Me: We had had over five hundred people packing
the church with us for the ceremony.
There were so many people that those who couldn’t find a chair were
standing looking in the windows and doorways.
Every available space was filled.
If we had known it was going to be like this, we probably could have set
up huge screens and done a video feed outside.
As it was, I think there were still people in the back that had to have
the information relayed back to them.
The
strange thing about the church in Greece is that while in the United States
everyone is quiet during the ceremony, here everyone was talking. It was like being in a restaurant where each
little group of people were having an independent conversation. I’m sure at least some were talking about the
actual wedding; whereas others might have been talking about their day, or the
price of oranges in the street markets, or whether the Greek football team was
ever going to win the Euro Cup (Greece would go on to win it the very next
year!).
The
other thing that struck me as odd was the fact that both of our families stood
at the altar with us during the ceremony.
All of them, right there in a ring around us. And throughout the entire service, they also
were having their own independent conversation with each other. I think it was mostly my in-laws-to-be
translating for my parents, but it’s still a little unnerving to hear so many
conversations going on around you while you’re trying to focus on what you’re
supposed to be doing up there.
Spousal Unit: We had a lot of people at our wedding. There was our family, teachers and school
mates from my past, family friends, and I’m sure even a few people that saw a
wedding and just decided to stop in. The
place was packed, and it made the church hot and stuffy.
Me: If I thought the number of people at the service was
overwhelming, the reception was just as bad.
We arrived at the reception hall after all of our guests. I could tell right away that this was also
not going to be a small affair. Not
quite five hundred people, but well over one hundred and fifty had shown up to
prolong the festivities with us. There
was one long table for the wedding party and our parents against one wall, and
everyone else was situated six or seven to a table around a central, open space
on the floor.
Spousal Unit: After the wedding, we had to rush back to the
house, so that I could change dresses. I
had gotten a beautiful black and white satin dress for the reception. My mother and cousin went with me to help me
change, and when they unzipped my dress, I heard a loud “whoosh!” as piles and
piles of rice poured out of my dress and scattered across the hardwood floors. It took several minutes to get it out of my
underwear, hair, and every other crevice you can imagine.
Clothed
once again, we rushed over to the reception hall, where people were already
packed inside enjoying the open bar. The
first thing I noticed was my family sitting at a long table along one
wall. I remember my father, my mother,
and my grandmother there. My father was
attempting to entertain my new in-laws, which was probably pretty difficult,
since he doesn’t know much English, and they don’t know much Greek.
Me: We were quickly shuffled over to one side of the hall to
open the buffet lines, so that our guests could begin to get their food. I hadn’t eaten all day, and I was
starving. I piled up my plate with every
manner of delicious-looking morsel and went to my seat to eat like it was my
last meal on earth. I was not, however,
able to taste even a single bite before someone was grabbing my arm and
dragging me off to my next task. Apparently,
the entire aim of a Geek marriage is to completely and utterly exhaust the newlyweds
without actually letting them have even a moment to absorb or enjoy any part of
the experience.
Spousal Unit: When I first saw the buffet, I remember thinking, “Look at
all of this food!” Then the smells hit
me, and my mouth was watering. I wanted
to try a little bit of everything. It all
looked wonderful. But we didn’t get a
chance to try any of the food before we were told to greet and toast with the
guests present in the hall. So, one by
one, we went to each table and toasted everyone. I was so excited to see so many familiar
faces. I loved catching up with people
that I hadn’t seen in years.
Me: Before I knew it, someone was thrusting a glass of champagne
into our hands…yes, more alcohol…and sending us off to toast our guests. Unlike weddings in the United States, the
toast is not done while standing at the front of the room. The happy couple is expected to go to each
table and toast them one by one. That is
each table repeating the same routine of saying “stin ygeía sas,” taking a sip
of champagne, shaking some hands, and moving on to the next table…twenty-eight
of them. That’s right, twenty-eight
tables of me taking sip after sip of champagne!
And to make matters worse, there was a waiter following us around with
the bottle, refilling our glasses after every table.
The
temporary reprieve I had had from my inebriated state was gone. I could feel the amber liquid doing its trick
as my cheeks grew hotter and hotter. By
the last couple of tables, I was slurring the toast. When we were finally done, I was desperately
looking forward to getting some food inside of me, fantasizing about the piled-high
plate I had left behind. Imagine my
disappointment when I arrived back at the table to find it gone! Someone had plate-knapped my dinner.
Spousal Unit: When we were done toasting the tables, they
rolled out the wedding cake. It was a beautiful
six-tiered masterpiece that spiraled up from the large base to the delicate
icing ornamentation at the top. It was
so beautiful that I didn’t want to cut into it.
But the next thing I know, I’m holding a very large knife in my hand and
being led over to the cake. We pressed
the metal through the soft, moist cake to cheers and applause. And then as the waiters served cake to the guests,
we were taken to the middle of the floor for the toasts.
Me: I eyed our wedding cake hungrily out of the corner of my
eye, but decorum dictated that we had to receive the toasts from the maid of
honor and the best man. My wife’s cousin
did her toast in Greek, which was totally lost on me. But my wife cried, and people laughed, so I
suppose it was good.
My
best man was a friend of the family named Georgios. However, nobody called him that. He was always affectionately known as “Dr.
Body,” which was partly due to the fact that he’d always wanted to go into
medicine and partly due to the fact that he was skinny as a rail. I had met him on one of my previous trips,
and I liked him instantly. Since my own
brother couldn’t make it, I had asked Dr. Body to fill in for me. He declined at first. He explained that he didn’t want the
responsibility that went along with being a best man. He didn’t want to screw it up and ruin my
day. I told him that I was marrying the
most beautiful girl in the world; there was nothing that could screw that
up. So, he reluctantly agreed.
He was
the perfect best man. He took his role
seriously, and he went out of his way to make sure that he followed everything
by the letter. His best man speech was
in English to honor me, and he was stern and stoic throughout it.
Spousal Unit: When we were done with the toasts, they
cleared the floor for dancing. We had
our first dance, a slow dance which we stumbled through, and then other people
started pouring onto the floor to dance around us. I remember dancing with my cousins and
friends in little groups, bouncing and gyrating to the music, like I was back
in the clubs back in England. I was hot
and sweaty, and it was hard to move in my dress, because it was so heavy; but I
had a blast.
Me: The first dance was painful. I wish I had known we were going to be doing
it, so we could have practiced. Then the
club music started, and I was instantly out of my element. The only thing that helped was being essentially
drunk the entire time. The alcohol had
long-ago kicked in, and the lack of food was starting to take its toll. I felt my inhibitions disappear as I busted
my move like a spasmodic, featherless chicken.
I kept telling myself that I probably wouldn’t see any of these people again,
so I might as well just have fun with it.
That
was until a strange man grabbed me, put one arm around my shoulder, and started
to Greek dance. It consisted of holding
my arm out to one side; lifting and crossing my legs in time to the music; snapping;
and moving in a side-to-side, front-to-back rhythmic motion. I stunk at it, but I loved every minute of
it. I felt like an adopted Greek at that
moment…like I was finally a part of the family.
