A Japanese Wedding 1

Hiroshi and Erika were students of mine a few years ago at Snow College, where I teach English as a second language. They first met there. While my wife, Jean, and I were in Japan not too long ago, we ran into them and learned that they were going to be married. Jean and I went to their wedding reception, and it was a trip. This was definitely NOT a Legion Hall reception. Uh-uh. Morning coats, the whole nine yards. But I get ahead of my story.

Hiro and Erika hand-delivered the invitation to us about a month before the wedding, to confirm that we were going to be free on that date (I got the feeling that if we’d said we were unable to make it on that date they’d have changed it), and to make sure we understood how to get to the hotel where the reception was to be held. Hiro gave us a Japanese invitation and a translation into English, together with a map showing how to get to the hotel from Osaka’s main train station. Okay, cool, we’ll go, it’s just another wedding. Nope.

About three weeks before the wedding Hiro calls again, to ask if I would make a small speech at the reception. Sure, no problem: two wonderful young people, bless this union, blah, blah, blah, let’s party. Meantime, I’ve asked some experienced ex-pats for advice on how to act at a Japanese wedding, and they say Jean and I should learn a song because there’s sure to be karaoke singing around the old wine keg. So now I know what to expect. Not!

A week before the wedding Hiro calls again and asks if I have written my speech yet. The “wedding company” wants an advance copy so they can translate it into Japanese for the program director to read after I deliver it in English. This is my first intimation that I’m in a bit deep. “Uh, well, I haven’t written anything. I was just going to, you know, say a few words about you and Erika.” Hiro was very cool. He said that was all right, and I could just jot some notes and give them to the interlocutor at the reception. I took the hint and told him I’d write something and make sure he got it the next day so it could be properly translated. I did, too. Good thing I did.

But first, I started to do some serious research. I asked around at work and learned that there are roughly three kinds of weddings – or wedding receptions – because the weddings themselves are very private affairs and only the families attend. There’s your legion hall reception, your church reception, and your hotel reception, in bottom- to top-of-the-line order.

Wedding gifts are usually money, but how much to give is determined by a complicated formula involving one’s relationship with the happy couple, ages, the venue of the reception, and how much one thinks he/she can get away with as a foreigner. I was told by my main source that we should consider giving at least ¥20,000 and more probably ¥30,000 because of where the reception is being held and all the other factors that I don’t pretend to understand.

No piker, I opted for the top-level gift, involving the equivalent of about $200. My informant bought for us the requisite gift envelope, an expensive, intricately folded piece of paper, and properly wrote the amount of our gift on the back, and our names – in Japanese – on the front. She assured us that, although it was costing us a lot of money we would be getting a lot of bang for those bucks in the form of a sit-down dinner, gifts back to us and plain old entertainment value. “Just be sure to eat everything on your plate, and you’ll get your money’s worth.” Yes!

Then comes the magic day. I dress up in the best I got (a blue blazer with lots of shine, gray slacks and black shoes) and Jean and I haul off to Osaka. We find the hotel with no problem. It’s small and looks expensive, located on the southern boundary of Osaka Castle. We’re about an hour early, both because I can’t tell time very well and because we did not want to be late.

We have a cup of iced coffee in the lobby coffee shop. Two coffees cost us nearly ¥1,000. Yup, it’s an expensive hotel. We look around the lobby while we wait for show time. Very busy. Lots of money walking around. No other foreigners, just us. All the men are wearing black suits with white shirts and white ties. It’s like a uniform. The shine on my blazer has become a blinding glare.

About 15 minutes before the appointed hour, we go to the reception site, where we sign a guest book and present our gift envelope. There is already a rather impressive stack of envelopes on the table. We’re given tickets and our names are checked off a master list, presumably to deter crashers or maybe for book keeping purposes, I don’t know.

The crowd has begun to gather. Jean and I are introduced to the groom’s parents. Jean nods and smiles a lot and I babble Japanese-like syllables intended to be greetings and thanks for the splendid time so far. Just before we go into the dining room, Erika appears for the first of a series of photo opportunities. She’s wearing a pure white cover kimono of some sort over a brocaded one, and has her hair done in a very traditional (i.e. old) style. (“Surely that’s a wig?”) She looks faint; I think to wear one of those things properly you have to have all your body parts securely trussed, and if you can still breathe it’s not quite right.

There are pictures with the groom and her parents and his parents and both families and on and on. Actually, most of the guests take snaps. Everybody but us brought cameras; we
didn’t want to appear gauche by taking pictures. Silly us. There is also a studio video camera on a tall tripod taking continuous footage of every move, klieg lights and all. Erika must have been miserable!

