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I have finally got around to uploading some of the photos from the wedding, all taken by the photographer, so no credit to me if they are pretty.

I should write a little more about what happened not that I have watched the video and can still remember some of it.

As I think I mentioned earlier, part of the tradition is for the husband to come and collect his new wife from her family home and take her back to the new house.

As Melbourne is a little far, the hotel served in it’s place.

Patrick appeared at the hotel in the early afternoon followed by his fleet of wedding cars, all decked out with pink flowers, ribbons and balloons. We were aware that he was going to push red envelopes on money under the door until my family decided that my value had been met, but weren’t quite sure how much we were supposed to accept.

Finally, after Patrick had exhausted his own pockets, and those of everyone in his party, possibly even a passing security guard, he was allowed into the room. All were very impressed with my uncle and my father for their strict negotiations, I think Patrick had expected to get away cheaply. Ha!

Patrick then had to find my shoes and put them on for me, something he found a little difficult.

I suppose I should actually be very glad he doesn’t know how to put on a pair of stilettos.

We all hopped into the flowery cars for the trip back to our new house, with photographers and video-cameramen hanging out the windows all the way - very paparazzi-like.

Our cars were met at our home by piles of firecrackers in the drive and lines of uncles armed with the Chinese version of those little party poppers that spit out a bunch of streamers when their cord is pulled. The Chinese version is, of course, much larger and packed with a far more generous amount of explosives, so while being rather more scary, they are very impressive.

Once I had been convinced it was safe to get out of the car, we headed upstairs, where I gave Patrick’s parents each a cup of tea, they presented me with more red envelopes and Patrick and I fed each other a little sweet red bean dessert.

A little rest and some photos later, we all piled once again into our cars to be taken to the restaurant.

A blur of photos with 600 guests, more pyrotechnics, a toast with each of the 60 tables, Chinese vows I agreed to without being sure what they meant followed, and suddenly everyone had gone home.

Actually, in true Chinese tradition, really suddenly everyone had gone home.

I have never worked out how everyone knows a dinner has ended, but there is no hanging about for coffee and a chat after any Chinese meal. One minute you’re enjoying your tortoise soup (Granny!!) and the next everyone is half way out the door.

If ever you attend a Chinese dinner, please make sure if you go to the bathroom that everyone will still be there when you return. An acquaintance learned that rule the hard way.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, October 31st, 2007 at 12:51 pm and is filed under china, wedding. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.