Girls Only Highline Festival VI

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One thing I’m very passionate about is promoting and pushing other girls in this sport. So I’ve organized the Girls Only Slackline Festival every year in Czech Republic. …For me the coolest thing about Girls Only Slackline Festival is that the girls who come there are there because they love the sport. There’s no other reason to be there. They just want to highline. They want to try their hardest and accomplish something.
 ~Faith Dickey¹

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About two years ago I stumbled across a video on a blog. When I started watching, it was just another highline video. Basically really cooler-than-me people, doing really awesome things. I'd done no more than vaguely fantasize about highlining—it was far beyond my skill, gear, technical expertise, and community ties. I had no idea, no inkling, as I watched that the video would eventually take me a third of the way around the world and to actually highlining myself.

The video was from a Girl's Only Slackline Festival hosted by That Slackline Girl, Faith Dickey. It wasn't until after, as I read the video's description, that my brain wheels started turning: a festival—a place where strangers and novices might be welcome to tag along. In the Czech Republic—I love the Czech Republic. Suddenly the thing became a golden-cloaked dream and a concrete goal.

At the time, a trip to Europe was beyond my resources. Knowing though that such a thing as a slackline festival existed led me to search out the All Girls Slackline Festival in Moab last year, a wonderful experience and my introduction to highlining.

Wanting still to work highlining, I watched for other such opportunities. Unfortunately none of the festivals in the States that I knew about worked with my schedule. So when a promotion at work provided a boost in my resources, I decided to take my courage in hand, hop on a plane, go a third of the way around the world, and try out highlining in my favorite foreign country.

Like so many journeys, this one began in the dark of early morning. Thirty hours, 6,000 miles (9.700 kilometers), and two new friends later, I arrived at the festival site—thanks to the combined navigating efforts of those new friends—as dusk was turning to dark. It wouldn't be until the next morning that I saw and appreciated the beauty we were surrounded by.

The dark, however, made the warmth of a house and the greetings of the other girls that much brighter. That weekend thirty female slackliners, from a dozen countries, conversing in more than half a dozen languages participated in the sixth annual Girls Only Slackline Festival (GOSF), hosted by Faith Dickey.

Our base camp was Autokemp Pod Císařem, a campground resort with tent sites and a pub as well as small huts and houses and rooms. The name of the place means “The Campground under the Emperor.” Since it wasn’t situated at the base of an “emperor” mountain as far I could see, the name didn’t make much sense to me. That is until one night when I realized that I’d eaten my meals and used the WIFI in the pub sitting underneath a framed bust of Emperor Franz Joseph.

Besides hanging out at the pub, our group completely took over a large building on the outskirts of the camp, which, incredibly, had nearly enough beds for all of us. The Autokemp took very good care of us. And after sleeping overnight in a plane, that fully horizontal bed was a wonderful sight that first night.

Daylight found me marveling in the verdant bowl of a U-shaped valley where the tiny settlement Ostrov and our campground are situated. Exposed cliffs and pinnacles rose out of the trees along both rims. It is terrain ready made for highlining, and much of it incredibly easy walking distance from our front door. The best one word description of the place I heard: magical. The rock formations, the forest definitely had the magic of fairytales, and also the magic of…possibilities, of real life dreams achieved.

 

The festival itself was fairly unstructured, except of course for Saturday night in the pub when we all gathered for group pictures and the passing out of swag—earned in a competition of bouldering the table (which attracted the interest of more than a few locals). During the day we split up, according to our interests, visiting the various highlines and the longline…and the pub for food and WIFI. Food, friends, fun, and a festival of slacklines…how could it not be an awesome experience?

Being surrounded by so many incredible women—who are also slackliners and highliners—was interesting, entertaining, even a little intimidating, and very much inspiring. Since I’ve been practicing on basic equipment, rubbing shoulders with experienced riggers was a treat; there is so much to learn. And now Faith, the event organizer, one of the best slackliners in the world, is someone I’ve actually met, not just someone I’ve seen in blog videos.

I had a fantastic time. So a big thanks to the Faith, Autokemp Pod Císařem, festival sponsors, riggers…and of course new friends.


Yes, yes I know you want to hear about my experience highlining (at least I assume you do). After struggling for weeks to find the words to describe my experience at the festival...I found I actually have a lot I want to put down in words. Several smaller posts rather than one gigantic one seemed like a good idea.

