedy? We’re still not sure. Next came the clowns again. They talked. For over an hour. It was weird. They kept saying that the next act would be a troupe performing amazing stunts on the trampoline. However, whenever it seemed they would leave, they remained, and nothing happened. Nobody seemed to know what was happening. The Americans, by this stage, were beside themselves laughing. After an hour of this, our kids were stuffed. The five year old was out cold. The eight year old was sliding off his chair into the dirt. The ten year old was threatening violence. At 11.35, we pulled the pin, and carried our knackered kids home. We never saw the trampoline act, but we did have an authentic cultural experience.