The Texas Renaissance Festival scratches a peculiar itch for me. I find that once a year, when the temperature finally starts to cool and the skies sink into their autumnal overcast, I get a hankering to eat roasted turkey legs and surround myself with people flaunting their corsets, chains, and leather (which sounds strangely similar to my last adventure). It’s a marvelous flight of fancy for me; a chance to dive into the fantasy world and float above the burdens of the everyday troubles holding me down. In years past, it has even inspired me to song.

This year, The GF and I made the trek to Magnolia, Texas on All Hallow’s Eve to partake in the festivities. Given the timing, it was imperative that we also deck ourselves out in costume to capture spirit of the event. The GF frocked herself in a long and flowing black dress, cream colored corset with black ribbing, and a dainty black hat that she fashioned herself. She was a beautiful princess. Fittingly, I accompanied her as Federico, The Jazzercise Instructor (my alter ego). My bright pink tank top, gym shorts, and running shoes were the perfect complement to her class and elegance. It was the archetypal pairing of beauty and beast. We were ready to make the 45 minute mechanical carriage ride.

First Things First

As soon we passed through the gate, I couldn’t contain myself any longer. I had been saving myself all year for this moment. It was here:

I wasted no time on sanctimony or decorum. I took that giant slab of meat and stuffed it directly into my face (phrasing?), biting, gnashing, and ripping the flesh from the bone with my teeth. I was nearly finished with my meaty treat when I looked over to see The GF looking at me in horror as she realized that I had nearly eaten my entire leg before we had even sat down. I think she saw the eyes of a wolf gorging itself on the flesh of a fresh kill after a year of hunger gazing back at her. She didn’t want to get too close for fear of losing a finger. After I was finished with my turkey leg, I had ample time to watch her as she delicately dismantled her turkey leg piece by piece and dipped each succulent morsel into honey mustard. Once she had her fill, she handed me the remains of her turkey leg and I tore through the scraps and gnawed it to the bone before it even left her hand. I was happy.

The Master Beaters

After I’d finished my feeding frenzy, we waddled over to a nearby stage to see the master pipers and master beaters of Tartanic. Tartanic featured three men in kilts: one large dour looking man banging a hefty bass drum, a well bearded fire-haired man feverishly fingering his bagpipe, and a smaller but muscular, loud-mouthed man that served as the the group’s front man/percussion/dancer/eye candy as he danced across the stage with his open shirt exposing his hairless chest like he was on the cover of a romance novel. They were joined by two women dressed in provocative red outfits, one of which later bounced onto the stage in a Tigger costume.

They put on a marvelous show. They were all very clearly talented with their instruments, the bagpiper especially, and the front man was charismatic and engaging. He involved the crowd whenever possible and kept the energy high, never missing an opportunity to slip in a kilt-based double entendre (which I fully condone). Additionally the front man made it a point during the show to state that they fully support the piracy of their music, so if you want a taste of Tartanic or can’t live another moment without some bagpipes in your life, feel free to look them up or pirate their music.

The Great Rondini

After we had our fill of bagpipes, we meandered into the grand finale of The Great Rondini’s show. He is an escape artist following in the footsteps of Houdini and the like. Rondini was a bit on in years and had a surly, antagonistic rapport with the crowd. He would demand applause at various points throughout his act and would not continue until he felt he had received the appropriate amount. Despite being somewhat crotchety, he was charming and sincere. After making a joke about spending all of his money on liquor, he confessed his struggles with alcoholism and proclaimed that he had been sober for 2 years, which drew applause from the crowd.

After he got himself wrapped up in a strait-jacket and had chains tangled around him and locked in place by volunteers, it was time for the main event:

He had one of his female volunteers firmly grasp his butt cheeks and lift him onto his little platform in center stage. He particularly enjoyed this part. After enticing some cheers from the crowd he got to work escaping. He sank to his knees and then placed his forehead on the ground and suspended his torso in the air. He began writhing and the chains started to slide off of him like a snake molting away dead skin. Once he was down to only the strait-jacket, it was time for the grand finale. He instructed the crowd to listen for the next part. He began contorting himself, a dark grimace formed across his brow until suddenly – CRACK! – a blood-curdling pop reverberated across the stage as he freed his arms from the constraints. I assumed it was the sound of him dislocating his shoulder – that is certainly what it looked like. I can’t imagine someone doing that two times a day, every day. I was glad it had been a while since we had eaten our turkey legs.

