Waiting in the queue to see Alegria, I felt 20 years old, while my 60-year-old heart pounded with excitement. For almost two decades, I had listened spellbound and danced with abandon to the dramatic music of the Cirque du Soleil soundtrack of Alegria. At last, the show arrived in my home town, making my wish to see it come true.
My balcony seat gave me a full view of the Cirque du Soleil stage, the orchestra, and the intricate scaffolding from which trapeze artists and aerialists would soon commence their acts. The lights shut off, and in the blackness, I heard shouts of "Alegria, Alegria", which means 'joy' in Spanish. When the lights turned on again, the spotlight featured the White Singer, who belted out the opening song, 'Elvira'.
Clowns rollicked about in Baroque costumes. Interacting with the audience, they frolicked among them playing flutes and accordions. A female aerialist performed fluidly above them. The acrobats that followed were young, lithe, very strong. They leaped from the floor onto one another's shoulders, some of them supporting the weight of three or more performers.
Drawn into the captivating world of Alegria, my heart sang along with the singers. My inner child laughed at the clowns and jugglers. Something inside me bounded along with the tumblers. I was transfixed by the contortionist and mesmerized by the fire-dancer. My spirit soared with the flying trapeze artists performing the spectacular finale.
Alegria tells the story of all that is young replacing all that is old. As I left the performance, even I felt young.