44 days, 42

Went to the fair with Kira and her friend. Everything was exactly the same as every fair, as every year. The same rides, the same prices, the same dreadful music, the same food, the same bands. For Kira however, everything was new and full of charm. The main attractions:

And even more interesting, being sealed into a huge beach ball and rolled into a baby pool. The objective: to get up and run on the spot, à la hamster-in-the-wheel:

Which resulted mainly in this:

The big let down: riding a temperamental plastic bull. It went on for ages and bucked and shook them about until they looked like two exhausted limpets stuck to its back.

The cowboy hat they won made up for some of the pain:

At the end, Kira had a question: 'Why is everyone who works here Indian?' It was true, all the poor sods stuck all day in those booths looked particularly tanned. Travelers? Nomads? Gypsies? But how come? Are they the only people who can put up with the endless wondering, mud and dust and heat and the slow march of hours on the fairground?

Their children are there with them, sitting around all day. A father put his toddler in those elastic harnesses above the trampolines, to fast forward some time. The little fellow bounced about a few times, then grew weary and lost momentum, until he stopped, suspended in mid-air like a broken marionette.