So, coming up next: my first highline!

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¹ Interview with Faith Dickey for the Girls Only Slackline Festival III. Video by kletterkiddie at https://vimeo.com/69651238.

Summer Slackers Made a Splash

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People take pictures of the Summer, just in case someone thought they had missed it, and to prove that it really existed.
~Ray Davies

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Note: This post comes a bit late and out of order chronologically. In the midst of packing and preparing for my trip, twice my nearly finished draft of this post failed to save (it nearly didn't save again yesterday), and eventually I had to set it aside. Life is settling down now that I'm back, and I would feel remiss not to share, even out of order, at least something of nine waterlining sessions worth of memories, events, photos, and fun, so here goes...final draft take 3.5.

A lovely summer has flown by and another season of waterlining has ended. The chill nights and warm days of autumn make the mountain river water arctic rather than merely frigid. In the midst of the lovely cool, I'm also holding on to my warm summer memories. I most definitely have the pictures to prove they existed.

In terms of balance, conquering my first waterline last year was momentous. This year, by the end of nine waterlining sessions, getting across without getting wet was no longer a surprise; in fact as long as I stuck with a simple straight-across walk, I generally crossed without falling. I did make some progress minimizing how much I wobbled into starfish position and got plenty of practice doing Chongo mounts in preparation for highlining. Turns and tricks significantly increased the likelihood of falling, and so I pushed myself, even working to add another trick or two to my repertoire on this line...which made frequent dunking basically inevitable.

Ah yes, those frequent falls... My photographer friends, having thoroughly documented my steady, balanced moments, decided to capture those other, less than graceful moments. Yes, I will share:

In the end, after many, many delightfully awkward falls, I did come very close to doing “human origami”/“sideways buddah.” Getting back up without falling will be an accomplishment for next year.

While the small progresses in balance skill were rewarding, it was the people who made waterlining so memorable. First of all the friends who came so faithfully, some of whom have yet to experience regular slacklining (“grass-lining”?), and whose personal records are counted still in steps. The camaraderie they provided was priceless: we cheered each other on, laughed at ourselves, took turns lending a helping hand, and chatted while enjoying summer sunshine.

At our very last session for the summer, it finally occurred to me to bring a kayak for photographers to sit in rather than stand in the middle of the river for perspectives. (I have been forgiven for not thinking of it sooner, thankfully.) It was then that those dear friends had the hilarious idea of using the kayak paddle as a balance pole.  When mounting with a paddle in hand turned out to be too difficult, my friend Stacie volunteered to hand it to me once I'd mounted.  Impressively, by some serious double handed back splashing, my now paddle-less friend managed not to be swept under the slackline, and I managed not to fall into the kayak either.  Good times...though now we know that kayak paddles do not have the requisite weight or length to be effective balance aids.

There were also new friends: the strangers who stopped along the bridge to watch and even more those who stopped by to try themselves. Given the location of the line—a park and reservoir—we never lacked spectators and volunteers. In fact, for one family we became the entertainment not once but twice: one afternoon as I crossed the bridge to set up my line, I passed a woman who had been there the week before.  I had rather liked her on the previous occasion because she'd made an effort learn my name. She was on her phone, and as I passed I overheard her say, 'The girl, I told you about, [Guinevere], is here again. Hurry and come over and you’ll get a chance to try it too!' This reunion was for the other side of her family, who had jealously heard about the previous week's entertainment. Thanks to lucky timing, they would get their turn as well.

Last, but certainly not least, the kids. Yes, kids are kind of my favorite. On so many occasions throughout the summer the air resounded satisfyingly with laughter of fright and delight. Max, the son of one of my friends, at the end of his first waterline session turned pleading and glowingly enthusiastic eyes toward me and asked if he could have the waterline set up for his birthday. I’m quite sure I couldn’t have said no, but because of conflicting schedules we had to settle for the family’s Fourth of July picnic instead. Another little boy, Tristan, must have spent as much time at the reservoir with his family as I and my friends did: he found his way over to us at least three times. By the last time, he could bounce across the line sitting down in a matter of minutes. He was also confidently instructing first time visitors on the rules of the waterline.

Those are a few memories in words.  Now for the pictures—those beautiful pictures that prove that summer existed.

