AFaire to Remember

She being of like intent,
the fair Lady Sharalyn and I went our way to Gig Harbour towne,
for we longen on pilgrimage to goon,
to seken straunge Renaissance strondes.

We could scare imagine the wonder of the new shores that would this day be presented us.

We arrived in full regalia, Shari in a Renaissance gown she made all in one evening, and I in my green jallaba from Morocco, which doubles nicely for a European period piece. The first bit we stumbled on was a potter, making bronze pots, the old fashioned way. We saw how incredibly hard it is to do, with two young men pumping for all they were worth to get the wheel spinning while the potter molded the metal. They spun it fast enough that smoke arose from the engraving of the potter.
There were, of course, battles, armor, and costumes galore.

We came across this woman shortly after I complained that there were no beggars to make it the true Renaissance. Now everything felt complete.

Shari's dress actually has those rings with the string going through, all laced and corded up and down the back. Each ring had to be individually hammered into the dress.

I found this child blowing bubbles with her hands to be one of the most endearing images of the day.

The fire eater entertained us with a great deal of vamp, as we sat down to a hotdog and corndog. In fact, while he promised a lot of fire, it was mostly smoke. We waited a long time while he joked about not being prepared, and been given the wrong schedule. But I will give him props for having a relaxed stage presence for the uneventualities of life. Most of his shtick was juggling too, rather than fire-eating. It was only at the end that we got to see this- the fire eating. Evidently, most fire eaters die after five years, from the chemicals they ingest.

Mary Queen of Scots and King Edward came out to dub the children. Used to be that they blessed childen, but that's probably a bit too Christian now. I commented to Shari how the kind of crowd that's drawn to a Renaissance festival tends to be one that's not so big on Christianity- and therefore a major part of the Renaissance is missing and lost to them.

One of my favorite parts of going to Jamma f'naa, the main square in Marraksh, was the storytellers, gathering a great crowd of men around them as they gesticulated and entertained in the fine nuances of Dareeja, Moroccan Arabic. This is what we did in times of old, and still do in faraway lands. So I was disappointed not to see this at the Renaissance Faire. And then, soon after I expressed this, there he was. We caught him in mid-story, telling a classic tale of the Little People, and a man caught in their underworld. He was warned not to eat of their food, or he would be trapped there forever. He was one of the few who have remembered.

Unfortunately, Sharalyn and I had not heeded the sage advice, and had eaten at the faire, and could therefore never leave. But having left the fairgrounds, we then entered upon a new and truly magical land.


Anonymous said…
I like the way you wrote this.


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