The circus is in town! We remember hearing these five words loaded with expectation at a tender age when the life of a clown or an acrobat seemed like the best possible vocation the world had to offer. Astronaut? No way, it’s too cold in space. Doctor? We get nauseous at the sight of blood. But muscled circus strongman or animal trainer who gets to carry a whip every day? Yes, that’s the life for us. Or so we thought when we hadn’t even breathed air for decade. There’s something inherently romantic about the circus despite its turn-offs like the aroma of animals and their by-products. For some reason our olfactory senses are put on hold when a man is shot out of a canon or a bear rides around a stage on a Harley Davidson.
    Our first experience with the circus stretches back to the early 1980s when our parents brought us to the so-called ‘greatest show on earth.’ Never ones for understatement, the Ringling Brothers & Barnum & Bailey Circus set up their three-ring extravaganza at Madison Square Garden in New York City and surpassed all of our expectations with lions, elephants and death-defying trapeze artists. Even in our seats a good distance from the action, we marvelled at the size of elephant droppings that looked like misshapen cannon balls. Yes, that’s the life for us we thought.
    So when a friend gave us a gift of tickets to the Riga Circus, we were both apprehensive and excited. Would the Latvian circus be able to compete with ‘the greatest show on earth’ of our distant childhood? Would it be able to inspire the same curiosity and unadulterated joy in our own child? The answer was a resounding, yes.
    It turns out that Latvia had its very own P.T. Barnum in the person of Albert Salamonsky (1839 - 1913), a German promoter, horse trainer and performer from Prussia who created his own circus empire in Berlin, Moscow and Riga. Although Riga already had a temporary wooden circus building as early as 1864 located opposite the present-day Flower Market where the Ministry of Justice now stands, Salamonsky wanted to build a permanent edifice. He bought the piece of land on Merķeļa iela in 1878, but due to his endeavours in Moscow and the repeated meddling of the Riga construction and planning commission, it would take another 10 years for his dream to come to fruition. In fact, many would say that planning permission is just as difficult and complicated to come by today, so he did just what modern Riga developers do. He built the new circus anyway until the commission finally, grudgingly accepted his building, which still bore his name until 1940, when the Reds re-named it the National Circus of the Latvian Soviet Socialist Republic.
    Although it has been changed over the years, its central hall and unique cupola constructed of used railway track remain the same, so you’re essentially experiencing the circus the way its author originally intended. Leave your coat at the wardrobe and pass dozens of stalls selling popcorn, balloon animals and plenty of other kids souvenirs.
    Before each performance kids can ride a pony or have their picture taken with a variety of animals from tamed bears and little monkeys in cute outfits to pythons for a small fee. But when you hear the bell ring, that means its time to get to your seats. Bear in mind that this is one of Europe’s oldest circus buildings so it doesn’t offer many creature comforts, but that’s all part of the experience. There’s no canned music, so performers sing their own songs and a band plays on a balcony above the far entrance of the arena. When the performers speak it’s usually in Latvian and Russian and occasionally even in English, but you can almost always understand what’s going on just by the context of the situation.
    When we sat down we were surrounded by a carnival atmosphere full of the hopes, dreams and expectations of children, many of whom were about to see their first circus, including our own daughter. The excitement was palpable as little girls and boys munched nervously on cotton candy, parents pointed out exotic animals and vendors strolled around the aisles offering warm pīrāgi (Latvian bacon buns), caramel cones, lollipops and flashing glow sticks. Even the most cynical mom or dad would have their hearts melt at the spectacle of pure joy and enthusiasm that registered on the faces of toddlers and tykes throughout the 122-year-old hall. The feeling is definitely contagious and we’re happy to admit that we too were influenced by the electric atmosphere and the nostalgia that it unearthed from the recesses of our mind.
    As the ushers dressed in red coats like Nutcracker extras or marching band members showed the last stragglers to their seats the bell sounded, the house lights went out and theatrical smoke began to pour in covering the centre stage in a haze. It was at this moment that the MC announced that parents in the front row shouldn’t place their children beyond the small barrier separating them from the animal acts. Sound advice, we thought. And with this final addition to the suspense, with children literally sitting on the edges of their seats, eyes like saucers, the show began!
    We saw skits, singing and dancing, juggling and acrobatics and just when we thought we’d seen it all, they sent in the clowns. Musicians performed acts on unicycles and a strongman lifted incredible weights, balanced improbable objects on his forehead and dangled from a rope with a woman in his arms holding on with only his teeth and the strength of his jaws. Funny magic acts were performed and amazing feats by not so common house cats unfolded before our eyes and this was all before intermission!
    At this time hordes of youngsters and parents streamed out to use the restrooms, buy more snacks and souvenirs or to take more photographs with the animals. After roughly 15 minutes the bell rang once more and the show went on with more acrobats and animal acts to the delight of all present with perhaps the exception of a few brave souls in the front row who were dragged into the act from time to time. If you’re shy and don’t want a bunch of clowns to drag you into the middle of a knife throwing act, you might just want to buy a seat a little farther away from all the action.
    Performances differ, so we can’t guarantee that you’ll see what we saw, but you can find out what’s on in English at its website listed below.
Riga Circus (Rīgas cirks) C-4, Merķeļa 4, tel. (+371) 67 21 34 79, www.cirks.lv. Box office open 10:00 - 19:00.
Photo courtesy of the Riga Circus