Yep, summer slackers made a splash, and it was spectacular. Here's to summer memories.

St. Vitus: The rope-dancer's patron saint

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Rope dancers…have their patron saint, like other classes. St. Vitus is the object of their special invocation, and whoever has entered the walls of the cathedrals at Prague, bearing his saintly name, cannot have failed to see groups of poor and pretty girls, from various shows in the fair there, prostrated on their knees, praying no doubt for protection and aid in tumbling decently through life.
~From Blondin: His Life and Performances by G. Linnæs Banks

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The spires of St. Vitus Cathedral, soaring up above the surrounding walls of Prague Castle, perched atop one of Prague's seven hills, are easily the most iconic landmark on the horizon here in Prague--Praha--The City of a Thousand Spires.

St. Vitus Cathedral is near and dear to my heart.  As I sit here, once again in the inner courtyards of Prague castle in the shadow of the cathedral, drinking in the present sights and sounds and savoring my new favorite historical tidbit, I'm also reminiscing.

When I entered the nave of St. Vitus Cathedral for the first time in 2006, I was, I'm afraid, dead on my feet. I'd arrived in the country earlier that morning and the brief sightseeing excursion was not only an introduction to the country where I would be serving as a missionary for the next fourteen months, but also a means of ensuring I stayed awake until bedtime in my new timezone. Even through the haze of exhaustion, I appreciated the austere beauty of this old cathedral, the miraculous innovations of Gothic architecture that allowed for the first time walls of stained glass and high, open spaces.

When I brought my parents to visit nearly two years later, they too fell in love with St. Vitus--so much so that we visited twice during our all too brief stay in Prague.  One of the best things I've learned from my parents--from my mother especially--is the habit of making time for just one more, "one last" look, and then savoring those moments to "make memories." In St. Vitus we did just that: lingering over the beautiful gospel art in paintings and stained glass, taking our time gazing up at the soaring vaulted stonework, meandering  along the aisles and transepts as tour groups were herded past us at a pace that we pitied. The memories we made in St. Vitus are collective favorites.

A few years later in grad school, I stayed a month in Prague for intensive language training. My dormitory was at the base of Prague's other fortified hill: Vyšehrad, and near the river Vltava, which divides the city, flowing first past Vyšehrad, then on and around the hill upon which St. Vitus rises. As I studied in my dorm room in the evenings, I could see the glow of sunset beginning. Leaving my books (and the inevitably Czech fairy tale playing in the background), I would rush out and down the street to the banks of the Vltava. From there I could watch the pinks of sunset light up the sky beyond Prague castle, and, as swans bobbed below me, in the glassy depths of the river beyond me, the reflected silhouette of St. Vitus danced in the ripples.

When I first started making memories at St. Vitus Cathedral, I had yet to embark on my journey of seeking balance and I had no idea that St. Vitus had been the patron saint of rope-dancers. That fun fact found me relatively recently: the same bibliophilic shopping spree last November and December that lead to my purchasing Tightrope Poppy and Girl on a Wire, which I've already blogged about, also lead to my acquiring Blondin: His Life and Performances, circa 1862.

You can imagine my delight when, just three pages into reading, I saw that familiar name of St. Vitus, in the quote used above. While the saints aren't part of my Christian worship personally, I love the history of them and like to be able to recognize them in artwork. At the time I didn't imagine that on my next visit I would feel a much deeper connection to that short quote, an increased kindship to this place and to the rope walkers of so long ago.

Amidst the bustle of tour groups and the chatter of a dozen different languages, I've found a spot for myself to sit and think and breathe. My body is still aching a bit from the falls and exertions of my second ever highlining experience at the Girl's Only Highline Festival VI. Just seven days ago I walked my first highline, an almost perfect first attempt. I achieved so much more than I expected, and with the bustle of travel, I haven't yet found the words I want to describe the experience or the amazing girls I met.

So I'm grateful for this moment of stillness.  In my head alongside the flood of old fond memories and the jostle of recent ones, I'm also imagining what St. Vitus Cathedral would have been like two or three hundred years ago, when those poor and pretty girls, the low, tight wire dancers of the traveling fairs, came here to pray to the patron saint of Bohemia, dancers, and entertainers. The progress I've achieved on this trip makes me want even more to learn to dance as well as walk, so that if ever a time machine comes my way, I'd be able to join them. 

