The show was over and the attendees scurried nervously to their cars.
Inside the Hippodrome you’re safe, outside and after sunset, you’re on your own. Every night is like The Purge.
As the other show goers dashed from the venue to the parking garages, Denis and I found ourselves walking through the abandoned Baltimore streets, wondering why we decided to skimp on a cab fare back to the AirBnB.
It’s one of those walks where you memorize the directions, and under no circumstances pull out your phone to check the map. You stand tall, you go, and don’t make eye contact with anyone.
What the hell brought us to this urban wasteland?
A traveling act pitches a circus tent in the destitute city center. Crowds flock from surrounding villages, carefully hiding their chariots in nearby stables, dashing to see the spectacle.
Outside they fear for life and limb, scared that they’ll get stuck with a blade for crossing the wrong person. Inside, they watch enthralled as a person sticks himself with blades. A strange world where the things we fear serve as sources of entertainment.
Her name was Alicia, and she had many jobs. We met her while she was wearing her Uber hat. She was also a beautician, a Master barber, a story teller and a grandmother. Big glasses, black driving gloves and a big ol’ car. She was taking on extra shifts to save money and visit her son in Texas.
She’s a gem in a city of decay. Her stories keep us enthralled for the whole drive. I didn’t want the ride to be over.
It’s the first time I’ve ever tipped an Uber driver more than the fare.
Our fakir was the reason we were in Baltimore.
We were in the crowd of macabre onlookers, watching as David Blaine stabbed, stapled and bled on stage.
It was our pilgrimage to see a man that inspired a generation of magic, including teenage Vlad. He wasn’t the best magician, but when he appeared on the scene, he did something that no one else did: he took to the streets and turned the camera to the audience.
In a flash, magic went from stage productions, dancers and lacquered boxes to something raw, real and emotional.
It was a paradigm shift. And now I was sitting in the audience for his first ever live tour, more than a decade after the shaman took to his streets.
In that decade, David Blaine re-branded his performance shifting his focus form magic to feats of endurance. Fasting, hanging upside-down, holding his breath. The magic that felt so real was replaced by real endurance that, maybe, you wished wasn’t.
Would we see the street shaman or stuntman that night?
It’s been a long time since I saw someone smoking inside. But he owned the place, dammit, and if he wanted to chainsmoke indoors, it was his right!
You don’t do a magic pilgrimage without visiting Denny & Lee’s Magic Shop. His name is Denny Haney, and he’s a legend of a performer. He retired decades ago to a quiet life running a magic shop in the outskirts of Baltimore. The place has shelves upon shelves of forgotten magic books and dusty memorabilia.
His love of magic is contagious, and his stories go on for hours and hours. We lose track of time digging through the catacombs of forgotten lore. It feels like spiritual journey, but there’s a hint of sadness to it all.
By the end of David Blaine’s show, I realized that I was watching a real life re-enactment of Kafka’s Hunger Artist. In the story, a man builds a cult following by starving himself for days at a time. Audiences flock to marvel at the man that won’t eat.
Then hunger artist sets out on his longest fast yet, his most ambitious stunt to date. Unfortunately, on a whim, public tastes change and he finds himself starving in a cage for no audience, atrophying until he literally vanishes from site and from memory.
David Blaine’s string of stunts – fasting included – seem to have crescendoed into a night of self mutilation. On the one hand, it’s a feat of human endurance and perseverance. On the other hand, it’s a little sad to see a childhood hero have to do that to draw a crowd.
Baltimore, a city that was once home to George Washington and Edgar Allen Poe. Now a symbol for what happens when the world moves on. The show and its forgotten fakir found a perfect home in its solemn streets.
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