Letter from America (Guest Post)

Well, friends and family, the world may not be the oyster it once was, but I can still taste the tabasco …..and where better to do so than the US of A.

It was a two week stint OS, the prospects of which had been looming over the preceding months. I was concerned about my ability to not only get through the performance physically, but to switch from stay-at-home mum to the impassioned performer, battling with the stage's bastardised reckoning of man and God. No measly topic.

Adding to the mayhem, the weekend before we left, Ben and I suddenly decided to move house, so, amidst a sprall of boxes and without the familiar reference of home, Monty had his first week away from his Mum. He and his Nana permitted each other's company for the week, but he wouldn't accept expressed milk. However, he quite happily starved until I returned home in the evening.

I, on the other hand, felt free as a bird walking into that dance studio. I'd had a year off, and was ceremonially greeted with a cheer by my fellow dancers. Embarrassed, my breasts immediately started leaking everywhere. The homo-sexual men (who made up all but two of us) were horrified.

So, on the Monday we headed off. The flight ahead was 27 hours: Melbourne to Sydney, Sydney to LA, (get through customs), LA to Chicago, Chicago to Albany. I couldn’t believe I was going to attempt this with a five-month old. We worked pretty solidly at keeping him happy and, thankfully, Monty made it without trauma. Co-passengers congratulated us as they streamed past.

Troy, where we were performing, is straight out of a Martin Scorsese film. Quite literally. Though so well preserved from the 1950s, it’s now pretty much only a relic of a town. All except for its Rensselear University where they have the most wiz bang theatre in all of America (currently), where we were to perform.


After a day’s rest, my first call was a rehearsal/group swim in the university pool, after which we snuck into the gymnasium (classic, with running track) and while students shot hoops as our back drop, we danced the luscious ballet of the greek gods. Monty watched on.

Day 2 Ben had the stage looking special, and we were ready to start getting the show together.

Monty spent the theatre remount backstage with his babysitter, Rosabell. So in love they were, we had to pay her to give him back. Then still, she gave him a few of her own children’s toys. They squark in Spanish. I'd peep my head in to see him on the way past, wearing my various costumes. Then for the performances he and Ben watched from a special quiet box. 




It's an interesting experience performing this particular show in America. A great portion of the work is an ode to the Jones Town Massacre, but its aspect on cult in general has for me an American twang. As I perform it I feel a sadness, or rather a mellow unity with the spirituality of these people. I must say, Americans do tend to 'get' the work. At any rate, it's funny performing in our put-on American accents, to Americans.

I think we did well. It had been hard for us to re-find the work, but I think we were in charge of it, rather than it running ahead out of our reach as it had felt during rehearsals. The choreographer was gushing about my performances, so I felt my job done. The morning after closing night, I slept a good long way on the train down the Hudson River to New York City, knowing the task no longer loomed ahead – and confident that I hadn't lost it after all.

We spent five nights in NYC, in a privately rented apartment in the East Villiage, Manhattan. Ben's brother, Adam, flew up from South America to spend the holiday with us. He met Monty for the first time and they found themselves instantly compatible. 

Ben hadn't been to New York City before, so we spent the days ticking off the lists of must-sees. I'd say the highlights were the Gugenheim, the matzo ball soup from Katz Deli, a walk through the real Brooklyn (not white-artsy Brooklyn), watching a class of Jewish Orthodox kindergarteners (be-decked with budding side curls and all) with their Rabbi on their excursion to the Statue of Liberty, and, well, just that completely characterised enthusiastic and impatient, ever churning energy that is New York City.

It was definitely time to come home when it was, though, and the return flight extravaganza was the last test before life resumed its at-home normalcy. I held Monty at my breast for the whole 30-odd hours and my arms got really sore - but it was worth it. I'm sure Monty thought so too.

I hope you've enjoyed my rendition! It's been hard to catch seconds alone to write, but nice to pretend I'm still on the road with you bloggers.

Great travels to all, and don't go having babies!!!!!!

 

Clair Cisterne
12 October, 2010