Saturday morning, Igor had to deliver our passports to ZAGS at 9 am; I wasn’t really sure why, but I long ago stopped asking “why” about any of the things required by ZAGS. His friend Vlad showed up a little before 9 with juice, tea and coffee, and we invited the Americans to our suite for a breakfast of leftovers from Friday night.
We had arranged a tour of the Stalin-era bunker in the town park at 10 am, and most of the Americans headed off there while Julee joined me at the beauty salon on the fourth floor of the hotel. My wedding hairstyle had been the topic of much discussion for several weeks, with me quite adamant that there was no way I was going to get one of those insane and ridiculous ‘dos that Ukrainian women so adore. I lost the battle. Nina had been insistent that I get my hair done at the salon, and I finally figured it couldn’t hurt to try it, and if it was really horrible, I could always wash it out and do it over myself. I got a bad feeling when I saw the stylist – one of the most frightening women I’ve seen in a long time, with an atrocious hairstyle herself. I also soon realized that she was horribly hung over from the night before. She didn’t seem to like that it that she couldn’t understand what Julee and I said to each other in English. I was glad she couldn’t. She emptied half a can of mousse into her hands, and the fun began.
“That’s a lot of mousse,” I meekly commented.
“No, it’s not,” she growled. I quietly resolved to keep my mouth shut while I calculated how many washings it would take to get all that crap out of my hair.
The end result was a prickly, rock-hard glittery helmet on my head. The hairstyle itself was pretty stupid, and not all “me”, but I had to admit I really liked the glitter. I decided to see what Igor’s reaction was – if he laughs, I thought, I’m heading straight to the shower. He was too dumbstruck to laugh. I had a couple hours before the wedding, so I decided to try it out a while longer before making a final decision.
We checked the arrangements in the restaurant, checked that everyone made it back from the bunker tour, wandered from room to room for a few minutes, and suddenly realized that everything was actually under control, there were no emergencies or crises or anything at all to take care. The last hour before our wedding was the quietest and calmest hour of the entire week, and we hardly knew what to do with ourselves.
The closer the time came to go to ZAGS, the less sure I was about the hairdo. 15 minutes to go and I was bent over the tub prepared to wash and restyle, but still not sure since I really liked the glitter. Igor flipped a coin, and my fate was sealed to get married with a ridiculous Ukrainian wedding hairdo.
We met everyone in the hotel lobby. Igor informed me that we were supposed to drive to ZAGS in separate cars. “But it’s just across the street,” I said, confused (not for the last time that day). “Yeah, but we have to drive there in separate cars, and you should take Julee and your Dad with you.” So we drove literally across the street in one car, while Igor drove with his best man.
The guests started arriving in the small lobby of ZAGS, and we all stood around as we waited for the wedding ahead of us to be conducted. Eventually one of the ZAGS ladies directed me to a small waiting room, and Julee and another friend Olga followed me in. Julee, of course, was a bit curious to know what exactly would be expected of her as matron of honor; unfortunately, I couldn’t provide any helpful information since I had no idea what to expect myself. Olga tried to tell her a bit, and in the end, it was agreed that Andriy, Igor’s best man who doesn’t speak English, would give her hand signals when they had to do something and she would just follow his lead. I know this was more than a challenge for Julee since she’s all about planning and knowing the details, but she was a good sport and managed great.
About five minutes to our wedding time, and another ZAGS lady came in to the small waiting room and started running quickly through what we were supposed to do. There were questions about how to address me (“Ann” or “Ann Marie”?), where to put the stamp in my passport (more on that later), would I be able to follow the ceremony in Ukrainian, would anyone translate for the Americans, etc. I figured that all I really needed to understand was the word “cholovik”, after which I would say “tak” (“man/husband” and “yes”). The lady started to herd us toward the ceremony room, still gushing out instructions and details. I couldn’t help but laugh, and commented to Igor that it was just so Ukrainian! I had just enough time to tell him that in the U.S. we usually have a rehearsal of the ceremony the day before the wedding, and it was just so funny and typically Ukrainian to me that five minutes before the ceremony this lady was telling us all these requirements and specific things to do that she thought were so important and critical.
The ceremony itself was very short and to the point. In fact, within the first minute I heard the keyword “cholovik” and said my big line, “tak”. Then there was “druzhina” and Igor said “tak”. Julee and Andrei unfolded an embroidered cloth (like a table runner) in front of us, and we stepped onto it together. Tradition has it that whoever steps on it first will be the head of the household – which someone told me about only moments before the ceremony, otherwise I would never have been the wiser; instead I looked up at Igor and said “together?”, he nodded, and we timed our steps perfectly so that we are equal heads of household.
We went up to the table, signed our names on the two certificates of marriage and stepped aside. Our witnesses, Julee and Andriy, were called forward and they signed the certificates.
(Two weeks later, on New Year’s Eve, Igor’s mother suddenly asked me in what language I signed my name. “In English, of course,” I said. “And Julee signed in English, too.” For some reason, Nina found this quite amusing and she was still laughing about it on Orthodox Christmas, a week later, how we signed the Ukrainian wedding certificates in English.)
We kissed and sealed the deal.
The ZAGS lady said some more things I didn’t understand, and handed us two goblets of champagne. We drank. She took the embroidered cloth that we had stood on earlier and tied it around our hands.
We then walked over to our parents, and bowed to them three times to honor and respect them. I thought that was a really neat thing to do as part of the ceremony. (another nice shot)
And that was it! Ceremony over, the guests each congratulated us in the ZAGS lobby and then headed back to the hotel for the reception.