And yes, even though I only have two days in Prague, I think I'll make time to come back here tomorrow for just one more look.

Semantic Exploration: Funambulist

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“Funambulists”
Are “Well Balanced” People, who
Always walk the “Straight and Narrow”
And only get “High” on Wire!
~ Text of my favorite mug¹

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Funambulist (fyo͞oˈnambyələst/)

Yes, I am a word nerd. I love semantics, and this is a word worth savoring. Humor me. Let it roll around on your tongue:

Funambulist.

It’s a word I’ve used occasionally in posts, and even defined briefly in Learning the Ropes, but since it’s one of my favorite words I want us to take a minute and really explore it--take it apart, put it back together, and see what overtones it unwittingly carries.

It comes from two Latin base words: funis + ambulare².

The Duquesne Incline funicular, Pittsburgh. Source: Wikipedia

Funis means rope³. You may recognize the root in the word funicular (especially if you've been to Pittsburg); it's basically a train/rail car pulled up an incline by a cable⁴. In anatomy a funiculus is a bundle of nerves⁵ and funisitis is an inflammation or infection of the umbilical cord⁶.

Ambulare means to walk⁷ It is the root of amble⁸ and ambulatory⁹, and while American parents prefer to take their infants for strolls in strollers, British parents perambulate¹⁰ with their offspring in perambulators¹¹ (pram for short).  I must admit to having the phrase "agitated perambulation" stuck in my head for days after reading the book A Lady of Quality by my favorite author Georgette Heyer.

To return from my word exploration tangents: we put the two pieces together and, yes, a funambulist is a “rope-walker.”

Usually referring to tightrope walkers, it accurately applies to any rope walker across the spectrum of tensionings: tightrope, slackropes, and even the new kids on the block, the slackliners.

"Funambulism," or "rope-walking" really doesn’t evoke the same sort of compelling emotional response as do tightrope or highwire. That might not be such a bad thing: it is free of all those connotations that I complained about in A Hobby Hijacked.

The word instead takes a very different direction in most people's mental associations. Another word lover, to whom I am greatly indebted for many of the ideas in this post¹², said it best: “…you can’t escape the sense of fun in funambulist – it’s such a strong taste right up front.”

I couldn’t agree more. Funambulists shed the focus on fear and focus instead on the fun. The fun of defying gravity, doing the seemingly impossible, and perfecting an art that is as old as the Latin from which the word is built. I certainly have a great deal of fun ambling along be it on webbing, rope, or wire.

Funambulist.  A fantastic word, full of Latin and full of fun.

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¹ "Tightrope Walker's Mug" by WordPress
² "funambulist" from Dictionary.com
³ "funis" from Latin-Dictionary.org
⁴ "funicular" from Dictionary.com
⁵ "funiculus" from Dictionary.com
⁶ "funisitis" from mediLexicon
⁷ "ambulare" from Latin-Dictionary.org
⁸ "amble" from Dictionary.com
⁹ "ambulatory" from Dictionary.com
¹⁰ "perambulate" from Dictionary.com
¹¹ "perambulator" from Dictionary.com (British dictionary definitions)
¹² "Word Tasting Notes: funambulist" from Sesquitoica.
    Note: This post is, admittedly, incredibly similar to this one. I generally try not to reinvent the wheel, but I really love this word, so I hope I have something to add either in background or content to what has already been done.

Precious Moments, People Moments: Watch Me (Not) Juggle

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Many of the brightest threads in my tapestry of memories are woven from the slender strands of human connection—simple yet precious moments of shared humanity: a genuine smile that reaches across to tug my lip into smiling in return, an inside joke that becomes increasingly hilarious only because we're both laughing, or simply recognizing in a stranger a kindred spirit.
~Me

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My juggling has been progressing slowly since I wrote nine months ago. I’m still atrociously uncoordinated by most people’s standards, but the basic 3-ball cascade pattern is becoming more fluid. I’ve finally started work on two new tricks: overhand tosses, working toward the full “tennis” pattern, and columns.

Juggling pattern: Juggler's Tennis
Source: Library of Juggling

Juggling Pattern: Columns
Source: Library of Juggling

A few days ago I was working on columns. Unlike my carefully progressive drilling for the cascade pattern, this time I decided to skip any preparatory steps and just try it. Now, remember, it took me two years to learn the basic pattern: my hands know how to do one thing only. Not surprisingly this overly ambitious learning strategy was so out of sync with my abilities that I couldn’t manage to catch even the first two balls I tossed, let alone the one ball I threw up in between them.

