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Chicca had asked us to eat a hearty breakfast. This was not so we could stand in for David, the condemned man, who would be too busy getting ready. Instead, this was because the wedding service would take a while and was starting midday. Chicca was worried that the sounds of the Mass would be drowned out by 40 growling bellies. Eager to oblige her request, we feasted on the hotel's buffet style breakfast, which combined good quality baking with honest cereal and milk. We had a choice of coffee as well - espresso or "American Coffee". I chose the latter option, since I could not stand to have the massive caffeine hit of espresso so soon after waking.
After breakfast, we dressed. I was in a jacket, white shirt and trousers, with the impeccably tasteful Wallace and Gromit tie to finish off my stylish ensemble. Caroline was in a lilac dress with matching jacket and shoes - particularly lovely and also bought for the occasion, which means that we will have to find some other nice places to go otherwise her purchase will not achieve the same value for money standing as the clothes I wear. Mind you, my price-per-wear rating is bound to be quite good, since I don't have that many garments (as I discovered when packing and realising I might have to "recycle") and I wear clothes every day - not that Caroline ever goes naked (not that I'd say if she ever did!).
The hotel staff must have thought that they had been invaded by complete strangers as the reception area filled up with well dressed respectable looking people. They must have wondered where all the scruffy bedraggled and exhausted British tourist had disappeared to and who were these vaguely familiar people in their place? Caroline and I started taking the wedding photos early. We had a completely new angle on wedding photography. Rather than all the boring stock photos of church, bride, bride's family, groom, groom's guests side by side by the graveyard etc… we took the Narcissus approach to photography. We mainly took pictures of each other at various stages in the day. We started with us standing in the reception area dressed smartly by the wall.
Our fearless coach driver arrived around midday to take us to the church on time. David and his best man were going in Chicca's pride, a white sports car. The car was very nice, but the skills of the coach driver made us feel that we too were going to have an exciting journey. In fact, the excitement came more from the sorts of roads we ended up travelling than from the attitude of the driver. Italy is full of people who drive as though cars were not made of tons of metal which could kill during high speed impact. The rule about crossing the road is DON'T unless it's absolutely necessary. One became someone accustomed to this after a time and no journey was singularly remarkable until this one.
The problem was that the church was in the middle of nowhere. Chicca's sister had been married in the Cathedral in the centre of Crema and everyone in the town had turned out to watch. The added fact that Chicca was marrying an English fellow with his bizarre troupe of friends and family made them concerned that the wedding might turn into the event of the century if held in the same place. Thus, we were destined to be driven up a track which no coach has ever traversed, crossing a road which coaches seldom cross and parking in a car park which is not designed for 40 foot long traffic. Despite all of this, we found ourselves having arrived, safe and sound and raring for the ceremony.
David and Chris (best man) arrived soon after we had arrived and the Italian guests soon started to appear as well. Chris (best man), being of Scottish descent, was wearing a kilt and very dapper he looked too. Donald, who was a friend of David's who, among other things, lived on a remote farm, had stood for Euro MP elections and was also Scottish, was also in a kilt. Chris was tall and slim, Donald medium height and stout - more of the remote Scottish highland shepherd look. Despite being united in skirt-like dress, they could not have looked any different.
Of course to us, a man in a kilt is nothing to be laughed at (well, nothing special). To the Italian guests arriving, the two proud northerners might just as well have been wearing bridesmaid dresses! I have never seen such looks of combined disbelief and horror. I think that Chicca's guests were expecting something unusual, but got something from another planet. Nonetheless, the shock soon wore off and we were ready to receive the bride.
Chicca arrived in her father's car and hopped out to reveal an unusual wedding gown. I cannot really describe it properly, but if you imagine the tailed jacket that a concert pianist might wear, but put it in white and make the tails turn into a train, you're getting there. She wore this with trousers. Different. Not BAD though. Just different.
Some photos were taken by their photographer outside the church and none of the guests had really gone in yet. Indeed, rather than waiting for the guests to be seated and then making an entrance, the bride and groom sort of came in with the guests. We had all been given a sort of song sheet which had the entire service on, written in both English and Italian. The service was going to be conducted in both languages - a bit in Italian and then the same bit in English. It was a Catholic ceremony, conducted by a chap who had been the Vatican's envoy to the USA at some stage.
I've never been to a Catholic mass before and it is quite a serious event. Having said that, the style in which it was conducted on that day was as relaxed as possible. Some of the text of the translation into English - taken from the equivalent service over here - was difficult for the priest to get his mouth around and he ended a few sentences with "or something like that.". Highlights of the ceremony included the moment when David's sister sang Ave Maria, accompanied by her boyfriend on a Bontempi-style electric organ - which really brought the house down, since she had a very powerful voice, and also the point in the Mass where people were called upon to make a sign of peace to each other. Being ignorant of making a sign of peace, I was surprised at this particular aspect of the service and it was an awkward moment when Peter, who was Catholic, turned round with the most solemn face possible in order to shake hands - split decision required, laugh out loud or go with the flow - correct option taken…
And so the service ended and we were able to leave the church behind and also get away from the garrulous Italians, who had chattered through all of the English and most of the Italian bits of the service. For some reason, Steve (the fellow going on to Florence) was one of the first out of the church. He walked in a solemn manner towards the double doors and knocked into the post which stood between them and which they bolt onto. This post was detachable. It came off. He stopped. We laughed. He thought for a second and then slung it over his shoulder and left the church with it. We laughed some more. If there had been any ice at all around, it would have been broken by this action. Indeed, the good humour started there. The amusement just increased. Walking out of the church doors with this wooden post over his shoulder, he looked like a pastiche of the son of god himself with cross in tow. Well, we all have our crosses to bear and his embarrassment will probably have worn off by now.
The coach had miraculously turned round and we set off to the reception, which was to be held at a converted mill, which is now a restaurant.
Written: May 1998
Posted: 03 November 2001
Ashley Frieze