Don’t forget: Kiss the bride, don’t order fried, Hope roads are wide
“Dad!” Darius exclaimed. “We had a wedding in Cyprus, but The Weekly Letter featured a clueless Cypriot waiter. What was that about?”
“It was about an inept waiter,” I thought. “Darius, my son,” I said, “The Weekly Letter features things that go awry. Your wedding was perfect. What could I write about?”
“He forgot what he was supposed to do.” Christiane interjected.
“He was too busy smiling,” I replied.
“When I got to the end of the aisle, he was supposed to lift my veil and give me a kiss.”
“And?”
“I shook her hand, Dad.” Darius confessed.
“You shook her hand?” I replied incredulously. “I would have said, ‘I took her hand.’” I thought.
“And then I had to lift the veil myself.” Christiane noted.
“I guess that’s why the minister reminded Darius: ‘You may kiss the bride’ at the end of the ceremony.” I replied.
“He recovered nicely.” Christiane agreed.
“I also noticed that you, Christiane, stumbled slightly on last word in the ‘love, honor and obey’ phrase.”
Darius, wisely, did not make any comment.
In truth, I had simply enjoyed the wedding. Many things could have gone awry during an outdoor wedding on an island: It could have rained; there could have been a tsunami. The wind could have blown the veil into Greece. The fireworks could have started a general conflagration. The..
“Fireworks?” A reader interrupts. “Fireworks?!”
Fireworks! Of course! When the bride and groom arrived at the dinner reception, fireworks shot into the sky from a nearby camouflaged cannon. It was emphatic and exciting. In fact, it was such a hit that the fireworks were reprised when the wedding cake arrived. Weddings, of course, are family events — an especially good opportunity for dispersed family members to come together. My siblings came from Atlanta and Boston, Nazy’s relatives came from Washington and Paris, Christiane’s siblings flew in from France, Lebanon and Bulgaria. It was a truly international fest and, most importantly, everyone not only got along, everyone liked each other. But people can’t stay away from home forever… departures began the day after the wedding.
The cook, it turned out, did not hear my explanation: he prepared my selection by dipping the shrimp in batter before frying them. He did not bother to de-head, de-vein, de-leg or de-shell them. It was the first time that I had to peel fried shrimp.
The next morning, Nazy and I joined, Mitra, Melika, Tom, Tiger, Christiane and Darius on a short flight to Beirut. Tiger fell asleep immediately and continued to sleep through baggage claim. There was an enormous “foreigners” queue at immigration — and Christiane was the only one eligible for the queue-less ‘Lebanese Nationals’ desk. She shunned that approach and went directly to the officer in charge.
“What’s she doing?” I asked Darius.
“Christiane said that if you pay 5 Euros, you can bypass the line. We have a lot of people and there is a very long ‘foreigners’ line. She’s going to expedite our progress with a few Euros.”
It took her a while, but she succeeded in getting us all into the queue-less desk.
“But there wasn’t any fee,” Christiane explained. “I insisted that there was a way, but they refused. I told them that my sister had paid for faster service and they didn’t believe me. They called the senior officer and wanted to begin an investigation. So, I said I’d call my sister to see how she managed things,”
“And your sister said?” I asked.
“She said that the expedited service was available in Cyprus, not Lebanon.”
“I expect that was a bit embarrassing.”
“Yes, but I told them we had a pregnant woman and a sleeping baby and they let us in.”
“I wonder if that will work at LAX when we return,” Melika thought.
“Tom and Melika should use that approach at Heathrow when they’re on the way home,” I thought.
“Thanks for getting us through so quickly.” Nazy said.
Taxis had been arranged to the Hamra district. We arrived, checked in and were ready for our adventure in Lebanon. More on that in the next edition of The Weekly Letter.
“It was about an inept waiter,” I thought. “Darius, my son,” I said, “The Weekly Letter features things that go awry. Your wedding was perfect. What could I write about?”
“He forgot what he was supposed to do.” Christiane interjected.
“He was too busy smiling,” I replied.
“When I got to the end of the aisle, he was supposed to lift my veil and give me a kiss.”
