cirque du everest
January 2008
Last week I visited the Royal Albert Hall to deliver
an interactive
Everest presentation to the students who
attend the school attached to Cirque du Soleil's
spectacular touring show, Varekai.
This spontaneous opportunity came about when the academy contacted their temporary next-door neighbour, the Royal Geographical Society. I was in the right place at the right time. And as a self-confessed Cirque du Soleil devotee it would be an understatement to say that I didn't need much persuading.
The school travels with Varekai and provides an education to the children of the troupers and crew, as well as the youngest members of the cast. (At the moment, the junior performers are Chinese. The language barrier, combined with the fact that the artistes finish late on stage each evening, means that these youngsters are educated separately by a Mandarin-speaking teacher). Every couple of months the show pitches up in a new city. Experiencing everything that the local culture has to offer is part of the unique syllabus.
When I arrived at the venue, one of the performers, Sergey, sought me out. "So, Paul,” Sergey asked in his beautiful Russian accent that reminded me so much of the late Anatoli Boukreev, “What is it like on the summit of Everest?”. Needless to say, I was equally interested to find out what it is like to be a part of the Cirque empire.
Sergey stayed to watch my little show. When we reached the segment of my presentation in which one of the children removes a seemingly never-ending string of colourful Buddhist prayer flags from a rucksack, I asked whether we could include an Everest routine in one of the Cirque shows. Sergey and the teachers all fell about laughing. I think I'm in. (Well, we can dream!)
The students who I spoke to are all rightly proud of their Mum and Dad's accomplishments in Cirque. It came as no surprise to learn that many of them want to follow in their parents’ footsteps. Others want to take a different path; one lad told me that he would like to be a chef.
After the presentation I headed into nearby Hyde Park to join the students in a game of skipping. I don't know about you, but I never got into the whole skipping thing as a recreational activity when I was at school. But skipping with Cirque is of course an altogether different kind of experience. To begin with, the rope isn't a tatty piece of cord. It's 30 foot of 10mm abseil rope, culled from an old rigger's line. And you don't skip one at a time. Oh no. That would be far too boring. Eight people skip simultaneously and of course it's a contest to see who is the last to trip over the rope. Competitive? Me?
This spontaneous opportunity came about when the academy contacted their temporary next-door neighbour, the Royal Geographical Society. I was in the right place at the right time. And as a self-confessed Cirque du Soleil devotee it would be an understatement to say that I didn't need much persuading.
The school travels with Varekai and provides an education to the children of the troupers and crew, as well as the youngest members of the cast. (At the moment, the junior performers are Chinese. The language barrier, combined with the fact that the artistes finish late on stage each evening, means that these youngsters are educated separately by a Mandarin-speaking teacher). Every couple of months the show pitches up in a new city. Experiencing everything that the local culture has to offer is part of the unique syllabus.
When I arrived at the venue, one of the performers, Sergey, sought me out. "So, Paul,” Sergey asked in his beautiful Russian accent that reminded me so much of the late Anatoli Boukreev, “What is it like on the summit of Everest?”. Needless to say, I was equally interested to find out what it is like to be a part of the Cirque empire.
Sergey stayed to watch my little show. When we reached the segment of my presentation in which one of the children removes a seemingly never-ending string of colourful Buddhist prayer flags from a rucksack, I asked whether we could include an Everest routine in one of the Cirque shows. Sergey and the teachers all fell about laughing. I think I'm in. (Well, we can dream!)
The students who I spoke to are all rightly proud of their Mum and Dad's accomplishments in Cirque. It came as no surprise to learn that many of them want to follow in their parents’ footsteps. Others want to take a different path; one lad told me that he would like to be a chef.
After the presentation I headed into nearby Hyde Park to join the students in a game of skipping. I don't know about you, but I never got into the whole skipping thing as a recreational activity when I was at school. But skipping with Cirque is of course an altogether different kind of experience. To begin with, the rope isn't a tatty piece of cord. It's 30 foot of 10mm abseil rope, culled from an old rigger's line. And you don't skip one at a time. Oh no. That would be far too boring. Eight people skip simultaneously and of course it's a contest to see who is the last to trip over the rope. Competitive? Me?