With that process over, Svetlana had only to worry about the universal things 23-year old women worry about -- will she get the white, stretch limousine Cadillac?-- Patricia and I were a little tired, only returning from the States 5 days earlier and the idea of having to be at her parents apartment at 8:00 am on Saturday morning was not as inviting as it sounded. We had to carry the gift --a dinner service in purple, her favourite colour-- a large bunch of flowers, and finding a taxi... Oi!

Patricia remembered that a blue numberplate was the secret police.

  No sooner had Patricia shown her finger to the traffic, we had a blue numberplate stop. "Umm" I thought, wondering what the difference was between the rare blue and the standard white plates. We had no time to bargain so we accepted the price of 80 Roubles. The car was an old beat-up Lada and the driver looked like a fine example of the vodka enhanced apathy, strewn across the faces of most males over 35. So, we thought nothing of him in that sense. He remained quite and so did Patricia, until he seemed to be lost. Patricia gave fresh directions and he seemed aggravated, hurling the car around the corners, in and out of the traffic and through red lights. --all typical Moscow driving-- He was being difficult about where to let us out and when Patricia offered him a 100 Rouble note, expecting 20 Roubles in change, he said he wanted 100 and there would be no change.

  As we walked away Patricia remembered that a blue numberplate was the secret police. Just goes to show that they will do anything for a few dollars.[ Aus1$=14 Roubles ] There are no laws in this country except the ones based upon greed. But that is a topic for later.

  So, after being chauffeur driven to the bride's apartment by the secret police, we entered the 14-storey building. The same vintage as the one we live in, which includes a 13th floor, showing that superstition, along with its cousin Christianity, were not included in urban planning during the Soviet era. -[Neither were public toilets, post boxes and public benches]- the entrance to the apartment block and the lift was dark and dirty, the last place you would imagine a beautiful bride's flowing white dress to caress the floor. Svetlana's apartment block allowed me to appreciate our place on the third floor, and the stairwell that was mostly clean, even thought it stunk of rotting food dropped down the garbage shut. Our place has more light and someone sweeps the steps twice a week, despite the occasional peeing in the lifts by drunken men; although Patricia assures me that women are not averse to similar fowl behavior.

  We arrived on the 12th floor to a homely apartment and Svetlana's delightful parents. She looked stunning in her dress as she paraded about the lounge room.

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Limousine

Svetlana is a very attractive young woman who possesses all the attributes of a fashion model. We were waiting to greet Igor, the groom as he came to buy the bride. --An old custom-- He arrived in the inconspicuous, white, stretch-limousine Cadillac, that was too long to fit in the narrow driveway leading to the apartment block, housing about 220 units. --with no more than a dozen parking spaces.

  Svetlana's 'Padrushkas', girlfriends, instructed me to take photos, with my ever trusty disposable camera, as Igor was standing near the limousine writing Svetlana's name in coins on the ground. This was the first task he had to perform, to prove he was worthy of her. Igor, and his best man, kicked the money, scattering it (for the 'Babuski' to pick up later) as the bridesmaid and other girlfriends allowed him to pass.

I felt like a butcher at his first Barmitzvah.

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The Scent of a Woman!

Then much to the chagrin of the family on the bottom floor, he had to sing….Oi!… A woman stuck her head out and yelled that she had a sleeping baby. After all it was only about 8:30 am on Saturday morning -this is terribly early when office hours are 10 till 6.

Finally, Igor was allowed to go upstairs and meet his bride. We all followed. By this stage the apartment was full of people and Patricia and I tried to stay in the background, as the only foreigners, we felt a little funny among this traditional and very personal ceremony. I was very happy to stay in the shadows, my curly hair is a dead give away, and Russians love to stair at me.
   Unfortunately, this wasn't to be. We all made our way downstairs to the limousine and the Russian National Orchestra's metallic blue van: to carry the quests. Svetlana and her three bridesmaids climbed into the limousine. Then the instruction was given for Patricia and I to get in. Oi!, I thought. We crawled in and set off through the center of Moscow. I felt like a butcher at his first Barmitzvah. Neither of Svetlana's girlfriends spoke English and she was so nervous she became sick on the 30-min journey to Wedding Palace number One. My first ride in a stretch limo was something to remember…

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Wedding Palace #1

  We arrived to a small and congested street, full of limousines, and sleazy bandit looking types in black leather vests smoking cigarettes, and yelling into their mobile phones: while the black Volgas, not to be confused with Volvo, had the ubiquitous car-alarm blaring as the throng surged past. One bride after another, and their salubrious trail of backstreet cronies were drinking beer and opening champagne. At one point I spied 4 brides, all looking like the typical Russian that cruel satire is composed of: round faced, plump with too much makeup, chewing gum, in a dress that had more frills than the curtains inside the wedding palace.

(It is amazing how many people chew gum. At the opening concert for the season, at the Moscow Conservatory, the number of gaudy looking women chewing gum, particularly the 60+ age group with mangy foxes around their neck, tight black leather pants, smeared makeup with a mouth like a horse! Even the conductor's wife, who loves the limelight, was the center of attention at interval, holding court with all the culturally challenged, chewing gum. I have noticed that chewing gum and car-alarm manufactures have swamped Moscow with advertising. In the West, most people despise car-alarms for their offensive noise at inappropriate times. While, here, it is a fashion statement. The gaudy emulation of Western cultural values is something to see. The social behavior of the 'New Russians' as they are called, is so ugly and sad you have to laugh.)

Two enormous gold Angels, suspended horizontally out from the obelisk.

  First stop was Victory Park, an enormous landscape with gigantic statues in fine Soviet style, celebrating victory in the Great Patriotic War: (W.W.II).

