Strike Up the Band, It's Wedding Season: Or, My First Azeri Wedding

Here in Azerbaijan, there are a number of cultural traditions, holidays, etc. that are sort of the must-do, bucket list things that you have to do while living in Azerbaijan. Jump over a fire at Novruz. Eat xash with vodka early in the morning. Go guesting. But perhaps the top of the list is to go to a wedding. My fellow PCVs have been going to weddings almost since we got off the plane. But for me, the invitations never came. I never really knew anyone who was going to get married. Not that that always seems to matter. People have been known to be invited off the street. But not me. What was wrong with me? I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me! And yet, the wedding invites remained elusive. Until now. A teacher at my school was planning on getting married. I’d heard about his engagement, and I’d made up my mind that I was going to get an invitation. The two of us have a running joke where he asks me if I can take him to America, and I ask him if he can fit in a bag (he’s not a tall man). A month before his wedding, I was sitting in our school cafeteria over tea, and the others at the table were questioning me about wedding traditions in America. He jokingly asked me what I would give him for his wedding. After some laughter—I’m a guest after all, and wasn’t actually being required to bring a gift—I told him I’d bring him a suitcase. Uproarious laughter. The week before the actual event, invitations were passed around the school, all around me and under my nose. A couple teachers asked me if I was going, and when I said I hadn’t received an invitation, they immediately called the teacher and made sure I would be getting an invite. The next day it was there. I was going to a wedding! But wait, at the same time, my host family was invited to a neighbor’s wedding and they were taking me. The catch, it was on the same day, at the same time, on different sides of town. Since I didn’t really know the groom at my host family’s wedding, I decided I’d go to that wedding for an hour, and then go to the other wedding. We arrived at the wedding hall (most weddings in Azerbaijan are held in special party and wedding halls called Shadliq Saray, or Joyful Palace), and the doors were still closed. We loitered for a few minutes until everyone was allowed in, and we all rushed to find open seats. At the tables already were cold starters and bottles of juice, soda, and vodka and beer. As we waited, staff members hovered around, filming constantly, pouring drinks and slyly removing the alcohol from the tables where women were seated. Around the walls were large televisions, on which the night’s events were constantly broadcast. The lights went low and on the far side of the room, a garage door opened, and a shining white car rolled in, lights flashing. Out climbed the new couple, and the staff blasted confetti into the air with leaf blowers. There was a bubble machine! I left shortly after the couple took their place at a table overlooking the hall (and managing to spill Fanta on my pants—can’t take me anywhere). I stopped off at home to change pants and then caught a cab to the second wedding. The second I walked in, I was dragged onto the dance floor to show off my totally awesome Azeri dance moves. This means lots of arms in the air like airplane wings, feet kicks, and a sense of rhythm. The music was pretty much constant, with a live band playing tar, saz, drums, and alternated between fast-paced dance music and fast-paced non-dance music. In between the dancing, there was eating. Plate after plate of kebab, and the others at my table kept sending food and drinks whenever the waiters passed. Immediately after I put down my fork, I’d be rushed back onto the dance floor. This was what I’d been waiting a year and a half for, and despite my stomach cramping up it was worth it. Azeri wedding parties are no small matter. They often stretch on into the night, lasting five, six hours or more. This is at a shadliq saray, mind you. When weddings are held at home or in the village, they can last all night. The longest I’ve heard of was a two-day affair, lasting 14 hours or so each day. Frankly, I would have been more impressed if it had been two days straight, but still, not too shabby. I left the wedding around 10pm, and it was still going strong. A number of people had slipped out, first being sure to get their commemorative photo with the bride and groom. About an hour after I got home, I heard my host family return. We had fun talking about our comparative experiences and learning more about wedding traditions and practices, but shortly after I collapsed into bed. Dancing Azeri-style takes a lot of energy.