On this particular day I had a little extra time, so I paused to practice. True to form I lost pretty much every ball I tossed, three balls and two hands all in a jumble. As I stooped to retrieve three rogue balls, obstinately ignoring the brilliant idea of simpler drills, I happened to glance up…and saw a college-age boy approaching me.

No juggler really likes to have people see them fumbling—I certainly would much rather awe people with my, admittedly, very minimal prowess. Part of the “grit” I'm learning through juggling is not being ashamed when people see my learning errors. So I shook off the tangles of insecurity and looked the boy square in the eyes...and was amused by what I saw. His expression seemed to be a subtle mixture of polite yet fascinated horror, incredulous pity, and subtle amusement, followed by a tinge of embarrassment that I’d caught his reaction.

I’ve never videotaped myself juggling really badly, but in that instant, as I tried to decipher the complex mix of emotions flickering behind the polite masking smile, I could imagine just how klutzy and uncoordinated I appeared. It also flashed across my mind that the guy might even think I was trying the regular cascade juggling pattern.

As he came even with me, I flashed him my sunniest smile, grinning in sympathetic agreement—and resumed my walk.



And yes, since then I’ve started working the preparatory skills for columns—simultaneously throwing two balls straight up, one from each hand; and alternately throwing and catching in the same hand. What I'm doing actually somewhat resembles the animated gif above, rather than just an incredible jumble of flying juggling bean bags.

The Wilds of "Varekai"

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The word Varekai means "wherever" in Romany, the language of the gypsies, the universal wanderers. This production [of Cirque du Soleil’s Varekai] pays tribute to the nomadic soul, to the spirit and art of the circus tradition, and to the infinite passion of those whose quest takes them along the path that leads to Varekai.
~Cirque du Soleil

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Rain was threatening as I hurried up the stairs to the arena for my first ever in-person taste of Cirque du Soleil. The weather didn’t matter, I was eager to bask in the glow of a live circus performance. Leslie, my best friend since middle school, hurried alongside me—yet another person who has been sucked into my obsession.

She had in tow a very enthusiastic walking encyclopedia of Cirque du Soleil facts. Thanks to the internet and my passion for research, I brought with me to my first performance a wealth of background information, trivia, and anticipation—all of which spilled into a running narration for the sake of my (luckily) interested friend.

Hey Leslie, did you read the show description already?  Varekai tells the story of the Greek mythology character Icarus—after he falls from the sky.

In mythology, Icarus was an over-confident youth who flew too close to the sun. Pride goes before the fall—in this case literally. His father, Daedalus, looked on in horror as the wings of wax and feathers he had made for his son disintegrated and the boy fell from the sky—presumably to his death. I object to unhappy endings, so I was very willing to let Cirque du Soleil rewrite this one.

After the pre-show clowning, the show picks up the thread of the tale where Daedalus ended it: with Icarus falling. Dressed all in white, Icarus fights his descent in artistic slow motion with graceful flailing of feet and waving of long feathered wings.

Source: Velveteen Mind

On the ground the unconscious youth is soon surrounded by the wary natives of Varekai. He regains consciousness to find that he has gone from the freedom of flight and the fright of falling to the imprisonment of a hoisted net.

Icarus is using the net like straps, cloud swing and aerial silk. Very cool combining so many different traditional circus skills in one act like that.

Source: Rodrigo Sologuren via Twitter

For me the show really got underway with “The Flight of Icarus.” Against the darkened backdrop of the primordial bamboo forests of Varekai, white-clad Icarus uses his captivity for an impressive range of aerial maneuvers: from contortion within the tangled weave of the net, to sitting and twirling around the net like a cloud swing, and finally, with the net hung only at one corner, wraps and big drops like aerial silk.

When Icarus is finally released from the net, it becomes evident that his fall has crippled him more than his aerial convolutions would suggest. He whose fable is considered a warning against hubris—excessive pride and self-confidence—has been thoroughly humbled by his fall.

“Cirque du Soleil is part of the “new” style of circus. It’s like if Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey is the tap or ballroom of circus, then Cirque du Soleil is the modern dance.”

