Last Thursday I spent the evening packing for another return to the Rhône-Alpes region of France. It’s the place where I lived for 11 months as a teenager, and even after a 20 year absence, it’s a spot that continues to hold down one of the four corners of my heart. Au bout de chaque rue, une montagne, and I could look at those mountains forever.

But the compulsion to romantically gaze, however, was not exactly how I felt while throwing things into a suitcase. In all honesty, the sentiment was something more of the opposite. Something that left me keen to stay shuttered up in my flat all weekend with phone placed in Airplane Mode.

That weekend, as chance would have it, offered an entrée, plat, dessertcomprising wedding ceremony, birthday observation and general nostalgie that I wasn’t keen on experiencing. On their own and without context, all of these things are great— but as they say in French, it’s not always évident, and processing certain situations as a mature adult can sometimes be a bit, how you say, challenging. That’s kind of the experience I was going through as I zipped up my suitcase and crawled into bed for an early morning wakeup.

And  of course I did drag my solo and aging ass down to Gatwick. The misty gray I knew of London was soon replaced by the 1000 watt smile of Jean-Philippe waiting patiently for me at Lyon’s Saint-Exupéry airport. As per usual, I gave him the half-bises/half-hug greeting, because we are both hip to each other’s culture and doing a mélange of both is both awkward and oddly fitting. See my previous post on languages to get an idea of what I mean.

Jean-Philippe is pure gold; he’s a person you can bump into after 15 years and pick right up where you both left off. I know this because we found ourselves clamping the same pole in a crowded metro car when neither of us were living anywhere close to Paris. Separately we were both trying to get into the city during an RER strike, and I’ll never forget the look on his face when we recognized each other randomly occupying the same train. Rien n’arrive par hasard. 

That chance meeting was six years ago, so it had been awhile since I had seen him. Not acceptable! So last month, I took a train to meet up with Jean-Philippe and our beloved American sister, Jesseca. She had already arrived in town and the two planned to pick me up at the station in Grenoble.

As we greeted one another, happy reunions suddenly shifted to introductions as JP spun me around and introduced me to someone else. There before me stood a handsome guy with the same degree of good fashion, warmth and beaming smile. “Je te présente Tien,” JP said, “mon copain.” His boyfriend. Ah bon?

Six years earlier when I had bumped into JP, he had mentioned nothing of Tien– even though at that stage they had already been together for about seven years. While I get that one’s private life is indeed private, there is another layer of consideration here that could have explained his reticence to tell me about him. While the world has slowly gotten better, there is still a long ways to go before humans are recognized and respected for who they are. If you’ve ever listened to a certain Dublin celebrity speak on the subject, then you know that self-preservation continues to weigh heavily on the minds of many.

In May of 2013, gay marriage in France was legalized. This factors in here because as we left the train station and snaked through the valley toward home, I was informed that wedding bells would ring for this couple on August the 20th. Before I could voice any sort of eager enthusiasm over the announcement, the boys finished their statement with, “You’re coming, right?”

A set of round trip tickets were purchased shortly thereafter.

Jean-Philippe picked me up on the day before the ceremony as things were quickly moving into gear. Gifts were being delivered, friends were trickling through the house, and an ominous weather forecast had Tien and JP constantly scowling at their smartphones. Despite the gently buzzing stress levels, everyone kept busy as colorful car and wedding hall decorations were laid out and made ready for the morning.

The night before the wedding I was invited to Tien’s parents house for an Asian supper with a backdrop of mountainside and a garden growing everything you’d ever want to eat. Tien’s family is of Vietnamese origin, and while he and JP are just about the Frenchest people you’d ever meet, hearing the mix of Vietnamese and French spoken (with a fair amount of English) was definitely a cool sight to behold. We ate well, and then turned in for the night.

On Saturday morning I woke up and opened the volet to my bedroom, expecting to take in the usual postcard vista. Gazing out, however, we saw nothing but pure whiteout. As I walked downstairs, I was greeted by Tien who was intently staring at his phone (the weather app, of course). “Il pleut!” he lamented. It’s raining!  Yes, it’s raining- but this sort of thing brings good luck, and anyway none of us are gathering in La Buisse for the weather.

The rain didn’t do much to hamper the spirits of JP and Tien. Ever the consummate hosts, they still managed to get the six people staying in their house caffeinated, fed and shuttled down to the town hall while managing to get themselves ready for their big day. For la mairie portion of the event, the grooms would don traditional Vietnamese attire before slipping into tuxedos for the non-religious ceremony.

Parking in the small town of La Buisse was limited, but for one Saturday afternoon in August, dozens of cars managed to squeeze in and get everyone in position for the 13h start time. Armed with an umbrella that I’m not sure I ever returned, I stood with Tien’s lovely cousin Mimi, fresh into town from Australia.