(and another nice shot, and lots more in that set from my brother; I especially like this one.)
The reception wasn’t quite ready, though, so we invited everyone up to our suite for a first toast.
There was an impromptu “receiving line”, and everyone congratulated us again, giving us flowers and cards.
I threw my bouquet, which was snagged by Natasha, the young friend who had kindly arranged the flowers for us. We joked that it was nice of her to “lend” me the bouquet for the 30 minutes or so that I actually held it. There were a bunch of little girls, and several older young single women, who couldn’t be left out of the fun, so I threw several more of the bouquets that friends had given to me. Watch out, boys, no one missed a bouquet!
The guests all headed downstairs to the reception, and Igor and I took a few minutes for a breather and to sort out the cards and gifts. We must have taken longer than we realized because suddenly Julee was back, telling us some lady was looking for us. We hurried downstairs, and that’s when I learned what a tamada is. More specifically, who a tamada is.
Our tamada was a woman from Chernihiv; and she worked kind of like a master of ceremonies, sometimes the title is translated as “toastmaster” , but she was much more than that. Her job, basically, is to make sure everyone has a great time at your wedding. What a brilliant profession! I don’t know how Igor’s friends found this particular tamada, but she was AWESOME and I will happily provide her contact information to anyone who looking for a tamada – and the best part was that she spoke English! Without her, we would have had two very bored and very separate groups of guests. But she was able to bring everyone together for dancing, games, and all kinds of craziness.
So, we came down to the hotel lobby and she was waiting for us and asked us to point out our parents in the hall. She brought them out to the lobby, too, and if she explained what was going on, I don’t remember now. The next thing I knew, she was in the hall inviting our parents to be greeted by the guests. Then she called us, and we walked in to the circle of our family and friends all applauding and cheering. It just felt so good, so nice to be with such wonderful people, sharing our happiness and joy with the people we love the most. Then the insanity started.
She instructed us to turn to each other and hold hands. She then said in Ukrainian the kind of vows we typically say at an American wedding – I will love and honor you, take care of you in sickness and in health, etc. Igor of course hammed it up.
She handed us a goblet, and we drank three times – first to love, then to happiness, then to a long and happy life together. She turned to the guests and said in Ukrainian “So, don’t you think our young people are a bit bitter?” To which all the Ukrainians responded loudly and in unison “Gorko! Gorko!” (Bitter! Bitter!) – a condition that can only be remedied by the newlyweds kissing for as long as possible.
We again paid our respect to our parents. Then everyone headed to the table to start the feast.
The cake was beautiful, and as we found out about 8 hours later, also delicious (although it did have prunes in it – why why why do Ukrainians think prunes should be anywhere near cake??!).
We ate, we drank, we danced, we played goofy games, toasts were made, we ate again, we drank again, we danced again, more silly games, more toasts. Fireworks. The singer and guitar player turned into gypsies and sang and danced.
(this was the incident that prompted Igor to later comment “We had everything except a bear and a fight!” Apparently gypsies usually come with bears (?) and a typical good Ukrainian wedding always has at least one fight – we weren’t sorry to have lacked either of these, though.)
The eating, drinking, dancing, games, toasts and other madness went on until nearly 11:00 pm, at which point the party moved up to our suite.
Jeff was a big hit, mostly because he felt up every woman during one of the silly games but also because he’s such a snappy dancer.
There was great cultural exchange throughout the day and evening. The Americans learned lots of weird Ukrainian traditions – Igor dancing while I pretended to play a reed flute (I found out only a week later myself that this has something to do with him learning to listen to me and follow my instructions);
(look at that hair not moving at all!)
yelling “gorko!” (in Russian) or “hirko” (in Ukrainian) to get newlyweds to kiss (my brother learned this one Russian word exceptionally well and really impressed Igor);
and that a tamada is a really brilliant thing to have at your wedding.
The Ukrainians learned that Americans tap their wine glasses to make the newlyweds kiss; the newlyweds are supposed to feed each other with the first pieces of cake;
and how to do the famous O-H-I-O cheer from Ohio State University (after which one of the guests created a new K-O-R-O-S-T-E-N cheer, which unfortunately wasn’t quite as catchy but was nonetheless full of cheer).
At some point late Saturday night/early Sunday morning, people left and we collapsed. Much to my surprise, it only took two washings to get the goop out of my hair.
UPDATE:
I forgot to explain the passport stamp. Ukrainians have two passports – a internal and an external. The first serves as your official identification document in the country, the second is your international travel passport. The first one you get when you are around 17, I think, and keep it for life. You add a new photo ever certain number of years, and all your important life events are recorded in the passport – marriage, divorce, children’s births. So, Igor’s passport is stamped on the “marriages” page with the appropriate information – married on 22 December 2007 to Ann Marie Merrill, citizen of USA. Since we don’t have these kinds of internal passports in the US, we used my international travel passport. I have a similar stamp on the last page, which states that on 22 December 2007, I married Mr. Ihor Pashinskyy (Ukrainian spelling, of course) and that my last name is now Merrill (since I opted not to change my name). The irony is that my passport expires in October 2008, and in the US that means getting a whole new passport. Fortunately, we also have an official marriage certificate that documents our new status. I hope the passport agency will let me keep this passport after it’s expired, though, since the stamp is kinda cool.
Anka in Kyiv 