Weddings

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I am on the sleepy island of Dui on the Arabian Sea. Peacocks sit in palm trees and the wedding band has been playing for 8 straight days around the clock. At the small hours of the night the drum ensemble leads with frenetic tempo and the keyboardist reaches a psychedelic fever pitch. At 6 am firecrackers startle me awake and the sleepy musicians persist with hollow dragging of their more canned instrumentals. But by 10 am the sun is beginning to scorch the concrete streets and the entire wedding party is colorful again as they pass the restaurant where I take breakfast. Every morning the same man dressed in a dapper English suit and feathered turban enters and insists we dance, "5 minute only," and if we dance well he uncorks a liter of Royal Stag and we all drink.

I dance on the men's side of the wedding party, because the women's side is crowded with sharply creased saris and hatchet-faced matrioarchs who do not dance and walk stiffly under the incredible weight of their gold ornaments. There is, apparently, no alochol on the women's side.

The groom rides a white horse festooned with ribbons and looks like his saddle is uncomfortable and this makes him feel mean. The bride is plain looking despite her elaborate costume. Looking at her I guess that she would feel more comfortable watching inobtrusively from the mid-back of the women's crowd rather than on top of a grey pony. She feels a spectical, and would rather observe from the ranks with shy inobtrusive virgins, young unmarried women cloisterd in high society, hiding behind veils, as they all watch the spectical of a brassy American girl dance unashamedly with their male relations.

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Comments

[Craig Luxenberg]

Craig was here
After seeing your amazing pictures I had to read about your adventures. I tried to google "Dui", but all i got were articles about car accidents.