We precede the happy couple to the dining area. There are maybe a dozen tables in the room, each with about ten guests. We are the only foreigners. We have been assigned to sit with Hiro’s younger brother, a sales manager for a Toyota dealership in Los Angeles, who speaks English well enough to answer any questions we might have and probably also to make sure we don’t insist on singing “Melancholy Baby” after the first couple of drinks. We’re in the first tier of tables, up near the head table. We’re evidently persons of importance, since our table is also inhabited by Hiroshi’s boss and other dignitaries. We nod and smile around the table, making friendly noises and wishing we had at least minimal control of the social language.

We were given a few minutes to get settled into our seats and then the lights dimmed, the music came up (the “Wedding March,” what else?), the main doors flew open and the spots hit Erika and Hiro in traditional dress, Erika’s white kimono now gone to reveal the glories of the brocade she was wearing underneath. We all bolted to our feet in spontaneous applause as the couple stood in the lights for a moment before they paraded to the head table, where they were seated at the center, flanked by Hiro’s parents. As they passed the windows on the far wall, the drapes were pulled back to reveal Osaka Castle in the background. Very impressive.

Okay, all that was just preamble. Now the party began in earnest. First, champagne was poured for all and we stood and knocked back a congratulatory Kanpai. Then Hiro’s father stood up and read a detailed summary of the accomplishments of both Hiro and Erika, mentioning their affiliations with Snow College among lots of others.

Then a number of people got up to make congratulatory speeches and to talk about how well prepared these young people are for their life together by all the fine things they’ve done in the past. I’m not sure of the cultural value of this exercise, unless it’s to remove all doubts as to the suitability of the bride and groom for each other. From my limited understanding of the language used, it sounded almost like a matchmaker’s report (scouting survey?). Obviously some kind of standard procedure, though.

While all this was going on, food was being served. I have never seen such fast, efficient and unobtrusive service before. The servers were quick and seemed, despite their relatively small numbers, to serve everybody almost simultaneously. It was almost all cold (intentionally), but that’s not enough by itself to make it seem like we were all served at once. And the people who were running the show were amazing. Absolutely every move was choreographed to the centimeter, and yet all the assistants were nearly invisible. Every once in a while I would see a person drop to his knees as the video lights threatened to expose him positioning either Hiro or Erika for another activity. There’s a Japanese art form called Bunraku, a form of puppetry in which the puppeteers wear black gowns and hoods and work in full view of the audience but are nonetheless invisible. The work of the “wedding company” was almost exactly like that and by itself was almost worth the price of the tickets. But I digress.

Food. Well, it was Japanese. Some of it was raw. All of it was beautifully presented, and some of it was quite good. Remembering the advice of my social adviser, I at least tried everything that was put before me. Was reminded why I don’t eat sushi more often. The taste really isn’t all that bad; the texture is. I could chew it, but I had a hard time swallowing it. Some dishes (there were at least a dozen different courses) were quite good. A couple of shrimp dishes. A lemon-flavored soup. Roast Kobe beef with fresh horseradish. A drop-dead delicious baked lobster & mushrooms in a white sauce and packed back in the lobster shell. Beer. Red wine. White wine. (The wine served at
appropriate times, of course.) Juice or sake or whiskey & water for those with odd preferences. Brandy after, with coffee. Very civilized.

But that was only part of the show. In this early part of the reception, the first speeches were given, as I said. This was also the part where Hiro and Erika cut the cake. Photo op. Rumor has it that it wasn’t a real cake (Jean refers to it as a rent-a-cake). Don’t know. Not important. But they stood up there with a very sharp knife and held it just so while many many pictures were taken by all their friends. Hiro tried to plant a kiss on Erika’s cheek, and nearly got himself damaged by the knife. After the cake cutting, all the guests received small boxes with little cakes in them symbolic of the ‘real’ thing. No frosting.

End of act one. Hiro and Erika were escorted from the room for their first costume change, and the guests got down to the serious business of consuming. Lots of talk noise and food and unobtrusive service.

Act Two. Drapes cover windows again, lights dim, background music changes from Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” to something much more modern. Kliegs hit the door, which opens to reveal Erika and Hiro in modern dress, Erika in a beautiful cherry red, puffy-sleeved Prom dress-like creation, with matching gloves and hair doodads (Jean’s description), Hiro in a swallowtail morning coat. Pause. Photo op. Beautiful. The newlyweds are escorted to their place at the head table, and the second round of speeches begins. I get my chance.

My nerves somewhat calmed by a glass of medicinal beer, I manage to read my prepared speech. In fact, I am rather moved by my words. I mention my school’s pivotal role in the meeting of these two fine young people, and point out that this is just one of the fringe benefits of a Snow College education. (A full text of the speech is available on request.) I sit down to mild applause, and we are all treated to a reading of a translated version of the speech. Dang! Sounds good in Japanese, too.

