My Fake Turkish Wedding

For our final night on the trip to the southeast of Turkey, we went to a "Sira Gecesi" in Şanlıurfa -- a night of traditional Turkish music and food.

Through a stone doorway, we entered a small courtyard strewn with carpets and pillows. We sat around low tables while more and more dishes kept appearing -- bread, salad, shish kebab -- while a band of six played on traditional Turkish instruments.

The whole evening was organized for us (for the trip we were "hosted" by the local government. I.e. they chose where we ate and what we saw). Other customers to the restaurant sat on higher levels and looked down.

Eventually the dancing started. Then the raw meat preparation: a restaurant worker began kneading some spice-smelling substance in a round metal pan. At first we couldn't figure out what it was -- dessert? Sand? He kept on rolling it across the pan's rough surface, then packing it together and starting over. The night was hot, and his sweat mingled with the ground meat, the spices, the mixed-in cilantro... Our guide Omer and the head waiter took turns wiping his forehead with a wet cloth.

Finally, when it was done (I guess soft enough?) he lifted the pan high above his head and started dancing with it, along the tables, the fountain, the stairs, while the music played faster and faster... Whirling and twirling, he stopped in front of us in his knees, the pan turned upside down, but the meat packed so tightly that not a piece budged.

Of course I had to try it (though with lots of tomatoes and pita, and only a small section of the rawness.) A bit spicy, but otherwise just like a regular meat patty. The spices partially cook it, I guess...

Then all of a sudden they are choosing people for something. I have no idea what was going on, but somehow I am volunteered by Omer...

Then I'm in a room upstairs getting dressed in a long thick embroidered gown (it's about 85 degrees outside) and a veil... "You're the bride. You sit on the right. Your face is covered. ... Okay, go downstairs now and try not to fall..."

Then I'm walking down the stairs with Mike in the dark (we're supposed to be a surprise). A black veil covers my face. No one can see me, but I can partially see -- as if through black translucent glass...

Mike and I sit side by side on chairs while the group walks around us, chanting and holding candles. I am sweating in every crevice of my body, along my hairline, down my back. It is all absurd, and I am trying not to laugh. ("You're supposed to be sad," the guide explained. "Why?" "It's a tragic day -- you're leaving your family, your friends. Perhaps it's an arranged marriage...")...

The head waiter smears henna into a circle on my palm. (It comes off after a week.) Then the veil is lifted and I squint and try to keep my face rigid while everyone claps. Then we dance, shake hands with the waiters... I get into it, twirl around. The music stops, we bow.

So that's how I was married in Turkey. (What happens in Şanlıurfa stays in Şanlıurfa...)