No traditional rings confine the acts of Varekai. Cirque Nouveau, or “contemporary” circus style, incorporates theatrical elements of staging, costuming, special musical scores, acting and dance. The loose storyline following the journey of Icarus is a hallmark of the style.

Two trademarks unique to Cirque du Soleil’s brand of contemporary circus are fantastical costumes and, even in a more limited traveling show like this one, innovative and expansive staging and rigging. Even set changes can be impressively innovative, often incorporated into the acts themselves.

The “Slippery Surface” contortion and acrobatics act was one of my favorites and easily highlights these two trademarks. Set in a sort of water world, a slick blue surface is stretched across the stage making it look like a pond. Clad in brightly colored, undulating scale-textured body suits, the performers slide and spin back and forth in contortions more reminiscent of aquatic invertebrates than solid-boned humans. When the slipping and sliding is done, a hole in the middle of the stage underneath the pond surface opens up and the character of Icarus falls down through it—taking the sliding surface with him as if down a swirling drain.

Photo by:Luna Markman, Source: G1.Globo.com

Some of the performers for the “Solo on Crutches” have actually had physical disabilities, one was a victim of childhood polio.

As in the slippery surface act, Icarus reappears through the acts, sometimes as a spectator passing along the sidelines, sometimes interacting with the (mostly) hostile natives, still crippled, at first only able to drag himself out of harm’s way. Of the whole show, it is that humbling that most tugged at my heartstrings. I was unsettled by the poignant figure of Icarus crawling and later limping, brokenly, through the magical new world he’d fallen into.

On his journey of healing, Icarus encounters a character who can teach the boy much about the art of (not) being crippled. Blending dance and acrobatics, the “Limping Angel” turns a symbol of hurt and brokenness into an art form and empowerment as he dances, glides, and spins on the crutches that have become additions to and replacements for his feet. Using his crutches, however, to trip and flip the still crippled boy didn’t strike me as particularly angelic.
 

“There are five…no six…different major circus disciplines and we’ve seen three of them already.”

Source: Canadian Tire Center

By the time the show is done, Varekai provides stellar examples of four of the six¹ circus disciplines: acrobatics, clowning, aerials, and manipulation.

No matter the type of performance, Varekai is a riot of color. Tumblers dressed in yellow and red jump, twist and flip in perfect synchronization on an inflated mat that glows with each footfall. A duo aerial straps act sends warriors in black headdresses arcing out over the audience—then, somehow they meet again in the middle, creating mirrored, entwined figures, before flying apart once again. A juggler, green from head to toe, sets batons spinning through the air, manipulating the seemingly simple objects into gravity defying blurs. Two radically different sets of clowns provide colorful recurring comic relief from the more war-like creatures that inhabit the wilds of Varekai.

“Oooh…they just brought out double Russian swings, not just a single, this is about to get really impressive.”

Source: Snipview.com/

Not quite all the natives are hostile. As Icarus slowly regains the use of his legs, a character identified only as “The Betrothed” experiences a metamorphosis of her own—from the exotic yellow raptor-like creature who initially captures his interest to a white princess, his match and his equal.

After dizzying and colorful spectaculars, an erect and confident—though no longer arrogant—youth and his fully human girl glide onto the stage hand in hand. The celebration of their betrothal—and the finale of the show—is a Russian swing performance…a double Russian swing.

Russian swings are suspended with steel bars instead of ropes. The long swing platform can rotate 360 degrees and is long enough to accommodate two and even three standing acrobats. It is used to throw an acrobat high into the air and away from the swing—room for aerial flips, turns and twists.

For the landings, what had been two hanging projection screens are attached to the base of a 5-foot high platform, becoming the safety nets. The acrobats, launched off the front of their swing, land into the sheets or onto the platform…sometimes even onto the shoulders of partners standing on the platform.

In the finale of the already impressive finale, the two Russian swings are turned to face each other and the acrobats fly from one swing to land on the upturned edge of the other swing.

Source: MyBabyStuff.ca

Did you like it? Was it what you expected? Wasn’t it cool?

This was the first live circus performance I’ve been to in ages, and, speaking for myself, it did not disappoint. I have to admit, I attended more in the spirit of an aspiring student than a spectator, more as a technician than an artist. I was analyzing the movement, the rigging, and admiring the proficiency and technical perfection of the professional performers.

