“Are you sure you want to go to this thing?” KiKi asked.
The first hundred times she asked, I thought it was an interesting question, because I usually get accused of being the less adventurous one. I’m the one who actually enjoys being home occasionally, and has been known to spend an entire Sunday afternoon binge watching Netflix’s Daredevil, or Vikings on Amazon. So, to be asked if I really wanted to leave the house to do something seemed a stretch.
I politely reminded her that, if I suggested it, of course I wanted to do it. Who wouldn’t want to go to a Renaissance Faire in the lush rural forests of Lake County, Florida. We would drink mead, widely known as the elixir of the gods, dance round the May Pole to the sounds of Celtic fiddlers, enjoy a rousing joust with knights hurling off the backs of their steeds as their opponent’s lance splinters into a million pieces, and cheer on the noble warriors who fight to the death in a provocative game of human chess. Elle was completely pumped as well, having told her classmates and social studies teacher how excited she was about going, ad nauseam, all the merry ol’ week long.
Of course, I know why KiKi was asking. Renaissance Faires are just not her thing, the same as comic conventions, and theme parks, and midnight movie releases. She likes to drive long distances to places we’ve never seen, and probably aren’t going to see again. Oh, and if she has to wear a costume for it, it better be a Halloween party (truth be told, I don’t do the whole cosplay bit either, but as I writer, I find it fun to observe what everyone else comes up with).
“You’ll have fun,” I told her. “Besides, it’s been years since we’ve gone.”
“I’m just glad you’re not wearing that lame wizard costume again.”
“Dad had a wizard costume?” Elle asked.
“It wasn’t just some old wizard costume. I was Merlin,” I told her.
“’Sword and the Stone’ Merlin or the one with the blue paint on his face?” she asked.
“Definitely ‘Sword in the Stone’ Merlin,” I answered. “You know the rule. I only paint my face to be the Joker.”
KiKi rolled her eyes, and requested the address for the GPS.
“12835 County Landfill Road,” I told her.
“We’re going to a Renaissance Faire in a landfill?” KiKi asked incredulously. I could have sworn I heard her add under her breath, “best place for one.”
“It’s not in the landfill,” I told her. “It’s just nearby the landfill, probably on the opposite end of the road.” Of course I was wrong.
“Who puts on a Renaissance Faire in a landfill?” I bemoaned as we got out of the car.
“It’s in the part they covered up,” Elle said. “It’s not like it smells of rotting garbage, or anything. Lets go! There’s already a line for the tickets.”
“They’re just trying to make it realistic Sweetie,” KiKi said to me, “by making sure we all have bubonic plague before we leave.”
Once inside, it was easy to forget how near a gaping hole of trash we were. The booths were charming and nestled between a mini-forest of trees. Street performers sat at each crossroad with lyres and lutes while full blown acoustic bands and actors performed on the many main stages. In the center of the village was an area for authentic pre-17th century style artisans from the Society for Creative Anachronism. They had blacksmiths and weavers, as well as culinary artisans making cheese and butter. Everywhere you looked there were costumed actors playing roles from royalty to street rats, and if they noticed that much of the rabble were wearing modern jeans and t-shirts, they didn’t let on.
I talked KiKi into forgoing the shopping for the moment so we could go to the Falconry show. She saw the wisdom in that, as she knew I would have drunk a goodly portion of mead by the time we got around to the shopping. One of my favorite parts of the Renaissance Faire experience is the bird show, if for no other reason than it amazes me that these majestic creatures don’t simply fly away and leave the handler looking like the court jester. At one point one of the hawks flew out of the trees and streaked within inches of my face on its way down into the arena to snatch a training decoy. It was breathtaking to see that bird so close.
Next, we went to the mead hall which was a little disappointing. I’ve actually made my own mead in the past, and while it’s a bit pricey to make because of the high volume of honey, I contend that it was a better tasting, and definitely more authentic recipe than what I received at the Renaissance Faire. KiKi ordered a Bud Light. A Bud Light at the Renaissance Faire! The fact that they even had it was disturbing! “At least I am enjoying mine,” she said to put an end my fifteen minute rant on the subject. For the rest of the day, when I went to the mead hall, I ordered the amber ale.
