New Wave still rocks

Over the weekend Lindsay and I went to a real French wedding. Bertrand, my high school exchange student, married Marie, a fellow French professor from Nantes. We had heard that French weddings were a big to-do, experiencing one in person confirmed it.

The wedding took place in the very large and very old Gothic-style church about 3 blocks from Bert’s house. The nearly 2 hour service began at precisely 3 pm. The first half was devoted to the actual marriage, which seemed to follow the same pattern as an American wedding with the typical "I do" replaced by a series of "oui" questions. After several readings, some singing, and a point where the bride and groom left the stage with the priest, the ceremony turned into a regular Eucharist, which reminded me of the ones I used to attend in elementary school. Since I’m not a frequent church go-er, I was surprised by the cute boys who carried baskets by each row jingling them whenever someone put change in. I heard a wise person point out once that people tend to give more when everyone’s watching, hence open baskets.

After the ceremony the newly weds greeted the waiting crowd under a clear sky that had, at the beginning of the ceremony, threatened rain. The array of vibrant colors was great. I felt right at home with my bright blue bowtie and belt.

From the reception a loose-knit caravan of cars, including the vintage Daimler limo that carried Bert and Marie, made its way to the center of the Muscadet wine area. We all met for cocktails under a broad leafed tree in a courtyard of a beautiful chateau. I was surprised that they didn’t call the little snacks that went around "hors d'oeuvres" although I didn’t catch their name.

After everyone had a chance to drink several glasses of champagne, we moved into the hall where the tables had literary terms for names (very appropriate for French professors). We found ourselves at the table Metonmy (referring to a part to represent the whole) amidst a sea of other important terms. We dined with a number of other people our age including two of Bertrand’s classmates who also came to Jacksonville in 1999. Dinner only lasted about 3 hours starting with a seafood salad, continuing with magret de canard, pausing on a cheese plate, finishing on an assorted dessert plate with coffee to re-energize everyone for the impending dancing. Between the courses there were a number of toasts with a variety of presentations ranging from a simple speech to a homemade video projected on the wall to a remake of Yellow Submarine with appropriate characters added performed with a live guitar and about 10 singers. The cake was a traditional pastry creation standing about 4 feet tall composed of at least a hundred brown-colored, tennis ball sized spheres with a light cream inside.

Starting at 11 music and flashing lights emerged from the adjacent room that I hadn’t noticed. After dinner someone asked "do you dance the rock?" (Dansez-vous le rock?), to which I responded "yes" (oui) and thought, is there a real style of "rock" dancing? It turns out there is. Imagine an amalgamation of various dance moves like an evolution of the dances our (grand)parents did. There was plenty of what in a photograph would look like old fashioned dancing which in reality was turning, twisting, spinning, and smiling. All of the movement was helped by the low lighting and flowing champagne. Not having fun would have been difficult.

When I heard the music go off at 3 I was totally surprised that the wedding and party had actually lasted the alloted 12 hours.