According to my favorite astrology book, Sun Sign, Moon Sign by Charles and Suzi Harvey, I "feel that circuses and seances are as essential to a healthy life as three meals a day and eight hours sleep." Too right; not that I often eat three meals a day or get anything near eight hours of sleep. However, I do often go to the circus. (In fact I saw "The Invisible Circus" in Bristol a couple nights ago, which sounds like I should score double points for simultaneity, but they were quite alive and of this world.)
A couple years ago, on my first visit to Malucene and Mt Ventoux, I was only passing through on my way to somewhere further south, a famous place like Avignon or Aix or Arles. On the map it was just another name on my route, not a destination.
The whole town seemed to be hiding somewhere deep in the tunnel of shade created by the plane trees which lined the streets. It felt like nowhere I had been before. It also felt strangely familiar, compelling me to stay, at least for the night.
Under the craggy white shoulder of Mt. Ventoux was the campsite, and next to the campsite was an enormous red circus tent.
I knew I'd feel at home here.
Inside the hot shadow of the tent children would flip and spin and swing upside down
through the air.
Diabolos leapt off their string, tiny feet manoeuvred an enormous ball and I understood what moved Picasso to create some of his most tender and wistful work.
Picasso's Acrobat on a ball 1905
This summer Malucene was my first 'official' destination.
I met with my circus friend, Stephane, and watched his young acrobats rehearse for the evening's performance. They had grown so much in two years: stature, confidence and skill. I felt proud of them. They were doing what I had always wanted to do and I felt a little bit sad, because for me, that particular boat has already sailed. Somehow a circus composed of a dozen middle aged neophytes would not have the same appeal.
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