Probst Gets Married

Dickie instructed me to be at the hotel lobby at 3pm. Which meant that I had the morning to zip around Zagreb in the day and discover the place. Things that surprised me as a Londoner included:
Old woman falls over and 3 people rush to help her - not steal her pension.
Food was sold in a civilized open market that looked organic and hygienic.
This is knee bender territory. The Pope is infallible.
Vegetarians are as welcome as a pacifist at an NRA meeting.
People smoke a lot.

Walking about, you will see some grand, cool old buildings, notice that it is not hideously crowded and most people speak good English. Other than that, I could be anywhere in Europe. Which translated to lumps of meat and litres of fantastic beer from a micro-brewery for lunch. Head back to hotel and shave away the Osama image and get suited. Two minibuses are loaded up with Dickie's people, and we head over to Sandra's parent's flat. Croatian tradition dictates that the suitor must stand outside and barter for the daughter, and receive abuse from her family. The bartering process usually kicks off with a few Kuna, thus insulting the parents who would ordinarily retort that he can have the dog or the mother-in-law instead. After reaching a suitable price, the groom proves his ability to Keep the bride, and he is let into the apartment.
Probst did things differently. There was no bartering, merely whining and subservient begging, followed by scratching at the door in the manner of a pet locked out on a rainy night. This after a few minutes pleased (sceptics read: distressed) Sandra's family enough to invite us all in for finger food and wine.
Chewing gum was a mistake; after a few minutes, I normally feel sick. Couldn't find a bin in the flat, and didn't have any tissues. Rashly improvising meant taking finger food item and shoving the gum on it. I then realised I was stuck with food and gum, and headed to the kitchen to dispose of it before I got caught. Sandra's mum discovered me trying to throw out her lovingly prepared buffet in the bin. Curses are now set to plague generations of Souza.
Sandra's father almost had me convinced that I was at an Indian wedding, when he declared that he was now ready for death, having witnessed the marriage of both his daughters.





Speed me to the church on time. James Borman, bestman and holder of a Kenyan driving licence, gets into a fast looking unsafe automobile and drops Dickie at the church. An hour of a Roman Man telling me how to live my life put me to sleep.
Then the reception. The Organisers, specified who sits where, plastered up on a board in an impossibly small italic font. Table 12. I take whisky. And another. Bloke sits down to the left of me "Hello, my name is Tom, and I haven't placed a bet since Tuesday". Oh my god. The life of Tom appears to be sitting in a flat in Maida Vale, flicking between betting terminals and watching nags race. Sitting next to Tom is arrogant kid who thinks he is 40. Turn right, talk to Croatian mathematician drunken, and then some other drunken Croatian. I have no idea what we talked about, as the wine was freeflowing. A couple of hours later I seem to remember swearing in the most serious and definite manner that I was going to quit my job to live in Berlin. And then setting fire to my drinks. Other points to remember were various people crossdressing, me offending sister of Probst by telling her that she was insecure about her shoes in the queue for food, the gift being a Sandra and Richard deck of cards, and the security guards watching in disbelief at the inebriated chaos.
At 5am, when we were all finally ejected from the hall, there remained only 2 hours in Zagreb. Then [hotel pack checkout minibus ZAG LHR Tube Home]. Feeling scabby.


- posted by Daniel @ Sunday, September 26, 2004