I went to another wedding tonight. This one was in someone's flat, and while the living room was admittedly very large (more than half the size of my apartment last year) it was still crowded with guests. A space near the door had been left clear for dancing, but we arrived during a lull in the music, so there was the obligatory drop in volume as everyone turned to stare at the white people. Our friends (who are definitely not white) quickly began introducing us and finding us seats, however, and the mild roar of the guests' chatter resumed. The music started again a few minutes later-- mostly recordings of various local songs, plus a pseudo-techno/rasta version of "Tequila" in Arabic (if you can imagine) that I hope never to hear again.

About an hour after we arrived the live music began. The inevitable drums appeared, and someone else wheeled out a small keyboard. The singer began warming up with a series of peculiar ululations. Another man, wearing a tweed sports jacket and furry leopard print slippers, conjured up an accordion from some back room. I hadn't seen an accordion since I said goodbye to my dear Forrest back at the end of June, so I watched him eagerly as he wheezed through a few tentative notes. Gradually he picked up the volume and the tempo, and the other musicians followed. This was music worth dancing to. The guests responded appropriately, embellishing the music with clapping, shouts, and those strange jackal cries. To be fair to those who have in the past made so many derogatory remarks about the sound of an accordion (and you know who you are), as the music picked up it was occasionally difficult to tell what was accordion and what was feedback from the questionably rigged sound system. But we danced on anyhow.

In unrelated news, I found out yesterday that my friend Steve got into dental school. Quite an exciting thing-- as we say here, "a thousand blessings".