“And?”
“I shook her hand, Dad.” Darius confessed.
“You shook her hand?” I replied incredulously. “I would have said, ‘I took her hand.’” I thought.
“And then I had to lift the veil myself.” Christiane noted.
“I guess that’s why the minister reminded Darius: ‘You may kiss the bride’ at the end of the ceremony.” I replied.
“He recovered nicely.” Christiane agreed.
“I also noticed that you, Christiane, stumbled slightly on last word in the ‘love, honor and obey’ phrase.”
Darius, wisely, did not make any comment.
In truth, I had simply enjoyed the wedding. Many things could have gone awry during an outdoor wedding on an island: It could have rained; there could have been a tsunami. The wind could have blown the veil into Greece. The fireworks could have started a general conflagration. The..
“Fireworks?” A reader interrupts. “Fireworks?!”
Fireworks! Of course! When the bride and groom arrived at the dinner reception, fireworks shot into the sky from a nearby camouflaged cannon. It was emphatic and exciting. In fact, it was such a hit that the fireworks were reprised when the wedding cake arrived. Weddings, of course, are family events — an especially good opportunity for dispersed family members to come together. My siblings came from Atlanta and Boston, Nazy’s relatives came from Washington and Paris, Christiane’s siblings flew in from France, Lebanon and Bulgaria. It was a truly international fest and, most importantly, everyone not only got along, everyone liked each other. But people can’t stay away from home forever… departures began the day after the wedding.
Stefan, Tom and Darius 
On Friday, I bravely drove David, Laurie and Wendy to the Larnaca Airport. (Marjorie came along to help with the navigation.) When we got back, Marjorie, Sandi, Tiger, Nazy and I drove to Lefkara, a small handicraft village in Cyprus. In preparation for our trip, the government had installed signs [remember to drive on the left) around every corner of the route. (We discovered that the operative words in the site description were ‘small’ and ‘village’.)
That evening, we tried to arrange an early off-site dinner with most of the people who were still in Cyprus. It eventually became clear that it was unlikely we’d finish eating dinner before breakfast and, accordingly, a subset ventured to a seaside restaurant.
Generating a glare from Nazy, I ordered fried shrimp from the menu.
“You could have gotten something grilled.”
“Here, my dear, they serve grilled shrimp ‘in the shell’. I don’t like cutting off heads and pulling off legs and antenna.”
The cook, it turned out, did not hear my explanation: he prepared my selection by dipping the shrimp in batter before frying them. He did not bother to de-head, de-vein, de-leg or de-shell them. It was the first time that I had to peel fried shrimp.
The next morning, Nazy and I joined, Mitra, Melika, Tom, Tiger, Christiane and Darius on a short flight to Beirut. Tiger fell asleep immediately and continued to sleep through baggage claim. There was an enormous “foreigners” queue at immigration — and Christiane was the only one eligible for the queue-less ‘Lebanese Nationals’ desk. She shunned that approach and went directly to the officer in charge.
“What’s she doing?” I asked Darius.
“Christiane said that if you pay 5 Euros, you can bypass the line. We have a lot of people and there is a very long ‘foreigners’ line. She’s going to expedite our progress with a few Euros.”
It took her a while, but she succeeded in getting us all into the queue-less desk.
“But there wasn’t any fee,” Christiane explained. “I insisted that there was a way, but they refused. I told them that my sister had paid for faster service and they didn’t believe me. They called the senior officer and wanted to begin an investigation. So, I said I’d call my sister to see how she managed things,”
“And your sister said?” I asked.
“She said that the expedited service was available in Cyprus, not Lebanon.”
“I expect that was a bit embarrassing.”
“Yes, but I told them we had a pregnant woman and a sleeping baby and they let us in.”
“I wonder if that will work at LAX when we return,” Melika thought.
“Tom and Melika should use that approach at Heathrow when they’re on the way home,” I thought.
“Thanks for getting us through so quickly.” Nazy said.
Taxis had been arranged to the Hamra district. We arrived, checked in and were ready for our adventure in Lebanon. More on that in the next edition of The Weekly Letter.
Bride and Groom
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