Not Sideways the movie, but a digital camera film shot sideways. Doh.
I can't figure out a free, legal way to flip the movie and most of you are on laptops you can turn sideways anyway.
So this is the first dance from Lucy Ann and Pierre's beautiful wedding I raved about in the last blog. Yes, that is a fog machine and ticker tape. Extravagant and fantastic.
And this is the same wonderful couple cutting their very tall cake — with a sword. In the immortal words of Borat, wawaweewa
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Did we get married?
I don’t make a habit of watching royal weddings or checking out celebrity wedding photos in US Weekly, but I’m pretty sure those nuptials aren’t as fabulous as my cousin Lucy Ann’s wedding to Pierre. And I know the guests don’t feel nearly as welcome at the paparazzi weddings (though, not to be outdone, there was a newspaper photographer clicking away at Lucy Ann's reception).
My cousin literally welcomed us at the airport — makeup and hair extensions well in place — to meet us and whisk us off to the first pre-wedding party.
She wasn’t the only person who greeted us at the airport. As we walked toward the customs and immigration desks, a uniformed officer was calling out for “Mrs. Gostanian.” That was my mom’s last name until 39 years ago, when she became Mrs. Graham. It took her a second to recognize the name, say yes, and follow him to a separate desk. We nervously went with her. In the U.S., a uniformed officer taking you aside at the airport is never a good thing.
We weren’t in the U.S.
He took our passports, stamped them, welcomed us to Lebanon in perfect English and led us past all the lines and out to our waiting entourage.
In addition to the radiant bride was my loving uncle (pictured at left with my sister, who thankfully un-cancelled her ticket two days before our flight) and my mom’s two best friends from our Indonesia days. Denise Boustani and Mona Ajam had gifts and warm hugs for all of us, even though they weren’t even there to pick us up. They had driven an hour just to meet us and turn around to go home.
We had other plans.
Christine and my sister, Shevan, got their first taste of Beirut with Lucy Ann driving to the hotel for a quick change, then back across the city for the first of four pre-wedding parties. For better or worse, during the week, they missed the heart-stopping … um … thrill of riding with my other cousin, Avo.
Anyway, this first wedding event was advertised as a barbecue but bore little resemblance to a backyard weenie roast. It was on a swanky apartment building rooftop overlooking the city. The downtown area was to the north, and the building is sandwiched between two fine hotels — a quiet, safe tourist-heavy part of town, I thought. Then the host oriented us to the scenery, including the street directly south, which is full of lights and tall buildings. He told us several of the month’s gunfights were on that street.
Not that we could tell now. The street was quiet, and the rooftop was not.
The party was essentially a welcome and mixer for the younger generation on the wedding guest list. But even this low-key event saw a full open bar, a bigger catering spread than our entire wedding and fancy dresses aplenty.
I quickly learned yet another advantage to being male — in Lebanon, we can wear jeans and t-shirts in public at any time. Women need at least one new dress for each event, let alone the hours spent at the hair salon, the manicurist and the makeup artist. Granted, the jeans are ideally pricey, pre-ripped designer jobs and the shirts are fitted, glittery and won’t be found at Target or the Salvation Army, where I do most of my shopping.
Anyway, it was wonderful to meet some distant relatives and my cousins’ close friends.
After a full day of sightseeing and history (more on that in another blog entry), we hit the second night of pre-wedding parties. When I say family dinner at a seafood restaurant, don’t think Red Lobster. The chain (and there probably is an outlet in Beirut — plenty of American chains are somehow attracting diners away from fantastic felafel, kebab and tabouleh) has nothing on this fantastic seaside oasis. We had three large tables on a large open-air deck literally on the Mediterranean. I could have spent the whole week right at that spot, but I would have put on about 50 pounds eating all the fantastic fish, salads, fruit and other delicacies. Probably the best meal of the week, but that’s no easy call.
The next night brought the bachelor and bachelorette party. I’ll let Christine gush about the glamorous “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous” bachelorette party. By handshake agreement, all I can say about the bachelor party is that we went to Excalibur.
The final pre-game show was a fabulous rehearsal dinner that took over an entire restaurant. I can’t say much about the event because it coincided with the beginning of 36 hours running from bed to toilet to remind me I no longer have the stomach of steel I developed in Indonesia — a bacterial infection that was the only lousy part of my Lebanon trip.
OK, so finally to the main event. Sorry for the long buildup, but I had to offer a taste of the whole weeklong blowout. I had some hint of the extravaganza when I saw three still cameras and two video crews — including a boom larger than most movie crews.
They captured the entire beautiful wedding in the Armenian church. They were also ready at the ornate hotel ballroom to film the reception. Hopefully they captured part of the elaborate production.
About a dozen costumed dancers circled the stage in Victorian era costumes and masks, dancing and leading the proud, beautiful and perfect bride and groom into the reception. Also, in case anyone forgot the woman in the stunning, flowing white number was the bride, there was also a fog machine and roman candles announcing her arrival. As the couple smiled and twirled through their first dance, Lucy Ann did a fantastic job of making eye contact with every guest in the room, and making them feel like the guest of honor.
I later found out the dancing troupe is standard fare for a Beirut wedding — kind of like the Lebanese “Chicken Dance.”
The troupe returned after dinner — after a complete costume change (they are pictured at right in their flamenco costumes) — with more smoke and sparklers to lead out the bride and groom again to cut a big cake with a bigger sword. Despite the tall bar set by the professional twirlers, most of the guests made their way to the dance floor for at least some of the band’s mix of Western, Arabic and Armenian jams — though it was missing “Abercrombie Zombie” and a song about colonoscopies.