After the second rank of speakers had their say, Hiro got up and thanked all the people who were responsible for how he and Erika turned out. Parents, families, teachers, everybody got named. The grandparents were thanked and even a deceased relative of Erika’s was honored. The tribute to the family members was actually one of the most moving parts of the whole affair. It was obviously heartfelt and sincere. Hankies all round.

Because the whole production was so seamless and ran with no apparent hitches, it might be easy to claim superficiality for a lot of what was said during this and other parts of the party. I got the feeling that the elaborate preparations made it possible for the participants to be more sincere in what they said and did. Without the distractions of incomplete preparations or sloppy execution, the participants were able to concentrate on what was important to them. I was – still am – impressed.

With the salute to their families, Act Two came to an end. Erika was taken from the room by her father for her last costume change. Hiro was left at the head table to do groom stuff, and the noise level began to increase as the accumulated effects of the drinks and emotions of Act 2 began to work their magic. The eating continued, of course, and now we were getting into the cooked stuff: the beef and lobster, among other things. Glasses were not allowed to be empty for longer than it took to pick up a bottle of something. The Young Turks from Hiro’s office at the table behind us began to contribute a major portion to the noise level. At some point, Hiro left the room. Act Three was about to begin.

We’re ready now; we know what to expect. Lights dim, all eyes turn toward the door. Spotlight snaps on, music comes up, doors open and there, on her new husband’s arm is Erika in a gorgeous wedding gown. They’re holding a gas torch. She’s beautiful! Photo op. Then Erika and Hiro go to each of the tables in the room with their torch and light the candle in the centerpiece of each one. Each table applauds them as their candle is lit. At the end, they light the candles at the head table, including a heart of candles linked so that when the first is lit all the others light themselves from it.

Then they go to a very tall stack of champagne glasses so arranged that when a bottle of champagne is poured into the top glass the overflow fills all the other glasses in the stack. But this fountain is rigged so that when the champagne hits the second row of glasses it hits artfully placed dry ice and creates a beautiful fog effect. When they return to their seats we toast them with another glass of champagne.

Now the fun is in full swing. Friends start to approach the head table with bottles of beer and top up Hiro’s glass. He manfully tries make room in the glass for more beer to be added. It’s a game, apparently, called Incapacitate the Groom. Everybody knows the rules, I think. Groom drinks as little as humanly possible, many friends quickly replace what little he consumes. Hiro plays well, but it’s a losing game. He’s not known as a drinker and, when his face is roughly tomato red, his friends begin to take pity on him – but not too much.

The party begins to wind down. It was scheduled for two hours, and we’re well over that now. Now the guests receive their gifts. We have already received two envelopes with cash totaling 20% of our cash gift to Hiro and Erika. There’s also a shopping-type bag for each guest (or couple) containing a set of five ceramic plates and matching cups, a variety of edible gifts, and two silk roses. There’s one last photo op, with both sets of parents standing in the limelight on the other side of the room and being saluted by Hiro and Erika. Then Erika and Hiro join them for more pictures and they all leave the room to form one last receiving line to thank the guests for their attendance as they file out of the dining room. Everybody gets an individually wrapped carnation and the party is officially over.

My social adviser was right. It was worth it. We had a meal we couldn’t have bought (had we been so inclined) for ¥20,000, we received gifts worth fully a third of our gift to them, and we had a gen-u-wine Japanese cultural experience. Couldn’t beat that with a stick. Besides, we genuinely like Hiro and Erika and are genuinely happy for them. It was fun to have the opportunity to wish them well on a major event in their lives, and it was an honor to have been asked to contribute to the proceedings.

Observations?
Not many. It was fun, and we approached it on that basis. I noted after it was all over that Erika hadn’t said a word. Hiro had spoken to the assembled throng, but not Erika. He had delivered his own tribute to his parents, but her tribute to her parents, while written by her, was read by the mistress of ceremonies. That seems, in retrospect, rather odd, but defensibly Japanese. On the other hand, Erika was the visual center of attention. Her grand entrances in several different and beautiful dresses guaranteed that she was much more than a hidden appendage.

The wedding was obviously the cultural highlight of our stay in Japan. It was interesting, but it was also lots of just plain fun. The kicker is that three days after the wedding Hiro called us to say that they’d like to visit us after they come back from their honeymoon. I don’t know if it’s a visit required by wedding etiquette (to deliver a set of pictures or something) or if they just want to get away from other social obligations. We’re looking forward to their visit.