We start the next day with a swim, my friend now chasing the shade as much as I am. The heat cloaks you like a blanket, but under a parasol, or in the water, it is just about bearable in a swimsuit. At 12 we have a light lunch, fresh olives, feta, and the last of the cucumbers. We make slow moves to get ready, with maximum effort put into remaining as covered as possible, as we knew most of the celebrations would be taking place outside, and possibly in direct sunshine in the hottest part of the day. We fumble a few Euros together for the very squashed wedding card, managing to remove the price sticker at the last minute before it goes into the envelope.
A thick line of stomach pokes out between my orange shorts and shirt combo, but this bothers me only enough to put more sunscreen onto the area. We drink warm champagne with ice on the coach to the wedding, and are reminded numerous times by other members of the wedding party that we are staying in the middle of nowhere in comparison to central Paphos.
The wedding itself is beautiful beyond words. The bride is a friend who, like I wrote in the wedding book filled with polaroid snaps of the night, has the ability to pick you up again and again when you are feeling down. There are nearly tears all around when she emerges in her wedding dress. The registrar dives straight into the vows with no preamble, but none is needed, as every look between the couple speaks of more than any words could.
After the ceremony, when the confetti has been thrown, and photographs taken, I spend some time with the magician, who is a delightful surprise, and then more time with the Villa cat, who is massive, unlike the apartment cats, and has rough fur stuck with small burrs. The only one more entranced by him than I is the bride’s godson, a 2-and-a-half-year-old toddler.
We head onto the patio for cake cutting and speeches, to one long table that wouldn’t look out of place on the set of Mama Mia 3, if such a set existed. The groom’s speech, which is made without cards or notes, brings a tear to the eye of nearly everyone, friends and family alike. It is also revealed that the bride’s long longed after dog adoption is underway, a German Shepheard that somehow made its way from Cyprus to their village, in a move that must have been overseen by fate.
Twice I am told that, as I am the only vegetarian, the chef has prepared me a personal moussaka, but I don’t believe anyone is telling the truth until the dish is set in front of me. A majestic meeting of cream sauce, cheese, aubergine, and thinly sliced potato, which I finish heartily alongside the sweet beetroot salad, hummus, and fried halloumi. One of the groomsmen asks to try some, having been ribbed into thinking it was Crème Brulé. They get another laugh at my drink of choice at the bar, Famous Grouse whiskey, warm without ice, but I can’t bring myself to drink even a blended Scotch on the rocks. Dessert is some mixture of black forest and cheesecake, which I eat in 2 minutes, despite being so full of moussaka I think I might collapse.
We sit and relax under the shade of the grape vines on the terrace. I spend my time with the Villa cat, who eventually gives in to my attention, and allows me to knead his soft belly like bread dough. We dance ourselves silly until midnight, taking brief breaks to stand under fans, and get more bottles of water, and I try sambuca for the first time. As a lover of liquorice and aniseed, I am more than happy to sip it neat.
When the coach arrives to take us home, I say goodbye to the cat and the happy couple, finally crawling into bed around 1am, to read until I can’t keep my eyes open.
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