Nurten and Ahmet Get Married 

Some 20 years ago, Tamer showed me a home video from his recent trip to Turkey. The video was of an elaborate ceremony called a Sunete in which a young boy, complete with a sceptor and hat worthy of a pope, was circumcised. A turkish briss, if you will. I remember the video vividly for the intricate ceremony and pure cringe worthiness that any male watching it would feel. Not long after we arrived here, with memories of all things Turkish enveloping me, I asked whatever became of that kid. 

"We're going to his wedding in two days," Tamer replied, with a laugh. 

Due to my long friendship with the Adman family, I had something of a taste of Turkish weddings. I had been to two, including Tamer's. I knew about the horah, a Turkish dance in which the revelers join hands in a big circle and then, in unison, skip to their right, then to the left, move their feet in tap dance like move, and then repeated. I got in the middle of it, joined hands with Tamer's dad, and held on for dear life. I was exhausted when it was over. The music was very, well, turkish, with arabic sounding strings and wind instruments. It was a blast. I wondered how much things would be the same here in Turkey. 

The night before the wedding, I was told that the women were having a party and the men would just be hanging out. I took my cue and grabbed cigars. This women's party has no real equivalent in the US. It was part wedding shower, part reception, and part bachorlorette party. The women, unlike the men, were dressed formally with elaborate dresses and all spent the day getting their hair done. There was a DJ who sang live over recorded music. No western songs, except for Gangum Style. The men all sat around and drank tea. I had my requisite cigar. Eventually, all the men moved up to the party and watched, as the bride, dressed in something I can only describe as a turkish kimono, sat and all her friends pinned money on her. I sat with Tamer at a remote table and watched as everyone started dancing. Not long after, word filtered back to us that they wanted the American to come up and dance. 

Not being one to refuse such a generous invitation, I went up to the floor. Not only was I dancing, but the ladies started to form a circle around me. So, what the hell, I went with it. Tamer took pictures and a video, but if either sees the light of day I will sue him the moment we get back to the U.S.

On the wedding day, the family gathered at the bride’s house, so that the bride, in full wedding regalia, could be symbolically given away by her family into the groom’s family, and the religious ceremony would take place there, in the living room. As the sizeable crowd gathered outside and was fed a lunch of chickpeas over rice (delicious, by the way) I angled my way into the crowded living room. Tamer was sitting there. Virtually nobody was in formal dress, with tshirts, polos and jeans being the most common wardrobe choice. There, the bride and groom got married. The bride cried, her uncle gave a sermon of sorts (at least that’s what Tamer said, he could’ve been giving directions on how to bake a cake for all I understood) and the everyone cupped their hands upward in the Muslim tradition and prayed. People took pictures with their cell phones. I did too, and got a perfect shot of Tamer inadvertently photo bombing the happy couple. The whole thing had a very nice element of understatedness that was appreciated, at least by me. Most people waited outside in the sweltering heat.

From there, the reception. Overlooking the coastline, on a campground resort, and under the very full moon shining on the Aegean Sea, the bride and groom arrived by boat. As with weddings everywhere, everyone sat at large tables while the band, with a very attractive woman as the lead singer took the stage. It was more or less a scene of wedding activity that we all know. Uncle so and so sat over there, while the friends from work were over here, and so on. There was no head table, and the bride and groom sat by themselves in a corner on large white chairs.

Turkish tradition holds a number of things with weddings that are worth noting: Bits of gold are pinned to the bride and groom, often in lieu of cards with money. A large fake cake was brought out and the bride and groom, as tradition dictated, pretended that they had a hard time cutting it. They would fake until enough people came up and pinned money on them. A different take on wedding capitalism.

Then the dancing started. The Turks have something of a national drink, raki (separate blog post coming later on that) that was being consumed in mass quantities by everyone, including me. While the dancing went on, people started talking to me. Tamer’s uncle knows one sentence in English (“THIS is a pencil!”) and took great delight repeating it to me. Others shook my hand and smiled. "EREEK!" followed by a clanking of small (but numerous) glasses of raki was often their greeting to me. They were glad to have me there, and I repaid their kindness by drinking lots of raki and dancing. Nobody puts this baby in a corner. There was more picture taking and kids running around, just like any other wedding you’ve ever been to. They then did the hora, which I, remembering my exhaustion at Tamer’s wedding, begged off. When he was finished with it, Tamer stumbled back to the table, panting as if he ran a 5k.

The campers adjoining the reception area started complaining of the noise, so things began to wind down around midnight. People took more picture with the bride and groom, including me. “Thank you for everything!” the bride told me in broken English. 

It was a fabulous time with great people. One doesn't need to speak the language to make friends. When you show them how much you enjoy being there, with them, it crosses all boundaries of culture and language. 

The next morning was my first Turkish hangover.