Chapter 20. Lemongrass Stains - No Invitation Required

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There has never been any shame in admitting I have done it three times before. A dreadful stigma accompanies such a social gaffe in the United States. Yet while abroad, the rules are different. In the pursuit of greater cross-cultural understanding, both bride and groom have always been understanding when I show up to congratulate them on their new lives together. In each instance, I had no invitation.
Ready for an early retirement, noise and bright lights pour out from a building I took as a discotheque when I first laid eyes on it in the early morning. UXO frames the walkway as a decorative technique to the front steps. It would not have been anything to further maintain my interest until I saw the well dressed line of men and women culminating in a young man in a white suit and the woman to his left. Her attire was of a long, formal but tight traditional white dress to the ankles. A golden trimmed deep red sash fell across one shoulder to the opposite waist. The sight of her in that outfit and her submissive and meek smile was simply stunning.
I sprung into action and joined the line of guests to pay respects to the family and bridal party. Of course, my presence was immediately acknowledged with laughs, stares, and some mild applause. The reception line had to go twenty-five members deep between both families. This meant the same number of “Sabaidee’s” and a wai for every person. When my shuffling stopped in front of the bride and groom, I placed a Connecticut flag pin on the husband’s lapel and another on his wife’s sash. The blue banner worked for him, but I felt dirty and hesitated to affix the pin on her. It clashed with a beauty that should not have been toyed with.
A young woman also impeccably dressed (Lao women are far more captivating than Thai ladies when in formal attire) ushered up the front stops and presented a tray at the level of my chest. Guests are to take a complimentary shot of lao-lao, or rice whiskey, before entering and taking a seat. I offered feeble resistance to the second when she insisted. The reception line behind me had all eyed my deliberately wobbling legs and laughed at my foolish and exaggerated gesture.
Not knowing what to do next (there is no table with my name card on it), I entered the hall and started shaking any hand that would meet mine. A twenty-three year old broke the language barrier by greeting me in English and saw me to his table with four of his friends. They had already started on warm Beerlao, but were putting large chunks of ice in their short glasses to make it tolerable. Wee Lai Pone is the brother of the bride, but decided to dress casually and bypass the formalities of being a member of the wedding party. I wanted to get a better feel for what was going on around me. His friends focused on their beer and began to unwrap the fried vegetables and a tray of sticky rice. “Wai Lee, how many people will be here tonight?” More guests were still filing in behind us.
“About four hundred.”
“Is this a big wedding, then?”
Wee Lai processed the question. “Ah, yes, for Phonsavan, very big.”
Both bride and groom are from town. “How old are your sister and her husband? What are their names?”
“Yes, yes. My sister…She is Sentawee Souk. She twenty. Husband is Som See. Twenty-five.” When I wrote this down, Wee Lai checked my spelling. After the third attempt, Wee Lai approved. “Yes, that is good writing now.”
The table behind me had no bottle opener for their Beerlao. I dug into my pack and handed one man my pocketknife. One of the accessories is an attachment to lift bottle caps. He took the bottle away from his mouth and was pleased with the contraption. I had made an instant friend. From then on, he used the pocketknife, permitting him to keep in touch with me. Moreover, anytime glasses were lifted in a toast, I was included every few minutes.
The wedding party got up to speak. Not very surprisingly, no one listened and kept filling their faces and imbibing. At least it was a reprieve from the DJ’s selection of 1994 karaoke hits. Men dismissed themselves to go outside for a cigarette break. Youthful women pass by in long ornate skirts and light blouses. The sight of the ladies enhance the feel of the wedding as a formal affair and not a provincial one.
Wee Lai asked me, “Rich, you come to party later, OK?”
“We call that the after party. Sure, when will that be?”
“We stay here to eleven. Then we go to bigger party. You come with us.”
Guesthouse staff the next morning said I got back after three thirty in the morning. They had showed me up the stairs to my room just to be sure. The night before was a blast as much as it was a blur. I tried to recount the events over the fried eggs I slowly ate for breakfast. I had ensured my intake of lao-lao was moderate and regulated. I had my feet under me and was up for a morning walk through the market.
When I walked among the fruit stalls, over ten women gave me cute smiles and flirtatious waves. I returned them, but was confused as to why this was happening. Market vendors do not go out of their way to greet foreigners so graciously. I was sure that I did not know any of these women in soiled shirts, sweatpants and flip flops. But they certainly recognized me. It struck me suddenly. They all attended the wedding.
I did behave last night, didn’t I?

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Photos

Reception Hall
UXO frames the entrance.

Wedding Reception
The bride + groom know few people in attandence in reality.