Wedding Crashers

When we arrived at the bus station at Pamukkale, a tiny tourist town famous for its mineral water deposits and Greek spa-town ruins, we knew from Lonely Planet to expect to be hustled by penion owners competing for our business. We did not expect, however, that the pension we got hustled into would turn out to be our ticket into a completely un-touristed world. From the beginning, it was clear that the family that ran Seoul Pension-- 50-something parents and 20-something sons-- was very friendly, as they brought us tea and freshly picked grapes. The mother was a wonderful cook, and we savored every bite of the lamb, tomato, and onion stew she made us for dinner. But we were still quite taken by surprise when, after watching a movie in their living room, one of the sons told us that his parents (who pretty much did not speak English) had invited us to a stay in their village, including a family wedding, the next night and day. After that, the mineral deposits and ruins were cool to see, but it was clear the memorable part of our visit was yet to come.

Saturday evening, we piled into the car with Mevlut and Durdu and headed to the village of Kiralan, about an hour's drive away. (It probably should have been longer, but Mevlut drove like he was being pursued by wolves.) After stopping in their house-- two rooms plus an entryway, small kitchen, and outdoor squat toilet-- and meeting Mevlut's sisters and nieces and nephew, we were led to the house of the father of the groom. He is a very observant Muslim who lives half the year in Germany, where his son and new daughter-in-law will be joining him. He shook Erik's hand but not mine, but otherwise was very welcoming of these two strangers who had shown up at his door. We sat on the floor and were served a tray of local dishes, which we ate communally. I had a lot of trouble using my right hand, as is the Turkish custom... for a reason we unhappily learned when we first went to the outhouse and found there wasn't any toilet paper. (They did find some for us, though). Our host kept speaking to us in German, which, having only studied it for 6 months each, 4 years ago, we had a lot of trouble following. Meanwhile, Durdu would speak to us in Turkish and look at us expectantly, waiting for a response, while Mevlut would mix Turkish and English together, often with no better luck.

After a little while, I was called away by Durdu, leaving Erik in the living room, where he was to remain, with men speaking to him in German, for a couple hours. I was brought with the other women in a bus 1/2 a mile away to the the bride's house. She was dressed in a long, many-layered, feathery red skirt, with a long-sleeved white shirt, a gold chain maile-like accessory on her hands, and long necklaces with large gold coins on her neck. The yard was full of women sitting in a circle on plastic chairs; besides the young girls and one other woman my age, I was the only one with an uncovered head. The village custom is to wear patterned pantaloons under long, loose skirts, sandals with socks, long shirts, and white headscarves. Most of the women wore this style, although some of the younger ones and the bride and groom's relatives wore fancier clothes. In the middle of the circle, the bride and another woman (her best friend?) did a traditional dance, moving slowly around, then speeding up and kicking their feet together, while women walked up to them, moved their hands over them, then deposited some coins in a basket near the woman beating the drum. When the bride was finished, woman after woman got into the circle and the same thing happened, with the bride always offering coins to the dancers. This went on for a long time, as Durdu's neices and I exchanged sleepy glances. Then the bride and her friend were put on two chairs and a red sequined veil was laid over the bride's face. Young women began walking around them carrying candles and singing. Then sparklers were lit, and all the 7 year old boys who had been hanging out nearby ran to get them and jumped around the circle, holding the sparklers in everyone's faces and being halfheartedly shooed away by the women. After this went on for awhile, we loaded back onto the buses and headed back to the groom's house. There we sat eating melon and talking for awhile, although the only one who seemed to have any energy was Mevlut-- it seemed that his wife and sisters were waiting for him to decide when it was time to leave, even though they and the kids were quite sleepy.

In the morning, we feasted on breakfast foods at Mevlut's sister's house. Then he took us on a tour of the village. We saw the Sunday market, brimming with local grapes, peaches, and tomatoes, and the cemetary, wild-looking in an unkept field. At one point Mevlut called a group of children over who had been picking almonds from the trees, and saying something like 'I have some Americans here,' helped himself to a handful from each of their bags!

After our walk, it was time to go to the wedding. We headed back to the groom's house. Durdu had already been there for a couple hours, helping the women of the family with the cooking and cleaning. When we arrived, I was kept with the men, who were sitting at picnic tables in the yard enjoying the trays of food being brought to them, while the women cooked and washed an endless cycle of dishes. This went on for an hour or so, interrupted only by a prayer issued by the imam over a loudspeaker that had been set up in the yard. Then the groom and his best friend appeared, dressed in matching suits. With his father next to him, the imam performed a prayer over him. Then men, including Erik, went up to pin money on his jacket. After this the groom and his friend got into the back seat of his car, which had been decorated with hearts and paper. Everyone else also loaded into their cars, which had scarves of different colors tied to the right windshield. Those without cars piled onto buses ordered for the occassion. Honking the whole way, this procession moved toward the bride's house. The groom's car was parked right outside her door, while everyone else parked outside then gathered round, the men in the lot, the women near the groom's car. After a few minutes, the bride was brought down to the car, wearing a long white satin dress and the same gold necklaces and red sequined veil. This seemed to be the current manifestation of an old kidnapping ritual as the bride was packed into the car and led away.

Back at the groom's house, the car (with bride and groom still inside) was parked under a canopy. Again, the men gathered on one side, the women on the other. A sheep was brought out and held to the ground in front of the car by one man. Then another man began to saw at the sheep's neck with a long knife. As the blood began to spurt, Durdu pulled me through to be at the front of the crowd, but I was having a hard time watching and tried to move back. For two minues that felt like 10, the man sawed at the sheep's neck until its head came off completely. The sheep's body thrashed around as two men carried it away. Then the car was turned back on and ran with great intention over the blood on the ground. After that the bride and groom got out of the car and went inside. That was the only part of the ceremony that included both of them.

I was a little shaky by this point, but managed to follow Durdu inside, where women were gathered to take photos with the bride and groom. After that we gave our thanks to our hosts, had a last cup of tea with Mevlut's sisters and the children, and headed back to Pamukkale.