Next, on the agenda was Human Chess with the Rogues Theatre. In Human Chess actors trained in stage fighting line up like the pieces on a chess board and battle it out to the death with swords and clubs, and when nothing else is left, their bare hands. There is always a premise, usually something about a foreign king trying to illegally marry a princess to acquire lands he does not deserve. As the pieces move into what should be killing positions they do battle. The difference here is that you are never quite sure which combatant will actually win, because the attacking player does not automatically take the piece as in a regulation game. I was impressed with the quality of the fighting at the Lady of the Lakes Faire. It seemed that the majority of the combatants were well trained and some of the falls were spectacularly realistic (ie: wow, that looked like it really hurt, where are ye olde royal medics).
This was not, however, the case with the jousters from Noble Cause Productions. It started with an overly long bit of pomp and circumstance, that included a boring bit about lancing some rings (which consequently went badly for at least one the horseman who, breaking character, complained to the others about his paige, boo). Then, they took three feeble passes at one another before one faked the loss. I’ve seen much more realistic jousting in previous years at this Faire. There were no splintered lances or instances of knights being dismounted by their opponent. It was like they weren’t even trying very hard. It looked overly choreographed too, and so we opted not to return for the second show.
“Now, this show is actually quite good,” KiKi told me as we watched the Matimoniacs, a husband wife comedy team who’s schtick is to give marriage counseling, even though they don’t seem to always take their own advice. The Empty Hats, a Celtic style musical troop, also had KiKi grinning ear to ear, and it would seem even happy to be at the Renaissance Faire.
At the end of the day, we wandered through the vendor’s area where it seemed everyone found what they were looking for, except me. I was hoping to find a pewter drinking horn, but no matter where I looked, there was not one to be had. There were plenty of mugs and other such vessels, but nothing like what I was looking for. There were a lot of actual horns as well, many crafted as powder kegs for flintlock rifles. There were quite a few polished horns too, but I already have quite a few of those.
KiKi bought a gorgeous ring that looked like the many branches spread out at the top of a tree. On the end of each branch, like a leaf, was a topaz. She also bought Elle a silver ring that looked like a dragon wrapped around her finger.
“There aren’t too many people in here,” KiKi commented to the owner.
“That’s because this is all real jewelry,” she told her, “so it’s too expensive for most of them.”
“Well, it’s exactly what I’m looking for,” KiKi beamed.
Elle found a fur and leather shop manned by a loud Viking who kept telling everyone who passed that they had dropped their pocket. She bought a beautiful black and white fox tail to strap onto her belt loop. She also picked up a tiny purple hat from the Steam Punk shop. Yes, that’s right, Victorian Steampunks were present at the Renaissance Faire. That seemed, to me, to be at least as out of place as the multiple fez wearing Doctors shlepping around. Steam Punks and Time Lords, what is the Renaissance coming to.
“I really had a lot of fun today,” KiKi said on our way out through the parking lot. “Even if you didn’t.”
“Yeah, we should come back next year,” Elle added.
“Just because I was complaining the whole time doesn’t mean I didn’t have any fun,” I said, realizing that a guy wearing a t-shirt and a 1920s style newsboy cap gripping about continuity errors at a Renaissance Faire might come across as a little foolish. “I think you’re right Elle.” I was smiling now. “I think we should come back, and what’s more, I think I should dig out my old Merlin robes for next year.”
“Isn’t Merlin from the Middle Ages, not the Renaissance?” KiKi asked with a sly smile.
“Well, technically yes,” I said, “but he was made famous in the Renaissance. Sir Thomas Mallory’s Le Mort d’ Arture was…”
Elle looked at KiKi, then they both looked at me, and just shook their heads.
Rex Vander 