Eurotrip Day 3

Day 3: The Wedding!

I expected to wake to a red wine hangover but felt OK when I got up. The big day lay ahead, and breakfast was calling. Opting for a non-horse policy today we went in search of croissants, and having come across a lovely picture of one attempted to order relevant breakfasts and associated tea for those that wished. Needless to say, the English tea was not English, and the French breakfast contained no croissant, but instead it was the Italian brekky that came up trumps.

Feeling pleased with my dining choices, I headed for the Museum of Natural History, where, for the bargain price of £1.60 I could ogle all manner of dead things. This was a proper old school collection, and I was blown away by the sheer volume of stuffed creatures on display. I'm not criticising the practice, as the collectors of the Victorian era advanced our knowledge and understanding of global wildlife considerably. And it was pretty impressive to see a wider array of bird species than I have probably seen on all of my global travels. They had specimens of all the species I have worked with or that the regional RSPB team has worked with - cirl buntings, cranes, bustards, stone-curlews, lapwings, montagu harriers to name a few. And rows upon rows of butterflies, beetles, and other insects perfectly preserved and catalogued. 

Bulgarian Bug Life

After the museum it was time to think about lunch, so I met up with Mum and had a delicious and nutritious salad. On our way back to the hotel afterwards we detoured via the Cathedral. This magnificent building sits proudly in a wide square, dominating the skyline.

The Cathedral

Impressive as it was outside, the inside was even better. The cool interior and gentle song of orthodox Christians drifted across the large central area, with a mix of tourists and pilgrims giving respectful contemplation to the scene within. Although photography was not encouraged, I had to capture the scene within.

I saw the light

 

Quiet Reflection

 

By the time we emerged is was about time to get changed for the wedding. The weather was muggy and the thought of wearing a suit did not fill me with joy. But the thought of celebrating with Dot and Gray and assorted other friends and family most certainly did! As Gray works in the embassy, the Ambassador had kindly offered the use of his home for the wedding and reception. Too many jokes about Ferrero Rocher had already been made, and the beautiful garden made the perfect venue.

The ceremony was carried out in Bulgarian and English, using a translator. There seemed to be several occasions where the English translation contained considerably fewer words than the Bulgarian original, and I wondered why Bulgarians use so many words for our equivalent few. It transpired that the Bulgarian wedding ceremony is fixed, so that it is not possible to individualise the words (which explains why the lady delivering them was so very competent at their delivery!). But realising that the English guests would not need to hear the translation its entirety (it contained, I am told, quite a lot of sickly metaphors!), the translator managed to shorten it where appropriate to suit the happy couple and their guests.

Suppressing a chuckle!

 

Coated in Confetti

A couple of Bulgarian traditions were included in the ceremony. First, the couple had to stand back to back and break a loaf of bread over their heads. The person who controlled the larger half is said to be the trouser-wearer in the relationship. Thankfully in this case the two halves were pretty equal, so beginning a rigorous debate on who was in charge. Presumably the winner of the debate also won the dubious honour.

The search for the breadwinner begins

 

Dot thinks she's won!

 

Gray's not so sure!

 

The second tradition was for the bride to kick over a small bucket of water containing two roses - one red and one white. The rose that made it the furthest from the outstretched foot represented the sex of the first child. Unfortunately there seemed to be some confusion over which colour meant which sex, and nobody really knew the outcome.

 

 

Boy or Girl?

As the guests began to contemplate some food and drink the muggy conditions gave way to a sharp shower and brief thunderclap, but this only resulted in the sudden arrival of a load of umbrellas and a chance for guests to become intimately acquainted as the rain came down

A very diplomatic relationship

The food was topped off with a large selection of cakes provided by the Bulgarian guests. I may have mentioned previously my fondness for cake, and faced with such an array of sweet and tempting goodies I resolved to discipline myself, restricting my selection to just four small slices!

Cake monster!

After the cake the speeches also went down very well, with father of the bride, best man and groom all playing their roles to perfection, with a suitable blend of comedy, embarrassment and sincerity thrown together to keep everyone entertained. The couple emerged with most of their dignity in tact, and even seemed to briefly enjoy the spotlight!

The Best Man

 

The Sincerity

 

The Stupidity

 

We were all looking forward to the musical accompaniment, as a local rock band had been brought in to indulge us with an uplifting set of tunes highlighting the last 30-40 years of classic rock. The lead singer sported a 'Hard Rock Cafe' T-Shirt and a ponytail that Status Quo would have been proud of. With nervous trepidation we were uncertain whether we would spend the next hour or two listening to bad renditions of queen songs, but as soon as they began all of our worries faded away. Despite having a speaking voice that would qualify him as an extra in most Bond movies, the lead singer had a fabulous singing voice, and the playlist included a good range of hits to appeal to all ages.

Classic Rock Time!

 

The First Dance

 

One particular moment of comedy dancing genius deserves special mention. Usually, its pretty embarrassing watching family members dance, especially where generational disagreements over style and etiquette are concerned. So when uncle Ian hit the dance floor in boisterous mood, it was suggested that a dance-off with cousin James was in order. Someone yelled 'mosh pit', which Ian misinterpreted as 'stage dive'. Before we could stop him, he threw himself face first onto the dance floor, parting the assembled masses as he went. After much hilarity and several checks to ensure his bones were still in working order, we awarded the victory to Ian for action over ability. Inexplicably, the Tomalin family took to the dance floor, like a troop of epileptic octopuses, and at one point the whole damn dynasty was photographed jiving to rock around the clock.

 

So you think you can dance?

As the evening drew to a close, the bulk of the guests sensibly drifted off to bed. But somewhere in the dark recesses of a few minds a plan was forming that would see a dozen or more brave adventurers set forth into the Sofian night in search of a club. Again the pulse was racing as I wondered what I had signed up to, and we were whisked off to 'Sin City', a great warehouse  of a club that lived up to almost every stereotype imaginable. The men were charged to get in, the seats cost money to use, there were bottles of vodka on the tables and girls dressed as Vikings were dancing on the podium. The indeterminable hard house beat thumped ceaselessly in my ear, and we tried hard not to offend men who looked like they may represent the local mafia. Nevertheless we stayed, we drank, we danced, and we staggered home early morning to our assorted resting places across the city at the end of a fantastic celebration.