The bus ride out to the wedding site was supposed to be twenty minutes. It was well over45 before the driver got us there, winding through the backroads of rural Holland on roads tight for a tiny Euro car, let alone a double decker touring bus.
But we did arrive for the first of a solid twelve hours of celebration and party and bus rides. The wedding was to take place at a gorgeous old estate at the crossing of two major canals. Its got a rich history, from Spanish takeover to Dutch retaking and its current pristine state as a historical landmark. The grounds were surrounded by pastureland, rolling and green and filled with sheep and cows who'd venture near a handful at a time to get a load of what we were carrying on about.
Inside was all hefty wooden beams and polished wooden walls, a beautiful room filled with flowers and chairs. The ceremony was lovely, part in Dutch and part in English, with greetings and history and speeches by close friends and family. Gerry and Christina both gave lovely talks, and Jim their American friend read an Ogden Nash poem, all of which were sepatated or punctuated by Irish music from guitar and fiddle. The higlight, in my somewhat prejudiced opinion, was when Cathy got up and gave the speech they'd asked her, as witness, to give. This was a big honor, as only she and Jim were asked to speak in addition to themselves and a closing toast. Cathy was understandably nervous, but she did so well that she got to hear just how well from everyone at the party for the rest of the weekend. By the time she finished, Christina and Gerry's sister were both in tears. I too was quite moved by it, telling as she did of their meeting in Austin, with us at hand, and how their friendship grew into something more over the years. She did a hell of a job.
After the final toast, they were married, and as they signed the stack of documents, we all moved outdoors to have drinks and snacks in the beautiful midday sunshine. Strange, that, too: the weather's been absolutely perfect since we've been here, a total turnaround from the way it's been the rest of the summer. Lucky for us.
From the wedding site, after a group shot for which everyone slogged across a soft grassy field to an embankment to pose in front of the pasture, we were ushered back onto the bus and taken back to the Schlummelpakker Huys for dinner. We had seafood salad with the most delicious grilled scallops and a prawn and some greens, a lobster bisque with Dutch shrimps (like little brine shrimp), and a veal ribeye served with a roasted potato mold and some green beans. Very, very good. This on top of being served snacks all day at every stop, from fried bits of cheese to grilled bits of meat to all manner of bread and toppings and coffee and pastries and on and on. We were well taken care of.
More speeches and antics filled the dinner hours, with one of Gerry's friends turning his suit into a priest's frock and collar, just to make sure Gerry was properly married.
From dinner, it was back on the bus and a short drive to the site of the reception, a great little pub/dinner hall out in the boonies, again, with a wooden stage at one end, a dance floor, and a big seating area behind. The band, of Danny the guy who played at the wedding, was fantastic, playing acoustic Irish music all night, keeping the people dancing the whole time. Though I was slowing down quite a bit by this time, I managed to get yet a few more beers and snacks in me, and I even danced for a while. The party was long and fun, Gerry and Christina's parents both having a wonderful time along with everyone else.
At one point, Gerry was introduced by his friend Jim, and he took the stage to sing a raucous version of "Ring of Fire." His voice was utterly shot, but he squeaked it out and then called his brother Adrian up to help him sing Gram Parson's "SinCity,"very nicely done. Gerry must have been on cloud 9 all night, surrounded by family and friends from all over the world, playing with one of his favorite bands, responsible for the entire weekend. And it was amazing how well everyone got on. We were all captive, at his beck and call all weekend, shuffling from one party to the next, folks from Ireland, Holland, the US, Spain, England, Sweden, and who knows where else, all getting along incredibly well, talking and laughing and giving each other good-natured shit and ribbings the entire time. The toughest part was just keeping pace with the Irish folk, of whom Wouter, master of ceremonies and a great friend of Christina's, said "They never stop, they just keep going, like a bunch of little Duracell bunnies." Very true.
After the reception, a good portion of the guests moved back to O'Kelly's in Groningen, where they were bound to stay up singing and drinking and playing music into the wee hours. I walked Cathy back to our room, and by the time I got there there was no way in the world I was gonna turn back and go back to the pub. I was dead. Too bad, as they reportedly were at it until sunup, just after the time, at about 6:30am, Christina was seen walking home down the street from the pub, still in her wedding dress. I wish I'd have been there for that scene, but being that we got home around 3:30, I don't feel so bad about cutting out.
It was an amazing time, the best wedding ever, hands down. We're very glad we could make it over for this.
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