Besides the story of Icarus’s humbling and slow recovery, the title and theme of the show also struck a chord with me: I don’t really know where my passion for balance is taking me—it is certainly leading me to “varekai.” But “wherever” isn’t indicative of ambivalence or apathy; no matter what meandering path I pursue, I take my passion and sense of wonder with me.


Cirque du Soleil has a trailer for Varekai here if you’d like a glimpse of the show. And if you ever get a chance to go, I’d recommend it.

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¹ I would love to go more in depth into the topic of the circus disciplines, but that will have to wait for another day. For an excellent overview, please see Circus Arts 102 by Street Saint. Besides animal acts, which are often omitted in contemporary circus, the other discipline not included in the current version of Varekai is equilibristics—no balancing performances for me, unfortunately.

Precious Moments, People Moments: Princess Slackline Dance Party

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Many of the brightest threads in my tapestry of memories are woven from the slender strands of human connection—simple yet precious moments of shared humanity: the sympathetic simplicity of seeing my heart reflected in someone else's eyes, a genuine, friendly smile that reaches across to tug my lip into smiling in return, an inside joke that becomes increasingly hilarious simply because we're both laughing, the reassuring joy of recognizing in a stranger a kindred spirit.
~Me

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The day I met Mamo was an all-around fantastic day for making memories. The occasion was an extended family picnic at a local park. My four year old cousin, who, for the sake of anonymity, I will refer to as Cinderella—Ella for short—was the other child who made that day particularly memorable. As you can guess from the name I chose for her, she is princess kind of girl. She loves pink and looking pretty; she also gives the best hugs imaginable.

When I arrived, she excitedly ran danced and pranced on tip-toe to me for a hug. As she pressed her little cheek against mine caressingly, her mother approached. When I tended Ella and her brother a few months ago, at bedtimes I read them nearly every tightwire storybook I own. Ella’s mom let me know all those bedtime stories had an influence—the little girl in my arms had been teetering along the edge of their master bed at home. As she wobbled, she would call out, “Hey, Mom, look—this is what Guinevere does.” (Yes, I thoroughly enjoyed picking a secret princess codename for myself too.)

That was the perfect opening to ask my little friend if she’d like to try out a slackline herself—I “just happened” to have my slacklines in the trunk of my car. She chose the vibrant royal blue 1” Gibbon slackline over the glossy brown 2” line—having the most beautiful colored slackline is what really counts, naturally. Unfortunately I didn’t have pink.

Gripping my hands tightly, that little girl crossed that slackline more times than I can count, and every time she slapped her hand on the bark of the anchor tree, victoriously indicating another successful lap.

As I taught her about focusing on the anchor point rather than on her feet or the ground directly below, I mentioned that one of my favorite balance songs is “Don’t Look Down”—a song from the Disney series Austin and Ally. Well of course then I needed to pull out my phone and play the song. As she listened, her eyebrows puckered just a little bit as she concentrated with four year old seriousness. The song met with approval, as I’d guessed it would; when it was through she asked for it again. Pretty soon my phone was set to play it in a continuous loop; and even the slight pause in between repetitions set my Ella to worrying that the music had stopped.

The two of us took turns balancing, switching each time the song finished. When it was her turn, Ella would stand sideways on the line facing me, bouncing and swaying enthusiastically, belting out the chorus, “Don’t look down, down, down. Don’t look down, down, down, down.” Joining in, I did a shuffling imitation of dancing while keeping a firm grip on her.

When it was my turn to balance, I too would (try) to bounce in time with the music, frequently scrambling back on after my attempts at dancing instead sent me tumbling. And while I balanced, Ella twirled next to me clutching the phone in one little hand, holding it high so the music would play loud and clear.

She learned the lesson well—whenever another child came over and took a turn, she was quick to remind them, “Don’t look down! Don’t look down!” when there was even a hint of a glance earthward.

Her mother may not be thanking me for getting a song with an incredibly repetitive chorus so firmly fixed in her daughter’s head (though perhaps she could thank me for temporarily displacing “Let it Go”). The song is certainly even more firmly fixed in my memory now. I loved “Don’t Look Down” before—enough to blog about it after all—but now hearing it reminds me of that epic slackline dance party with one of my favorite princess girls.