And now for something completely different:

Last weekend my family ventured down to Sterling Forest, thick, hilly woods in the lower Hudson Valley about half an hour from our house. We were meeting up with friends at the annual New York Renaissance Faire — or what my husband and I had previously termed “Shit, did you take that exit? We’ll never get out of here; it’s Ren Faire traffic.” Our only thought was to get the hell out of those mountains and away from the weird people dressed in anything from pirate garb to velvet capes.

This year, for the first time since moving to the Hudson Valley, we braved the traffic ourselves, having been invited to a surprise birthday get-together. Knowing that traffic as we did, we left early to enjoy the fair (or faire) before our 2-year-old completely lost it from lack of nap and adequate supplies of milk. It’s a pity he’s a little too young for mead.

Because once we got inside, we entered a completely different world, where mead and ale abound but cow’s milk is hard to find. Almost any month of the year, the drive through Sterling Forest is a quiet, winding, steep interlude for commuters going to and from New York City and northern New Jersey. The grounds of the Renaissance Faire is a toy-like collection of colorful buildings hiding behind a tall wooden fence. But from August 1 to September 20, that fence turns into the town wall of another era, and the road is chock-a-bloc with fantasy enthusiasts and day-tripping families.

It is not uncommon, we found when we parked, to attend the fair in full garb. What kind of garb doesn’t matter so much, although true to the Renaissance period is preferred. There are pirates, kings, knights, wenches, and lots and lots of ample-sized women with corsets pushing their boobs out to here. It’s a sight. It’s fantastic. In more ways than one.

The place is huge, sprawling, and timeless. We had not idea where to go first, so wandered through tree-covered paths with other adventurers, feeling not a little out of place in our jeans and T-shirts and bright green stroller. We stopped at the first active building, a playhouse hosting a nun duo with the wackiest, cleanest religious-themed comedy act I’ve ever heard. In between their songs and pitches for “Redemption Soap,” a huge man dressed as Friar Tuck leaned over with a basket covered in cloth.

“Can your son have a cookie?” he asked. “I made them but I can’t eat them.” I tried not to stare at the rope tied lightly around his brown habit, and leaned back to whisper to him.

“They’re not … special cookies, are they?” Maybe this place reminded me a little too well of Springfest in college, but I felt I had to ask before subjecting my son to illicit drugs. Friar Tuck raised his eyebrows and pretended not to know what I meant.

“They’re Pillsbury,” he assured me. “Just chocolate. Except the ones with raisins. They have raisins.”

John got his cookie, and Friar Tuck set the tone for the rest of our Faire experiences. People are friendly, and engaged in a lifetime’s worth of suspension of disbelief. They are, as so rarely happens these days, having pure, clean fun.

Well, somewhat clean. There was a maypole dance, and stands for archery, dart-throwing, and axe and knife tosses (yeah, I stayed well back from some of those). But there was also a large field surrounded by grandstands full of people watching a life-sized chess game. And, to my English husband’s delight, the man behind “Revenge of the Tomato” (where, yes, people can pay to throw rotten tomatoes at a guy’s face) had a never-ending stock of insults to throw back at the people who never seemed to throw a tomato where it was asked for.

The Ren Faire has jousting, all kinds of music, old-fashioned puppet shows, and all the menial serving wenches you could ask for. This is not an amateur event. The people, young and old, wandering the fair in serving costumes, feathered hats, and belly-dancing outfits didn’t just wander in off the street. They have to audition for a job (passable English accent included, mind) and I overheard that some of the best actors — such as those who play Kings and Queens — make their careers doing this, traveling to different Renaissance Faires all over the country.

Even my 2-year-old had a good time. When he got cranky and frustrated after we’d been waiting in line for food, a belly dancer in front of us kept him entertained by jingling the bells all over her … costume. I hope that won’t necessarily set up his expectations for the women of his future.

It was, I was pleased to find, a whole lotta fun. We laughed, we played, we ate funnel cake and drank mead. We spent very little money (having no need for wooden swords, the aforementioned velvet capes, or crowns of flowers, among the hundreds of other things being sold at vendor stands all throughout the fair), as the entrance fee was only $16.95 and free for kids under 5. That’s a pretty good deal for good, clean, family friendly fun where you can be treated like a lady and children are welcome. Well, almost (see photo).

Related posts:

1. New York State’s Hudson River Valley Celebrates 400 Years of History
2. New York, New York
3. New York City: hot, sticky, crowded, and beloved, but not by me
4. What is it about New York, anyway? The answers beg the question.

This entry was posted on Friday, September 25th, 2009 at 1:17 pm and is filed under Antonia projects, novel travel, US travel, weirdness. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.