If you didn’t make it out to the 25th Annual Hoggetowne Medieval Faire during these last two weeks, you missed out. I can hear the naysayers now: That little show is a nest of seedy Alachua County residents, their bawling, scurvy-ridden children and people with enough body hair to make you ponder when exactly shaving was invented. These are the kinds of people who blow their entire tax refund on anachronistic, dull-edged replica swords, furry-esque fox tails, hats and funnel cakes.
Excuse me? Bad-mouthing funnel cakes? I would don one of those suits of armor and crusade for funnel cakes, thank you very much. Ironic, because who even knows when fried dough of that caliber was invented? It looks like one of those accidental food concoctions: Some spilled some dough in the fryer, and, oh look at that, a little crispy pie thing. Yeah, accidental foods like funnel cakes are awesome. Nachos and milk (accident?) also come to mind.
Enough about fried heaven. The festival itself is a testament to how awesome good ole fashioned medieval-themed fun can be. It’s easy to allow yourself to be a kid again the moment you walk inside those gates. Some guy in a tower spends hours heckling everyone who walks in, making everyone less self-conscious about how ridiculous they look by going out of his way to flaunt all the flaws he sees. If he gets to you, ask him how his acting career is working out.
If stepping into the fair isn’t enough to make you want to run around like a hobbit on PCP, then wait until you see the elephant. That’s right, there’s an elephant. Stare into its timeless eyes and admire its sad majesty. Then pay money to ride it and laugh when it poops.
There are contests of all sorts, from archery to that hit-the-hammer-make-the-bell-ring thing. Everywhere you walk there is the din of laughter and merriment. People are genuinely enjoying themselves. If you listen closely, some of the conversations can be quite revealing: “You have to admit, after 15 years of marriage, some of this stuff would come in handy for roleplaying.” Noted.
When you stop in for a show and watch comedic jugglers make children squirm with laughter, watch human chess pieces battle in mock combat and marvel at the fattest elf you’ve ever seen in your life, all the while brandishing a turkey leg in one hand and mead in the other, it is nearly impossible to not get lost in the fun.
There is also something truly amazing when you realize all the music you’ve heard over the last three hours has come from real, live instruments and not from some tinny speakers hidden behind a plastic bush blasting Kelly Clarkson and Nickelback.
If you went this year, I hope you had a blast. I’ve been a few times now, and this was easily the best one to date. If you haven’t been and wanted to go or if you wish you’d have known or been able to go, mark your calendar for next year. You won’t regret it. If you’re reading this and still have no desire to go because medieval make-believe nonsense is frivolous, I have a simple retort.
Have it your way. I’d better not catch you at any of the endless themed parties that you and your friends throw. If you think wrapping yourself in tinfoil for your space-themed party to pass off as a robot is somehow cooler than hanging out with some old bearded guy who forged his own suit of chain mail in his garage, then you are delusional and should get a career in marketing. That’s that job where they make people believe worse things are better than great things for no reason at all. Listen to the radio lately?
There are no radios in medieval times. It’s magnificent.
Wesley Campbell is a fifth-year English major. His column appears on Wednesdays.