As the crowd gathered strength in the rain, we all waited with eager anticipation for the grooms to arrive. The standing around part was hardly terrible because so many of the attendees were also dressed in breathtaking Vietnamese attire. La Buisse might have had its green and truffle-colored mountains obscured by that layer of stubborn cloud cover, but the luminous shades of cream, fuchsia, turquoise and vermillion more than made up for things.

Before long, Jean-Philippe and Tien made their way into the modest but beautiful town hall. There looked to be at least 100 people standing in the parking lot, and we did our best to squeeze inside and find a patch of precious real estate in the ceremonial hall.

This portion of the wedding only lasted about ten minutes, but what was beautiful about this event was seeing Tien and JP seated at the front and surrounded by supportive parents, siblings, and extended family. The two women at the front bearing tricolor sashes officiated with professionalism and just the right dose of heartfelt commentary: “Today is an important day for you both, not only because it’s a marriage, but because in this country there used to be limits to who could get married. Today, the only limit is yourselves.” Perfectly expressed.

Once Tien and JP got their paperwork in order, we all let up a cheer before filing back outside to welcome France’s newest Monsieur et Monsieur.

As the crowd dispersed, I hopped into a car with Tien and JP’s wonderful neighbors, Francis and Florence, for une petite pause before la cérémonie laïque. It’s funny, because even though I attend a number of weddings by myself (and often don’t know many of the guests), I’m always made to feel included. Francis and Florence, like many others at this wedding, were no exception. Maybe it’s just that I have excellent taste in friends, but the boundless generosity and hospitality that everyone extends always leaves me feeling humbled. Reflecting back to my pre-voyage anxiety of being alone at a wedding, I smiled in remembering that these sentiments are largely unfounded.

I’ve got a zillion photos from the ceremony, and while you, Dear Reader, were likely not in France last weekend, for posterity I am bound to include a few here. They’re for myself, for our girl Jesseca (who couldn’t attend and was sorely missed), but especially they’re for Jean-Philippe and Tien. My only apology is that this blog entry is not in French. So here’s a bit of the non-religious ceremony that followed town hall:

There was so much more than this, and there were so many words uttered under a microphone that had us all grasping for tissues. It’s hard for me to repeat them here without feeling like I’d be cheapening the sentiment. In any case, after the laughter, tears, lighting of candles, and declarations of love were made, we all filed outside to enjoy an apéro as the photographer moved about and got huddles of folks together for pictures.

As I stood outside, I chatted again with JP’s dad, Aimé. We first hit it off when I was an overly-complicated teenager back in 1993. We talked about life, the ceremony, and the finer points of keeping in touch with one another (n’est-ce pas, Jess?). While chatting, an announcement came up for a photo session with JP’s family. Instinctively, I broke off our conversation to allow Aimé to make his way there. He started to walk away, but then suddenly he turned back and beckoned for me to join him: “Mégane, viens avec moi.” Megan, come with me.

My feet felt anchored in the ground as I sensed what he was doing. I was not at this wedding to crash a soon to be treasured family memento, regardless of Aimé’s in-the-moment sentiment. I shook my head and declined, not knowing what to say. But if JP is is anything like his father, I know that when he gets an idea in his head, he sticks to it. Aimé marched back and took me gently (but firmly) by the arm: “You’re coming to take pictures with us. YOU are a part of this family.”

Again, I thought about how single and unattached I had felt while packing for this wedding.  I thought about how for a brief moment I hadn’t wanted to come because I’d only be reminded of this fact. And now here I was being dragged across a pebble walkway alongside a rushing brook because contrary to what my têtue interior monologue had told me, I was far from alone. As I stood with this family (still trying to hide myself off to the side), I tried to maintain my composure.  This country– this region– and most of all these very people– mean more to me than I have ever been able to articulate.

Okay so with all of the heavy emotions off to the side, I drank more than my share of Spritz cocktails while keeping company with another new pal, Laurent. At just about the time when everyone was teetering on not eating enough and drinking more than probably advisable, it was time to head back in for the real party.

The rest of the evening went off as it should have: a blur of music, food and Tien walking around with a box containing more bottles of champagne. It was truly an evening top, and one that had our Australian designated driver (known as the “Sam” en français) driving me, Tien and JP home just before 5h du matin. The next morning came at around 10AM, and after a recharge of coffee we were back to Le Scene of The Crime for brunch and leftover wedding cake. Because who doesn’t love brunch and cake?

The entire weekend was over in the blink of an eye, and before I knew it, I was bidding everyone farewell as I made my way to the airport. Again, the kindness of friends had me well looked after as Laurent, one of the témoins, gave me a lift back to Saint-Exupéry.

It really goes without saying, but the emotions that I had at the end of this trip served as an incredible contrast to what I felt at the outset. There’s nothing more for me to say except to express profound gratitude to Jean-Philippe, Tien-Du, and the dozens of family and friends that made this weekend so special. These two Frenchmen, more than most, know a lot about love, adversity, and remembering what’s important. They taught me a lot about love this weekend, and I can’t wait to watch them spend the rest of their lives together.