November 13, 1999
Sekanjabin
Up until the time I moved in with Hollingsworth, I was extremely involved with the Society for Creative Anachronism. The SCA tries to recreate the Middle Ages "as they should have been". That means, basically, all the fun stuff and none of the nasty stuff, like poor hygiene, disease and rotting food. For about three years, the SCA and SCA-related activities made up most of my social life. I miss it sometimes. In fact, just lately I've been terribly nostalgic.
For many, the SCA is a chance to reinvent yourself. Geeky computer programmer in real life? In the SCA you can be a valiant knight and warrior, or a sly, witty courtier. You can be whatever you want. Choose a medieval name, take on a persona, fix up or buy some medieval clothing, and off you go. I was known as Alianora le Wyse, and later, as Lady Alianora, after earning one of the Society's awards, an Award of Arms, for my involvement. Lady Alianora is remarkably like me, except she had more of a penchant for flirting and had a tendency to be a bit more outrageous and free. I liked her very much. She's a side of me I don't let out often enough.
While the SCA holds weekend events throughout the year, without a doubt the biggest event in the Society is the annual Pennsic War, held in August in western Pennsylvania. It's a Mecca of sorts for SCAdians, especially those in the eastern part of the United States. Held in a rustic campground in Slippery Rock, Pennsic is two weeks' worth of immersion in SCAdian society. The last I heard, they were getting close to 10,000 participants a year. Yeah. 10,000. People as far as you can see. There was talk of legal difficulties, as once a place reaches a population of 10,000, it's considered a town and has to have all sorts of official positions filled.
So, for two weeks out of the year, Cooper's Lake Campground becomes a small medieval city. A city under siege, as Pennsic includes a war between the Kingdom of the East and the Kingdom of the Middle. (Yes, these are actual Kingdoms with rulers and everything... but that's another story. Go to their web page for details.) For those less into combat, there are classes and merchants and competitions in everything from crafts to dancing to music. Once the sun goes down there's dancing and parties and bonfires and bardic circles. There's always something going on.
In 1995, I got to go. I was only there for about five days, but it was wonderful. Everything I'd imagined it to be and more. I danced to the wee hours, sang and drank and told stories even later than that, and even had a charming and completely innocent four day flirtation with a young man from Washington State. (Ah, Taran, where are you now?) It was a time of much activity, and of forgetting important things like food and sleep and water.
Oh. And it was hotter than hell. August of 1995 a heat wave hit most of the eastern US, including Pennsylvania. Most especially including Cooper's Lake Campground. For that week, temperatures hovered around 99 degrees during the day, with about 98 percent humidity. Imagine going through that while camping in a place where showers were nominal at best, with no refrigeration of any kind, save ice chests, and where running water was something you had to hunt down. While wearing medieval clothing. You'd be amazed how comfortable cottons are, though. Needless to say, people spent a lot of time swimming in one of the two swimming holes available, and most of the war's 'battles' were fought early in the morning. People were exhorted to drink water constantly. I did, carrying a metal tankard around with me while I went shopping or wandered around with friends.
The weather was so hot that buying a jug of refrigerated Gator-Ade from the campground canteen was reason for celebration. Water from the spigots kept me from passing out, but nothing was ever really cold enough to be thirst-quenching.
On that Friday, two days before I had to go home, I experienced one of the most perfect, most pure, most overwhelming sensory experiences of my life. I was wandering through the merchant area with several friends. By that time, amazingly enough, we'd all gotten used to the heat. So we shopped, trying on medieval clothes and hats and accessories, oohing and aahing over this artwork, or that craftsmanship. In one tent, a man and his wife were selling different types of hair ornaments and jewelry. We retreated there as much for a little bit of shade as to actually shop. In one corner of the tent, a large cooler was set up, with a spigot at the bottom. A sign was taped to the cooler: "Sekanjabin, $1.00."
Sekanjabin, as near as I can tell, is a Middle Eastern drink that originated in the Middle Ages. You boil vinegar, sugar and mint into a syrup, then dilute it with water to serve. Despite the odd-sounding combination of ingredients, it's very tasty.
Tired of water, I decided a dollar was a small price to pay for variety. The man smiled at me and filled my tankard up with sekanjabin... and ice. Real ice, something I hadn't had in a drink in well over a week. Eagerly I took the first sip, condensation forming almost immediately on the metal of the tankard. The ice chilled the metal as well, making it pleasant to hold and inviting against my lips. I took the first sip, and I stopped still where I was and marvelled. It was sweet and slightly tart and wonderfully minty and so very very cold. It was so cold and so good I wanted to cry. I had to share it with other people. At that moment, it wasn't a drink, it was a religion. I called my friends over and passed the tankard around. We were all united in oohing and aahing once more, but I was the only true believer. I wandered around the rest of that afternoon in minty bliss. It never even occurred to me to go back for more once I'd finished it all. It was too much to experience more than once.
Leaving Pennsic two days later was leaving another world. The five hour drive home was like decompressing, leaving behind the stripped-down version of me, the me that's left when you take away the computer and the TV and the job and the real world. The heat of Pennsic XXIII had boiled away everything incidental, leaving only the essence of me.
I haven't felt that 'essential' since then. I haven't had sekanjabin since then either.
Posted by Lisa at November 13, 1999 04:20 PM
