A Latvian Rewedding

I might have known when Ulla picked me up from Riga Airport in her brother’s red Saab 95 and told me that she had “a plan”. 24 hours later we’re rolling for the Latvian coast, watching the sun set as we leave Riga in the rearview.

The premise of the trip unfolds: 36 years ago a couple got married in far east USSR. In a highly romantic tale of dedication and Siberian railways, the young woman traversed the entire nation to meet her man at his military station thousands of miles away. She arrived, they married with little fanfare and spent their first night together in a fold out army cot. Now that’s good romance.

A short time later, the couple found itself on the tough end of a Soviet law. According to the state, they could not sign to have a flat together unless they did so in separate names. In order to house their future family, they divorced. Three children and 36 years later, the couple decided to officially remarry. As a friend of the family, Ulla and her father received invitations. As Ulla’s friend, I found myself along for the ride.

Following my first night out in the Latvian countryside (a full 10k from the nearest paved road) we awoke in the early morning to make the two-hour drive to Liepaja via Ventspils. Hugging the coast and cruising down a two-lane road, the cloudless sky backdropped my first real adventure of the trip.

We drove into Liepaja, a small port city that handles heavy sea traffic off the Baltic into Latvia. Following a stop at the Rimi Hypermart to wrap the wedding present and the Saturday morning city market for a tidy bouquet of wedding lilies, we eased the Saab along the waterway and into the parking lot of a posh hotel.

In what will likely be the most blur-strange wedding I ever attend, the entire event started and stopped within about 15 minutes. To begin, we went into a small reception room in the hotel, 25 guests holding flowers and lining the empty room. A sax player strolled in, ringing out some unrecognizable (at least to me) tunes. Enter: the couple, their two official witnesses and the priest. A brief ceremony unfolded in Latvian that, because of the somewhat ridiculous circumstances of the wedding, involved a lot of laughter and happiness. Ulla explained to me that the priest even joked the couple during the ceremony, asking them to give the gathering some advice on marriage because they were probably the longest lasting couple in the room! Seven minutes later and the ceremony over, each guest delivered congratulations and flowers to the married couple while the sax player gargled on and we were done.

Now I have no idea of how this stacks up to other Latvian weddings (pretty darn small I think), but with the ceremony over, I anxiously anticipated the party. And did it ever arrive.

Seven cars departed the city and cruised for the beach. We arrived at a small country estate with room for 25 guests, a choice stone patio and cozy reception hall. Quickly unpacked, we all walked to the beach immediately, champagne toasting the new couple. The wedding witnesses followed this familiar toast with a hilarious wedding tradition. They laid out the husbands fishing nets on the beach and had the couple each pick up a card from the net. On it, they had to write down three of their own wishes and the three wishes they thought their beloved desired. I don’t think I’ve seen anything funnier than the poor husband trying to get this right. First, he didn’t know what to wish for, then he labored, I mean really labored over what he thought his wife wanted. He desperately wanted to get it right in front of the audience, but come on, I mean, a man trying to read woman’s mind…that’s good theatre anywhere in the world. Without a lick of Latvian to my knowledge, I laughed riotously with the crowd as the husband, half furrowed brow and half clueless wrote and wrote until the wishes revealed. He missed two, but got one – rightly suggesting that his wife wanted to go to Norway on vacation. Of course, she did, but in her wish she mentioned nothing of wanting to take him along. Cue more laughter.

We retired from the Baltic to the reception hall table, covered with food and drink. Smoked salmon, grilled flounder, dill salad, cured meats, potato salad, carrots, tomatoes, brandy, fruit juice, vodka, wine. Sitting down to traditional music (accordion, bass, violin and citara [like an autoharp]), we feasted. A round of toasts, a heap of food and the dancing began. Dance after dance, waltzes and folk dances, the party swayed forward to the rhythm of the ages and the clomping feet of dancers on hardwood.

Hours later, we again set out for the beach to rest on the ultra-fine sand and watch the sun set. Ulla and I brought guitars to wish the light to sleep. Others sang along as Ulla strummed old Latvian and Livonian songs and I plucked along. The moment went sublime as she sang a classic lullaby and the accordion player gently dropped in subtle and perfect chords to partner the timeless melody.

With dusk our new backdrop we left the beach for more food and drink and dance. Old and young talking and lasting late into the night. We moved through the early morning hours with the band, trading guitars and instruments in the reception hall, singing songs of love.

The morning brought another feast and another wonderful tradition. The favorite song tells the story of the young man going to visit his beloved, climbing the mountain to reach her. At first she refuses him, but then she welcomes him with her parent’s blessing. Again classic theatrics accompany. This time, the couple switched roles and clothes. Standing on top of a dune and singing back and forth to each other this ageless love song. Simply amazing. What says “I love you” more than an older married couple cross-dressing on the beach and performing a love song on a dune for all of their friends.

With this image tucked away forever, we set out from the beach village Sunday afternoon, my heart full. Still accompanied by endless music and cloudless Latvian sky.