So there we were – a rag-tag assortment of Carrys and other hangers-on, waiting around on a beach on the southern most tip of the Thai peninsula, close to the Malaysian border. We were gathered there ahead of the marriage of Irish girl Emma and Columbian guy Marlon, who would afterwards return to their home in New Zealand.
This stunning example of intercontinental multiculturalism in practice was not without its difficulties – the wedding would have to be registered in four different countries, and the remote location chosen meant many couldn’t make it. However, the island was a living postcard and was sure to make for a beautiful ceremony.
The day before the wedding, my wandering friend Denis had finally made it to Koh Lipe after experiencing the horrors of being a foreigner in Thailand with no money. However, while on the ferry to the island he met two individuals who might well turn what was looking like a quiet couple of days in paradise into something much more interesting.
Denis had made the acquaintance of two predictably stunning, early 20s Swedish girls who were apparently fixated by the Irish accent and, being without male companionship, were hoping we could take them out that night.
When our good fortune was revealed to the group, some sceptical looks were thrown my way by various female Carrys. There was a palpable dread at the prospect that we would be out all night and end up half dead at the wedding ceremony we had travelled half-way round the world for.
“It can’t be helped!” I roared, to the delight of the male half of the Carry contingent. “They’re Swedish, for Jaysus’ sake!”
Although I quickly forgot their names, the two girls were every bit the tanned, blonde, simpering crackers I was hoping they’d be. One of them, who looked like a young Anna Kournikova, appeared to take a particular shine to me, and kept asking me to repeat various phrases which emphasised what she felt was my most charming quality – my thick Dublin accent.
Denis and I eventually forced ourselves to bid the somewhat confused Swedes an early goodnight. The girls promised to come to the wedding the following day, but I got the feeling that their presumably alien experience of temporary rejection meant we had lost our chance.
Next morning, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the beach in front of our resort had been decked out with floral arches, rose-petal pathways and various other wedding-esque paraphernalia by the Thai staff. Amazingly, the resort manager had even somehow secured the services of a pair of Irish-American musicians who were hanging around with guitar, bodhrán, fiddle and whistle at the ready.
A crew of Buddhist monks were scheduled to arrive and bless the ceremony at any minute, so I skipped breakfast and went to have a chat with my sister during her last few moments as a Carry. Given the fact that she had to get ready in a beach bungalow, and the hair and make-up girls she hired were dismissed before having their work redone by Emma and her mate, she looked amazing – if somewhat stressed by her determination to get everything right.
Eventually the three monks arrived on the back of a single moped, and it was time to get going. In the absence of my father, who died last year, it fell to me to give my sister away to her fiancé Marlon, whom I had met for the first time the previous day. I didn’t know the bloke so my role was primarily aesthetic, but I was happy to trust Emma’s instincts on the matter and skipped the clichéd, brotherly hurt-my-sister-and-you’re-a-dead-man chat. The fact that Marlon is a 15-stone martial arts expert who doesn’t really speak English made this decision the obvious one, but he also seems like a nice lad.
In an surprising turn of events, the Swedish girls actually showed up! But predictably, they made their excuses early on and left before we started what was by far the best wedding meal I’ve had. Then we sat on the beach and listened to the musicians, one guy and one girl, gently bicker with each other between songs in what threatened to spill over into a full blown domestic as the drink flowed.
An Irish wedding used to be a very different affair, but with travel becoming ever cheaper and people’s horizons broadening with every generation, I get the feeling that celebrations along these lines will soon become more the norm than the exception.
To be continued…
