Chris Bickford

On Saint Patrick’s day, 2006, my friend Lawrence Belanich walked into a bar in the East Village, sauntered up to a table of girls, and said with his classic Will-Farrell-esque aplomb, “Does anybody want to see my wang?”

Maybe the young Croatian girl at the table named Katarina didn’t quite understand his slurred, half-drunken English. Maybe she wasn’t quite sure what he meant by “wang”. But for once, one of Lawrence’s screwball pickup lines actually worked, and he got a date with her. In short order they were spending all their free time together. That summer they came down to the Outer Banks for a visit, and it was clear they were in love. Katarina was quiet but always smiling, Lawrence was beaming, and at one point, while Lawrence headed out in his van to get something for Kat, she turned to me and said, “He is so good to me”.

Within six months, the pair were engaged, and in the summer of 2007 they were married in Katarina’s hometown of Dugo Selo, outside of Zagreb, the capital of Croatia. A couple of friends and I flew out for the wedding, as a kick-off to our European tour. We had no idea what we were in for.

After a serious of long layovers (during which my friends drank their respective weights in beer), we were met at the Zagreb airport by some friends of the bride and driven into the little town of Dugo Selo, then out into a banquet hall outside of town, nestled amongst vineyards and old buildings. As soon as the scuttlebut over rooms not being properly reserved for us and the necessary amount of familial bickering between Lawrence and his dad all died down, we were immediately shuttled on to a bus BACK to Zagreb for a tour of the city. Jet-lagged and sleepless, we followed the tour long enough to hook up with a couple of Lawrence’s other friends from New York, at which point we ditched the tour and found a cool bar with a patio overlooking the whole city, and super-cozy lounge sofas. We ordered up a round of Ojusko’s, and toasted to our luck at being on top of the world and to Lawrence’s new life as a married man in Croatia.

We made it back to the bus just as it was pulling out. Once back at our quarters, we had half an hour to shower and dress for the rehearsal dinner, which involved huge plates of meat and some raucous dancing. Eventually we all dragged ourselves back to our rooms, knowing that we had a long day ahead of us.

The day began with a brunch at 10 AM, with champagne and singing, which would last all day and long into the night. There seemed to be about four different songs that the men and women would sing, over and over again, throughout the day. After a while we started singing the melodies too, having no idea what the songs were about.

Sometime around 1 or 2, we boarded the bus for the day-party at the bride’s house. Flag-wavers and a band led us across the street and down the driveway of Kat’s parents house, where, following Croatian tradition, Lawrence knocked on the door carrying a bouquet of flowers. True to tradition, the first bride to walk out the door was not his intended; instead, it was our friend Kareem, a 6′4″ black dude from New York, dressed in drag. Shortly afterward, Katarina appeared at the door in all her wedding finery, and the celebration began in earnest, with more plates of meat, more drink, more music, and singing, singing, all day long.

The ceremony at the Catholic church in Dugo Selo was a blur. All I can remember is trying to suppress my giggles as the videographer and photographer hovered around the couple like flies, stepping right in front of the officiant as he administered rites, walking down the aisle to film the crowd, and sticking their cameras directly into the couple’s faces as they said their vows. To their credit, however, they did produce a very nice photo album for the couple before the end of the reception. How’s that for a fast turnaround?

The reception, even more of a blur. The band played until 5 AM, with plates of meat and bowls of soup being brought out every couple of hours. The ladies kept singing the whole night, and the band led them on. There was dancing, toasts, traditional rituals and more singing. Dawn found Lawrence hopping up on stage, grabbing a guitar from the band, and singing a song called “Butterfly” he had written for Katarina, followed by a scorching rendition of “Little Wing”.

As we stumbled back to our rooms in the dewy sunrise, my friend Christian singing a drunken and slurred version of “Here Comes the Sun”, I mused that if I ever got married, I’d have to invite those Croatian ladies to come and sing for us, all day and all through the night.