How to survive a Polish wedding
I remember the first Polish wedding I attended. “How different can it be?” I said to myself: Judeo-Christian tradition, white dresses, bouquets and priests. “Easy,” I thought. It wasn’t. I was confused almost before it started. It was like watching the actors from a favourite movie wearing familiar costumes, but playing out a subtly different story - Jamie Stokes writes for Wirtualna Polska.
01.06.2010 | aktual.: 01.06.2010 06:49
My interest was peaked when I noticed the absence of a groom waiting at the altar. “Hello,” I thought; “Could this be a thrilling jilted-bride scenario?” Disappointingly, it wasn’t. In Anglo-Saxon weddings the groom arrives first and waits for the bride. This provides endless opportunities for nuptial humour such as the groom fainting from stress or the best man toppling over through alcohol poisoning. No movie featuring a wedding has ever failed to take advantage of the dramatic potential of the stranded bride or groom. In a Polish wedding the happy pair arrive together, an arrangement that makes a lot of sense but radically cuts down on potential entertainment for guests.
The Catholic wedding service is essentially a standard mass with some addition fumbling about with microphones and rings. As with all masses there is a certain amount of choreographed sitting, standing and kneeling. Us godless foreigners get through them by simply copying the crowd. At weddings, things are more complicated. Although masses are standard, there are slight variations in the precise timing of genuflections between congregations. Weddings bring two families together, and these two families often come from different churches. Half the guests suddenly kneel while the other half are looking forward to another couple of minutes seat time. Confusion reigns. The kneelers notice the non-kneelers and vice-versa and there is a protracted period of hesitant bobbing up and down until equilibrium is established. I guess it counts as a form of ecclesiastical callisthenics, but it’s hard on the knee joints of us foreigners.
Even I know when a mass is finished. The recently hitched were on their way back up the aisle and I was already loosening my belt in anticipation of the coming revelries. Suddenly they took an unexpected left turn and disappeared into a side chapel I hadn’t noticed. Were they heading for some special wedding exit or was something else detrimental to my knees and buttocks about to happen? Fortunately it turned out to be just an extra blessing in front of a holy picture or finger bone or something; kind of a bonus feature, or tying your shoelaces twice for safety.
Outside in the streaming sunshine the newlyweds were showered with coins: scrabbling around on hands and knees for low-value currency is considered a suitable introduction to marital finance, not entirely without justification. I was waiting for the bridal bouquet to be tossed, but that came much later, after all unmarried women over the age of 30 had been given the opportunity to hide.
Being best man at a Polish wedding is the easiest job in the world. The ability to stand upright and possession of reasonably large pockets are sufficient qualifications. British best men are responsible for the ring, note: “ring” singular. This also provides endless opportunity for humorous church-based calamity. All a Polish best man has to do is follow the bride and groom down the aisle and put envelopes stuffed with cash in his pockets. As a reward for these relatively light duties you get a guaranteed invitation to the party and a woman to go with.
It’s at the party that things began to diverge radically from my expectations. I met a British friend of mine once, dressed in his best and wandering around town at four o’clock in the afternoon. “You look lost,” I said “I thought you were going to a wedding anyway.” “I’ve been,” he replied, in tones that suggested deep shock. “It must have been a short party,” I laughed. “I wasn’t invited to the party,” he replied leadenly. “You mean… just the service?” We contemplated the horror in silence for some time. Poles are still attached to the idea that a wedding is a significant event that some people may want to witness, rather than just a slightly tedious but necessary prelude to a damn good party. The idea that you may not even be invited to the party had never occurred to me. I read all wedding invitations with great care from then on.
Next week: the party, and why I still suffer flashbacks whenever I see a shot glass.