Didjeridon’t

Every year I try to play the didjeridoo. Every year I fail.

I can play this little guy though!

(Reluctant) Birds of Prey

As we rambled along, we stumbled upon the falconry show Birds of Prey. Once the show began, I was dumbfounded. A large vulture swooped in from a barn at the top of the stage and landed on the perch center stage. I looked on, mouth agape, in slack-jawed amazement. As the show went on and they introduced more birds, I felt like I did when I was a little kid watching Star Wars for the first time. I was completely fascinated.

I learned about the various gripping strengths and hunting tactics of the birds as they zipped around the stage, at times even flying directly over the audience. Unfortunately it had been raining and the birds were reluctant to perform their demonstrations because, as we learned, they don’t particularly like to fly around when their feathers are damp. As a result, some unintentional comedy ensued such as birds slipping off of their perches or being too stubborn to follow their trainers’ commands for the day. It was hard to fault the birds though, especially once we learned that all of the birds in the show were rescue birds that were being rehabilitated and released back into the wild where possible.

My favorite part of the show was when they did a hunting demonstration with one of the hawks. The trainer instructed the bird to fly onto one of the perches set up on the edge of the stadium behind the audience. From there, he began swinging a leather bag attached to a long lead.

In an instant, the bird gathered a bit of height and then dived across the crowd, caught the bag in mid air and returned it to the trainer. The whole maneuver was over so fast, I could barely turn my head quick enough. It was an astonishing display of elegance, grace, and deadly precision. I walked away with a much greater appreciation for these birds and I hope to catch them next year under better weather conditions.

The Devil’s Tricks

Every year there is a booth that is hocking devil sticks. When I was much younger my dad, ever the juggling enthusiast, picked up a set of these somewhere one day and brought them home. I was interested in them for a few weeks and logged several hours tossing them and spinning them around. I got to where I was proficient at most of the basic tricks and then lost interest, as young boys are wont to do.

However, every year when I pass this booth, I am brought back to that brief period in my life when playing with devil sticks was my world. I see the young guys working the booth doing some decent tricks and I feel the need to pick up a set myself and give it a twirl.

Since I had The GF with me, I thought it would be fun to play dumb and pretend as if I had no idea how they worked, only to hustle her and reveal my marvelous devil stick skills. I think it kind of worked, but mostly I think she just humored me.

Heaven

At about this point, it felt like we had waited a respectable amount of time and had wandered around enough to earn this little slice of heaven:

That is an apple dumpling. It is basically an apple covered in cinnamon and deep fried in a pastry crust, smothered in honey, and served with a heaping helping of ice cream. All you need is a spoon for your journey to paradise because the crust and apple are both so tender and juicy. I set some pretty lofty, dare I say heavenly, expectations before I shared one with The GF, and I am pretty sure I made a convert out of her.

The Gardens

For the final part of our trip, we took a stroll through the gardens set up next to a little creek at the back of the festival. There were trees overhanging the passage as we wandered from one display to the next.

I was struck by the serenity of the path. It was a nice contrast to the frivolity and over-the-top hysterics of the rest of the festival. I would even go as far as to call it romantic.

Each little nook on the path had its own display, several of which had benches so you could rest your weary legs after a long day’s worth of antics.

Towards the end of our path, we stumbled upon this guy:

It was supposed to be the bejeweled bones of a saint, but mostly people were gathering around it taking selfies. For me, that pretty much perfectly encapsulates the Renaissance Festival; everyone is dressed all fancy in their finest fantasy attire and doing their best to be a part of this brilliantly crafted fantasy world, but at the end of the day, it’s really all about taking selfies with your friends.

Honestly, I can get behind that.