So, Poland....
Unfortunately my camera is currently knackered, so the only photos I managed to take myself whilst behind the iron curtain were these two - summing up how grim the place really is. I truly felt like a spy as I sat on the terrace, eating fish and chips and looking out at ships sailing past on the Baltic.... I'm starting to think that during the Cold War, all the leaders of the Western nations were actually coming to places like Prague and Gdansk for their holidays, and just making up shit about them to stop the tourist hordes descending and shattering their tranquility...
The main reason for our visit was to attend the wedding of Justyna's schoolfriend, and as previously mentioned I was kind of pooing myself at the prospect.
But, of course, I shouldn't have worried. The first part of the day was a bit weird, what with me never having been at a catholic church service before, never mind one in Polish with a priest who was so old, when he stopped mid-sentence at one point, I thought he might have had a funny turn. After an initial bit of confusion right at the beginning when everyone crossed themselves and I, taken by surprise, tried to do the same before realising my only knowledge of what to do comes from "nuns on the run" (spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch) and looking round at Justyna panicking - only to be told that it "wasn't compulsory" - I settled back to sit, stand, sit, stand, mumble along to some kind of incantation, sit, stand, repeat for an hour. It was all very cool though - the fact that it was in a foreign language meant I didn't get the usual cold sweats i normally do in church and just observed the whole thing like some kind of low budget Michael Palin. It helped that everyone was pre-warned that i was the "British person" and therefore they probably assumed I was a heretic, thereby excusing me from even having to pretend to get involved in the proceedings. But, as with all weddings, it was all very lovely and emotional at the vital moments, and we stepped outside into the sunshine to queue up and pay our regards to the happy couple.
This involved lining up with your gift outside the church and taking it in turns to go up, give your present, offer your congratulations etc etc.... I spent the entire wait trying to learn the correct number of times to kiss the bride on the cheek, how to say "congratulations" in Polish and trying desperately to stop my hands sweating profusely. All of which, of course, went out the window as we reached the front and I mumbled "hi" before kind of stumbling sideways and out of the way....
Onto the reception, in an amazing stately home next to the chapel. I thought perhaps I could just sit there and be silent and eat my dinner, but it's not that simple when you can't even react appropriately to what everyone else is saying due to the language barrier. We were at the table with the friends of the bride and groom, so there was a fair bit of banter, and guests were actually rolling with laughter at times.... whilst I sat there stoically prodding at my pate looking like the least fun person in the world.
Thankfully, vodka came to my rescue, as the rest of the table realised how much fun it would be to make the Irish guy drink as many shots as possible. To be fair, it's not so much they were deliberately trying to make me drink lots, it's just that they seized any opportunity to toast the bride and groom. Still, gave me an opportunity to use my one word of Polish (or is that two words?) - na zdrowie!
Ahh, the disco - a merciful respite from the vodka.... The bride and groom had their first dance, which they'd obviously practised, as they swirled around in perfect harmony. I retired after that to the safety of the front hall to observe everyone else taking the floor. Except, of course, the next dance was "ladies choice", and the next thing I know I have the Bride's mother staring at me before leading me out into the middle of the dancefloor. The only thing I do less well than drinking vodka or speaking Polish is dance, and so it was that we stumbled around for a few minutes, not saying a word, with me making quizzical expressions at her in an attempt to communicate interspersed with looks of desperation at Justyna who was pissing herself and watching the whole thing....
We got to watch a sketch show by some famous comedians in the garden, which again seemed very entertaining - I was chuckling away, even if only at the visual gags....
After that it was karaoke all the way baby, although I missed out by a matter of seconds on popping my warbling cherry after they decided we didn't have time to perform our song (me and my new mate - I think it's probably a good thing the guests were spared a Polish-Irish collaboration on Wham's seminal hit "Wake me up before you go go").
And so it was, after 12 hours, 12 (ish) vodkas, and a bloody good time, I hit tipping point - the fabled shot that, despite downing them one after the other for hours and feeling fine, causes you to go over the edge. I think I did my people proud by lasting until 3am.... Unfortunately it was 4.30 by the time my still sober-ish girlfriend peeled me off the sofa I'd passed out on and helped me to a waiting taxi....