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George and the Dragon

I have never seen such large-scale monuments. A tremendous Greco-Roman style building dwarfed everything as its crescent shape occupied the flat expanse. An obelisk whose base was George slaying the dragon -Moscow's coat of arms - The dragons decapitated head --far larger than those who stood under it for photos--, directed the eye to the relief carvings on the obelisk of people defending the nation, and their names. At the top two enormous angels, suspended horizontally out from the obelisk.

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Patti and Sveta

   It appeared as thought they were falling, or floating above those who died? The obelisk stood in the cradle of the Greco-Roman building, and leading up to both is a long, broad promenade split though the middle by hundreds of fountains shooting about 3 meters into the air, all in line.

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What did I say about Mobile phones?

  A number of other wedding parties wondered throughout the grounds, as well as a motley group of musicians, serenading for a few Roubles any bride and groom they could get close to.
   As we were leaving, and congregating near the RNO's van, with the orchestra's name in English and Russian on the side, the wondering minstrels came over to serenade Svetlana and Igor. It was a sight; the four musicians, each with a large gut hanging out, shirt also out, looking like bums that belonged with the orchestra. Just when I was hoping we would head off to the reception, Svetlana said we were going to one of Count Shermeteva'a estates to take more photos. Patricia and I sighed with relief wondered what it must be like to do this traditional thing of visiting historic places, for endless photos, when the bride didn't look like a model from a bridal magazine[cruel but true].

   We arrived at this large estate after a long and rough trip, about 40 mins: it was worth the journey.

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Another Tzars's Palace

A large main building overlooked a man made lake, with smaller buildings dotted about as they do. We walked through the maze of hedges until, emerging into the large landscape garden with small statues of a Greek Goddess given to commemorate the visit by Katherine the Great who stayed overnight twice. -According to the inscription- This was where the permanent smile started wearing thin. After another round of photos with all the guests, we returned to the car park to see hundreds of others waiting to come in. Limousines parked everywhere and a woman with a large white horse, offering photo opportunities for the brides. Svetlana just had to have her turn. We had to wait for the bride who looked like the horse's cousin to dismount.

   At this stage out politeness gave way to cruel humor to appease our hunger and sore legs. On the road finally and heading for the reception, we both fell asleep. It was just what we needed to prepare for the next 5 hours of drinking vodka and listening to the groom's friends forget words as they tried to sing English songs, much to the displeasure of the band. We found ourselves in a cellar with no windows or ventilation -it appears Moscow has little in the way of fire regulations for public spaces. The only rules in the 'new' Moscow, are, take what you can before someone else does: Patricia calls Putin's Russia an anarchist society because the general laws of the land are not enforced.

  As the fifty or sixty guests arranged themselves at the tables, and we coveted the two end seats to facilitate an early departure, we looked with glee at the Hors d'oeurves, many small plates with an exotic array of not-so-familiar eats. It seemed to take forever to get things underway and we were already wishing we could leave.

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The Wedding Feast.

The Hors d'oeurves went down a treat, although we held back from filling up, after all, it would be the ultimate insult not to eat all the main meal. We started drinking and toasting; this relaxed us both. However, every toast must be followed by a zakuski, a small mouthful of food, usually salted cucumbers or some dark bread. As the main meal was a long time coming, we got progressively drunk. The sobering thing about vodka drinking is, you only drink a shot when someone toasts, and it is just not cricket to drink for no reason. Although this doesn't seem to stop many males from the lingering odour and faulty gate, as they try to push in front of you on the escalator, at the metro, for the privilege of standing behind 12 million other Moscovites.
   This etiquette was also lost on the bride's sister's husband, a surly 'Putin' looking figure who sat a few places along. I caught a glimpse of him downing the vodka in between toasts, as Patricia just happening to be telling me she thinks their marriage is on the rocks, "he drinks too much", she said.

It was 7:00 p.m!   We were hatching our escape plan!

  We were still waiting for the main meal. Although it wasn't such a dilemma as the vodka warmed us to the smooth ambience of the blaring and indecipherable music. The good thing about a blaring, indecipherable soundscape is how you adapt, or maybe it was the smooth ambience of the Gzhelka vodka: our favorite.
   Russian made vodka is so smooth compared to the rubbish for sale in the West. In the U.S. they have copied Smirnoff the real Russian brand, by making and selling Smirnov, an inferior drop so say Americans . 
  When the band took a much-appreciated break, some the Igor's 'mates' decided to entertain with a cappella, singing English songs, Madonna in particular. This disturbed us a fraction less than the musicians who decided their five-minute break was long enough. Another set later, and it was more toasting. This time all the guests had to stand and deliver their well wishes. I thought of standing and giving my regards but decided that as an interloper I should shutup at such an auspicious occasion.
   I was a little worried if each person was to make a toast. Those who didn't want to drink vodka drank the cranberry juice instead. We followed suit. It was 7:00 pm and we were seriously hatching our escape plan. Patricia said we just had to stay till they cut the cake, this three-tiered monstrosity that sat at the bridal table towering like one of the intimidating Stalinist 'wedding cake' buildings. -One of the most impressive things about Moscow for me, besides Red Square and the Kremlin, are the Stalin Towers. They are so huge and far from leaving me with a sense of intimidation, as they were planned, I marvel at the achievements of the men and women who built them, albeit under oppressive conditions. But, slaves built the pyramids, and anyone who has seen them seems to express awe at the ability of the builders. These Stalin Towers are not on that scale of course, more like the magnificent Cathedrals of Chartre and Rheims. To paraphrase Josef Bronovski in his book 'The Ascent of Man'… I marvel not at the power of the Christian God who inspired them, more at the ability of those who created the buildings with their hands - Anyway, the Stalin Wedding cake was still untouched at 7:30pm.

"So I shouldn't make any moves on you", he said to Patti.