published in Eastern Economist #400, October 1, 2001
I came to Kolomyia to the wedding of a friend’s cousin. I’d never been to a Boyko wedding before, just to a Kyiv wedding that was standard soviet issue back in 1995 and, once, in 1999, to a wedding in Zhytomyr that was admittedly a lot of fun.
The Zhytomyr crowd really had the right idea: a banquet hall next to a dance hall, so that we started out with some formalities, ate a million salads, cheeses and cold cuts, then went en masse to the neighboring room. The bride and groom danced together, then each danced with their appropriate new in-law, and finally the floor was open for all to boogie. A live band kept everyone’s hips jiggling and toes tapping while the kitchen ladies cleaned up a little.
Then the MC called everyone back in for a series of toasts to the couple’s parents. Everyone chin-chinned and sat down to tables that were freshly laden with piping hot borshch and pampushky with garlic.
Hardly had we done doing that when the band struck up again and we all wandered off to some more vigorous dancing. This time there were some more traditional dances and some of the more agile men showed off their kozak style, squat-kicking and doing tumbles while the ladies, regardless of how plump and buxom they may have got over the years, danced as nimbly and coyly as if they were 17 and flirting with the boy down the road.
Soon the MC called us back to order again and this time a few select guests, yours truly included, were invited to say something nice about the young couple and present them with a gift. Meanwhile, fish and meat in aspic were presented for appreciative consumption.
Once again, the plates were cleaned and we all trotted off to the dance room. This time, someone organized a conga line. Then there was a little impromptu competition among dancers for doing the best kolomiyka, a fast dance from western Ukraine. By the time it was over, everyone was sweating profusely and ready to flop at their food-laden tables again.
Some of us went out into the fresh air for a break and we were surprised to see it was nearly 22:00. Being the first week of July, though, it was still quite light and it seemed that the wedding party had just started. The boys had a quick smoke, the girls talked a little shop, and we all drifted back upstairs in time for the hot entrees.
There was chicken stuffed Kyiv-style. There were breaded pork bytky. There was pan-fried fish. There were mashed potatoes. Beets in horseradish as garnish. Veggies galore, including fried cauliflower. There were holubtsi, varenyky of various sorts, krucheny, and mushrooms julienne.
It was enough to make you look forward to Lent as a wonderful respite.
The guests were starting to slow down a little. The MC meanwhile got a litte game going of who could come up with the best wedding-night anecdote. While we all clutched our sides with laughter – Ukrainians are not shy about bedroom humor – the food gradually disappeared off the plates and into our bellies.
The MC got down to some more toasting. The food made it rather painless to toss back shots of horilka half a dozen more times at this point.
We went out for more fresh air. By now it was quite dark. Some of the couples wandered off down the street, arms wrapped around each others. The toilets were doing a brisk business. Kids were starting to fall asleep on their mothers’ laps. The dance-floor was nearly empty as exhaustion and the heat began to overwhelm everyone. Even the band was sounding sluggish.
One last call from the MC, though, and this time it was a while before everyone could be rounded up and settled in. The toast was short and sweet and to the couple, one last time. Desserts of all kinds crowded the tables. Guests started picking their way half-heartedly through the myriad sweets. Cakes, jellies, chocolates, fruit. You name it, it was probably somewhere on the table that night.
At about 01:30 in the morning, we finally collected the Kyiv crew, sat in the car and drove off, feeling like we’d never had a better time in our lives.
I kind of expected a Boyko wedding to be like that, only three full days of bacchanalia, rather than just one evening. Plus lots of traditional rituals.
We arrived late at the church on Saturday evening, only to find that another wedding party had pre-empted ours. Between the two weddings, it seemed that most of the village was standing around as the sky grew darker and the wind blew colder, waiting for a young couple to show up.
Two young men were walking around with Christmas trees whose branches had been trimmed with white strips of cloth topped off by red ribbons, looking lovely as brides themselves. But when I started asking people where the tradition came from, no one seemed to know. “It’s just a wedding tradition.” Old and young alike, male and female, no one seemed to know where it came from, only that it meant youth and innocence. Eventually, one old lady added, “They make those trees when a young person dies, too. Only there’s a black ribbon at the top.”
The party did go on for three days, but the rest of the Boyko traditions largely took place outside my presence. As I sat at dinner the second night – which involved non-stop eating for four hours, then non-stop dancing until six in the morning – my neighbors explained all kinds of rituals in between mouthfuls of food.
I guess I’ll have to marry my own Boyko. Then I’ll be able to tell you exactly what what it’s like. •
– from the notebooks of Pan O.
No comments:
Post a Comment