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Sometimes you think, 'Oh, better to sit in one place and go to work and come back home.' But for me it's nice. I see cultures. Denmark, Switzerland, Poland, Germany, many countries. And I think, 'I am happy woman,' you know? —Svitlana Svystun, Circus Performer

REPORTER'S NOTEBOOK: Sean Cole

Sean Cole

I slept with the circus. That is, they put me up for two nights while I was reporting this story. This is only notable because of the Alice in Wonderland nature of my accommodations. Imagine a yellow trailer truck, the kind you see rolling down the highway hauling Wonder Bread. Now imagine seven tall, white doors along the side of that truck, each leading to its own miniscule apartment. One of those rooms was mine – number 27. It was the size of your average bathroom, and yet it had a working sink and stove, a wardrobe, a bed, and a folding chair tucked in the corner. There were frills. Lace curtains hung in the windows. A plush toy puppy watched over me from a high shelf as I slept.

Life with The Great Moscow State Circus is cramped at best – or "cozy" if you want to cast a positive light on it. In the morning, I’d stumble from my compartment onto a postage stamp fairground half-filled by campers and trailer trucks emblazoned with "The Great Moscow State Circus" or "The World Famous Moscow State Circus." This was in Burgess Hill, West Sussex, a suburb north of Brighton that’s as tiny and as English as it sounds. One of the campers belonged to Svitlana Svystun, whom I met at 10:00 a.m. the first day of my stay. Most of the other circus performers were sleeping at that hour (including my next-door neighbor, who snored louder than anyone in history). But Svitlana has to get up early to cook breakfast for her husband Andrey (the ringmaster) and their three-year-old son Maxim. Their "home" is six meters long. They all share the same bed. Maxim’s toys are crammed in every corner.

The first thing that struck me about Svitlana was her beauty. Imagine a petite, Ukrainian Annette Funicello with glasses and a ponytail. The second thing that struck me was that her denim jacket had an American flag patch attached to it.

"Where did you get that?" I asked her.

"England," she said. Then she said was wearing it in my honor. "Pro-USA!" she laughed.

Svitlana’s English is not great, so we did the interview in a combination of English and Russian. Irina Archer, the press officer for The Great Moscow State Circus, translated for us. I knew very little about Svitlana before meeting her and so I was surprised to find out that she had joined the circus for love. Back in Kiev, she’d been a professional dancer, trained in ballet and modern, and certified to teach dance as well. She met Andrey when the two of them were performing in the same variety show. Andrey began calling her every day. They went out on a few dates and later realized they were in love. But Andrey was already working with the circus, traveling all the time. In order to create a family together, they were going to have to create an act together.

They decided on an Argentinean gaucho act because it combined circus and dancing. They dress up in frilly black and white outfits and play enormous drums that are slung over their shoulders. They stamp their feet to the rhythm. Finally, like Spiderman shooting a web, they each produce two bolas, long ropes with plastic balls at the end, one in each hand. They spin them and crack them against a hardwood floor, faster and faster. For the finale, Andrey spins the ropes using only his teeth. Then, he sets both ropes on fire and spins them in a brilliant arc. It’s impressive.

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