Miming without mimes

Condoms hung from all the trees. Condoms with boy faces and girl faces etched on them with sharpies, condoms blown into balloons, condoms half mass, a body bag of a condom strung out between two foil-covered sticks.

Chuncheon Mime Fest, twenty-eleven, twelve a.m.: no mimes. Two comedians on stage, a row of food vendors, and a garbage mess of an art installation with a thousand flags and a winking happy face.

A performance piece happened above our heads as we poured drinks from our bags. Balloons made bunny ears under hosiery stretched over half a dozen heads. They drank their own on top a trailer, inside a translucent tee pee, some comment on a wall.

Three fire dancers and a Korean rock band, still no mimes come 3 a.m. At the exit all the cabs were called, passed us and onto the calls. We walked on up the road towards the light of town.