|Adventures in Russia Svetlana's Wedding By Christopher Rutty We were invited to a Jewish-Russian wedding in August. Svetlana is a young woman who works as Patricia's assistant at the Russian National Orchestra. We were curious to experience not only a Russian wedding, but also to see how the Jewish side worked. We were warned that it would be a long day: 13hours in fact! The curious/humorous side began 2 months earlier with the registration.
All weddings are performed and sanctified in Wedding Palaces: special buildings for the purpose. If you want a religious ceremony in a church, you do it yourself, however, you still have to go through the
wedding ceremony at the Palace. It is a popular activity; they both had to line up and register at 3:30
am, not reaching the front of the line until around 2:00 pm that day.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.)
After all the standard photos had been snapped with the guests next to the bride and groom, and each other, we migrated into another waiting room, all the while avoiding the other parties, as they moved between rooms.. It was a smorgasbord of Russian culture, past, present, and future. Entering the wedding room, our party received the instructions on proper behavior. A small woman talking over the piped music told us we must stand to the left as we entered.. The musicians occupied the corner to the left. A harp, cello, violin and double bass, played somberly as they exchanged vows and signed the registry, while in-house video productions captured it all, including our party standing in the corner. We then moved to another room where the video was viewed to make sure it was acceptable by the bride and groom -heaven only knows what would happen if they objected. Next step was to move swiftly to the street, break out the plastic cups and open a few bottles of Champagne. After toasting the bride and groom, they headed off to one of many parks that cater to wedding party photos. We climbed in the back of the Orchestra van for the rest of the days travelling.
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).
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.
We arrived at this large estate after a long and rough trip, about 40 mins: it was worth the journey.
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.
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.
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.
Being all toasted out and wanted no more vodka, these guys insisted on pouring our glasses full for three more toasts. -I may have forgotten to add that vodka is never contaminated by a mixer, always neat, and swallowed in one go- But they were so friendly and so genuine with their affection. They spilt vodka all over the table as one of them waved the bottle about trying to get some in our small glasses. Then, the most brazen one asked Patricia to dance. She hadn't wanted to dance all night even with me, and was horrified at the prospect. I just laughed. On the dance floor he is holding her close and asked if I was her husband, she said almost, and he said, "so I shouldn't make any moves on you"? It was so funny and the poor guy was so polite and happy to have a drink and a dance with a foreigner. They all decide to do some more singing for both of us. We thought we'd never get away, then the main meal arrived. By this time we didn't care. It was now passed 8:00 PM and we gave up ever being able to leave, it was then that they cut the cake. Thankfully it was worth the wait. Then everyone seemed to disperse and wander outside. It was still light and we followed. This was the time to say thanks to Svetlana, and make a hasty retreat into the slowly setting orange glow of the evening; and navigate the metro in a vodka haze.|
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