Semaforo

Now that I am back to posting, it is time to play a bit of catch up.

 
Some of my readers may be wondering how I make things work financially here on the other side of the world. Considering I am still learning Italian, it may seem rather impossible for me to get a job to support myself, and my coffee shop and circus wages were not enough to save up for a year abroad while supporting myself back home. So how do I manage to pay rent? One word: semaforo.
 
Semaforo is the Italian word for traffic light, and it is my workplace here in Turin town. Every weekend, I (and many other circus performers around town) go to major intersections and perform a 30-second to one minute routine during red lights, then pass the hat and hope for spare change.

When I decided to become a circus performer, I never expected that performing at red lights would be how I would make a living. It isn’t exactly glitz and glamour. The only glitter is that which bedazzles my eyelashes, and there is no follow spot – just headlights. It is dirty, temperamental, competitive, quasi illegal, occasionally dangerous, and the air quality is less than optimal. But at the same time, it can be fun practice time (both with tricks and with the Italian language), a practice in intent focus – considering I’d really prefer to not get hit by a car, a way to hang out in the sunshine while making a little soldi, and a good reminder of how kind strangers can be. Plus it makes for a good story. I’ll add it to my list of odd jobs along with alpaca tender and human puppet.

The generosity of strangers is something that never ceases to inspire my gratitude. Many people are willing to drop a coin or two – some pennies and 10 cents, 50 cents here, a euro or two there – all of which adds up. Many people thank me for entertaining them while they wait at lights, and occasionally luck will be on my side and the rare banknote will come my way. I’ve been paid in oranges, compliments, and chocolate bunnies. Friends have been paid in muffins, high fives, and marijuana. It seems like every day there is something that is a little surprising at the samafori. It is impossible to know at the start of the work day whether I will make 15 euros or 115 in the hour or two I can normally stand to breathe at the lights, but either way I am so extremely grateful to be able to earn some money in my spare time, to choose my own hours, to be able to half way listen to music while I work, and to use circus to make a living. And I know that if I work hard enough at this point in the adventure, someday the crosswalk will be replaced by stages, headlights replaced by follow spots, and the crosswalk grime on my hands replaced by bedazzled costumes.  

Rubato

Hello again, readers! Please excuse my long pause from writing, but you will soon understand part of the break. 

At first, I could blame my show and rehearsal schedule from Carillon, followed by another show called Cirque Deco and the coinciding tiredness/laziness/distraction that resulted from the show prep and performance. Cirque Deco was a touring show that travelled to lovely old theaters in nearby towns here in the Piedmonte region, and one weekend we even had the pleasure of heading 6 hours south into Tuscany to perform in a city called Civitavecchia, about an hour outside of Rome. It is a gorgeously picturesque little city, right on the Mediterranean. Our theater was a 5 minute walk from the beach, and our hotel was only 10 minutes. For our weekend away, I decided it would be a good idea to leave my computer behind, tucked safely into my bed. It would be a few days to disconnect, explore a different city, focus on getting to know my peers, etc. All of which are a bit easier without the distraction of technology. It was a wonderful 4 days of presence, beach time, performance, and of course some Saturday morning cartoons in Italian with my suitemates at the hotel.

Upon arriving home from this little performance adventure, I noticed that our foyer was a bit messier than usual. With 5 people in a two bedroom apartment, it isn’t difficult for things to get out of hand, so I just figured the others had returned home from their winter vacations and didn’t bother putting things away. Then I entered the bedroom I share.  Every cupboard, drawer, box, and suitcase was open, the contents strewn about. All of the money that I had saved up to that point was missing. I checked my bed for my computer, it too was gone – though someone had been kind enough to first disconnect my adaptors from my computer charger. And then it sunk in - we had been derubato (robbed).  

The unusual thing about the robbery was that only my things had gone missing, despite no qualms with anyone here in Turin. The 300 euros I had saved, my computer, a broken pearl necklace – gone. My roommate´s camera, the amplifier of a classmate, and a few other valuables had been left. The other unusual thing was that we live on the topmost floor of our apartment building. The ladro (thief) who did it must have had a lot of motivation and a fair amount of athleticism arrive at our fifth-floor veranda to break the window they used to enter our house.

Being robbed shook my sense of security here to say the least. It was a shocking violation of privacy, property, and security. It didn’t help that it was most likely someone that the household knows, who had an idea about what our schedules were like that day. It was frustrating to lose the money I earned, and frustrating to lose my computer, and losing the contents on the computer was heartbreaking. Photos, videos, music, documents – all gone, and very few backed up. Now I know what external hard drives are for. Lesson learned.

In terms of silver lining, this has been a good exercise in letting go of material items and observing the temporary nature of things. Computers and necklaces can be replaced, money can be earned again (or in this case, partially gifted by generous accquaintances - thank you, new friends!), I still have memories of the contents of my computer (and the camera that disappeared my first few days in little old Italy - the thieves here are pro). It was a chance to reevaluate and see what it more important – things or presence; connection to the real world or connection to the digital. And it was a moment to realize that nothing lasts. Photos disappear, memories fade as new experiences take place, ideas enter our consciousness and soon dissolve. I suppose in retrospect the robbery was good food for thought. A thief can steal your material goods and wealth. But in the end, you are still the same without the things that have been taken. Perhaps la fiducia is shaken and windows are broken, but the truly important things remain.

The robbery was also a good reminder to listen to myself. That weekend, before I left, I briefly thought I should bring my computer and just leave it turned off. Life keeps giving me opportunities to learn to listen to that little whisper, and I have been noticing with more frequency that the more I resist and try to think my way out of listening to it, the more often things seem to go wrong. Perhaps that's where inner peace comes from, a keen ability to listen to the internal voice.