The food was great, though somewhat wasteful because most everyone I saw was already full before the second main course (!!!) was served, and most had sampled the forty other desserts before Pierre and Lucy Ann cut the cake.
It was easily the most lavish and extravagant wedding I have ever attended. I have very fond memories of our simple wedding that we organized and designed to reflect our personalities. At the same time, my dad summed up the evening when he turned to my mom to ask, “Did we even get married?”
My cousin literally welcomed us at the airport — makeup and hair extensions well in place — to meet us and whisk us off to the first pre-wedding party.
She wasn’t the only person who greeted us at the airport. As we walked toward the customs and immigration desks, a uniformed officer was calling out for “Mrs. Gostanian.” That was my mom’s last name until 39 years ago, when she became Mrs. Graham. It took her a second to recognize the name, say yes, and follow him to a separate desk. We nervously went with her. In the U.S., a uniformed officer taking you aside at the airport is never a good thing.
We weren’t in the U.S.
He took our passports, stamped them, welcomed us to Lebanon in perfect English and led us past all the lines and out to our waiting entourage.
In addition to the radiant bride was my loving uncle (pictured at left with my sister, who thankfully un-cancelled her ticket two days before our flight) and my mom’s two best friends from our Indonesia days. Denise Boustani and Mona Ajam had gifts and warm hugs for all of us, even though they weren’t even there to pick us up. They had driven an hour just to meet us and turn around to go home.We had other plans.
Christine and my sister, Shevan, got their first taste of Beirut with Lucy Ann driving to the hotel for a quick change, then back across the city for the first of four pre-wedding parties. For better or worse, during the week, they missed the heart-stopping … um … thrill of riding with my other cousin, Avo.
Anyway, this first wedding event was advertised as a barbecue but bore little resemblance to a backyard weenie roast. It was on a swanky apartment building rooftop overlooking the city. The downtown area was to the north, and the building is sandwiched between two fine hotels — a quiet, safe tourist-heavy part of town, I thought. Then the host oriented us to the scenery, including the street directly south, which is full of lights and tall buildings. He told us several of the month’s gunfights were on that street.
Not that we could tell now. The street was quiet, and the rooftop was not.
The party was essentially a welcome and mixer for the younger generation on the wedding guest list. But even this low-key event saw a full open bar, a bigger catering spread than our entire wedding and fancy dresses aplenty.
I quickly learned yet another advantage to being male — in Lebanon, we can wear jeans and t-shirts in public at any time. Women need at least one new dress for each event, let alone the hours spent at the hair salon, the manicurist and the makeup artist. Granted, the jeans are ideally pricey, pre-ripped designer jobs and the shirts are fitted, glittery and won’t be found at Target or the Salvation Army, where I do most of my shopping.
Anyway, it was wonderful to meet some distant relatives and my cousins’ close friends.
After a full day of sightseeing and history (more on that in another blog entry), we hit the second night of pre-wedding parties. When I say family dinner at a seafood restaurant, don’t think Red Lobster. The chain (and there probably is an outlet in Beirut — plenty of American chains are somehow attracting diners away from fantastic felafel, kebab and tabouleh) has nothing on this fantastic seaside oasis. We had three large tables on a large open-air deck literally on the Mediterranean. I could have spent the whole week right at that spot, but I would have put on about 50 pounds eating all the fantastic fish, salads, fruit and other delicacies. Probably the best meal of the week, but that’s no easy call.
The next night brought the bachelor and bachelorette party. I’ll let Christine gush about the glamorous “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous” bachelorette party. By handshake agreement, all I can say about the bachelor party is that we went to Excalibur.
The final pre-game show was a fabulous rehearsal dinner that took over an entire restaurant. I can’t say much about the event because it coincided with the beginning of 36 hours running from bed to toilet to remind me I no longer have the stomach of steel I developed in Indonesia — a bacterial infection that was the only lousy part of my Lebanon trip.
OK, so finally to the main event. Sorry for the long buildup, but I had to offer a taste of the whole weeklong blowout. I had some hint of the extravaganza when I saw three still cameras and two video crews — including a boom larger than most movie crews.
They captured the entire beautiful wedding in the Armenian church. They were also ready at the ornate hotel ballroom to film the reception. Hopefully they captured part of the elaborate production.
About a dozen costumed dancers circled the stage in Victorian era costumes and masks, dancing and leading the proud, beautiful and perfect bride and groom into the reception. Also, in case anyone forgot the woman in the stunning, flowing white number was the bride, there was also a fog machine and roman candles announcing her arrival. As the couple smiled and twirled through their first dance, Lucy Ann did a fantastic job of making eye contact with every guest in the room, and making them feel like the guest of honor.
I later found out the dancing troupe is standard fare for a Beirut wedding — kind of like the Lebanese “Chicken Dance.”
The troupe returned after dinner — after a complete costume change (they are pictured at right in their flamenco costumes) — with more smoke and sparklers to lead out the bride and groom again to cut a big cake with a bigger sword. Despite the tall bar set by the professional twirlers, most of the guests made their way to the dance floor for at least some of the band’s mix of Western, Arabic and Armenian jams — though it was missing “Abercrombie Zombie” and a song about colonoscopies.
The food was great, though somewhat wasteful because most everyone I saw was already full before the second main course (!!!) was served, and most had sampled the forty other desserts before Pierre and Lucy Ann cut the cake.
It was easily the most lavish and extravagant wedding I have ever attended. I have very fond memories of our simple wedding that we organized and designed to reflect our personalities. At the same time, my dad summed up the evening when he turned to my mom to ask, “Did we even get married?”
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