Jezen Thomas Creativity //. Ideas

The following three journal entries are from a tour I was doing in Spain in 2008. I don't ordinarily keep a journal, but I tried to make a habit of it whenever I was travelling.

Day One. I awoke in a drunken haze to the ear-splitting sound of my intercom system. It was the taxi-driver, waiting for me. This meant I had less than a minute to pack my bags with all the necessary items to travel overseas on business. Oh shit. Off we went on our journey, collecting the other performers from neighboring suburbs. The flight from Newcastle to Bristol was very short and uninteresting. The four hour wait in Bristol was very long and uninteresting. I tried a Rustlers burger which smelled of burning plastic and was absolutely vile. The flight from Bristol to Madrid was long and uninteresting, but it was nice to arrive in the Spanish warmth. Two taxis transported our party from the airport to the train station. The meter read €16, however for some reason we had to pay €25. We suspect a special tax for those that don't speak Spanish. The next leg of our journey was a two hour train ride heading west. There was a large inebriated Spaniard sitting with us, who didn't quite understand that we couldn't speak or understand Spanish. If we said 'no comprende espanol', he would repeat the sentence louder. He was also taking some mysterious white pills, and we had our suspicions. We arrived in the beautiful city of Salamanca and ended our day there.

Day Two. Hotel breakfast wasn't anything special. Cup of coffee and a baguette. Hmm... We explored the town for the morning before meeting the rest of the team at noon by the van. In the following hour we constructed our colourful bird outfits and the parade started at 13:00. I felt a little uneasy at first, struggling with the hill as I had to lift my legs fitted with 1 meter stilts. The big red fluffy bird costume was a bit warm too, and the mask made it hard to see. However, once we were in Salamanca's main square, no amount of discomfort could draw me away from the joy of harassing people and getting away with it. After that gig, we did some more exploring of the town. We walked down by the river and saw the local skate scene, with a population at the time of one American man. The next gig started at 18:00, and was another joyful bout of poking my bird's beak into people's stomachs. The last gig was at 20:00, and as the sun was going down, I went for the approach of kissing all the young Spanish ladies with my alter-ego. Italian food for dinner with prosecco and wine, then back to bed to regain our strength.

Day Three. Nik and I skipped the hotel's excuse for breakfast and instead feasted on 'Smacks' and milk in our room. After some more exploration of the town, we once again met by the van at noon with the rest of the performers. Today we were to be giant butterflies, and proceeded with constructing our outfits. 130cm metal stilts, giant colourful butterfly wings, long crutches to stabilise your arms, and a big butterfly head complete with antennae. This probably wasn't half as exciting as the black spandex catsuit I was made to wear underneath it all. We set off at 13:00, slowly crawling up the street, through the crowd towards the main square, posing for photographs and hissing at children. It was a good slow parade, scaring the elderly and chasing young latino girls. We headed back to the van to get changed back into normal clothes, and then Nik and I spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening relaxing in the sunny square with a cold beer watching the young ladies pass us by. The time came for the evening gig, and we suited for an hour from 20:00. I was the first to set out on the parade at 21:00, and I scared a good many Spaniards as I ran straight towards to crowd with my giant butterfly arms held akimbo and pointed at them. I walked a great distance away from the van, making people laugh, scream, and cry in terror before reaching a brick church at which point it was a good idea to turn back. On the way back however, the street seemed busier. The locals had grown accustomed to our presence and the children were no longer scared by my hissing noises. Not fifty meters from the van, children were darting in and out between my legs. I tried to escape, but then a small child held on to one of my legs and wouldn't let go. Down I came towards to ground, in fear of killing the child. I don't remember hitting the ground very hard, but when I was pulled free of my costume I was surrounded by all the spectators, shocked at the death of a butterfly. I was only worried about the child, but apparently he was fine. I only had a minor nosebleed, but all the old women wouldn't stop handing me packets of tissues. I walked, embarrassed, back to the van in my spandex catsuit and kneepads, and then got changed back into my jeans. Another night, another big Italian meal, in Spain.