Saying 'I Do' in Provence

I like the French. The French like dogs. And cats. And like French children, French pets seem so much more poised than their American counterparts. The cats and dogs of Saignon amble with Gallic insouciance through the narrow streets. "Ah, yes, life is good. Do you have a cigarette?"

On the evening of the wedding, as we gathered on the small terrace of Marcia's building to begin the festivities, Mina appeared as if by invitation, and took her place among the guests.

This was the plan: An hour before sunset, the 30 or so invited guests would gather for champagne, and we would meet the villagers who had contributed so willingly to this event. We would mingle and sip champagne flavored with lavender syrup. It was easy to spot the French. They were the ones wearing cowboy hats. At Marcia's signal, all would merge into a procession that would wind through the steep streets toward the ruins of the castle Le Rocher, where the ceremony would take place just as the sun was setting. Afterward, everyone was invited back to Marcia's apartment for a seven-course meal.

A few of our American friends were there, but for the most part we were among strangers. A compassionate waiter kept my champagne glass filled. I understand very little French, but tried my gracious best to thank the guests for what I believe were their good wishes.

Mina accompanied us as we made our way through the short narrow streets and up the steep, crumbling stairs to Le Rocher. Everyone should be married on Le Rocher. We are believed to be the first couple to do so. It is the most auspicious site in the village, the spot where the ancient castle La Roche looked out over the valley. As the castle fell to ruin, villagers took the stones to build the houses of Saignon for themselves. A few segments of wall remain, along with steep stone steps that demand a sure foot and steady nerve. I climbed them in Anne Klein heels.

We stood at the top of the promontory with the valley laid out before us, made golden by the setting sun. Swallows soared and dived in a dizzy ballet, and the wind lifted up the scent of lavender like a present from the fields below.

Mina sat washing her paws while the mayor, with dignified solemnity, recited the laws of marriage, and Gary, the priest-turned-psychologist imported by Marcia from Houston to officiate, read an Apache blessing.

Gary's carefully scripted program was tossed almost immediately when his unsteady French drew puzzled but sympathetic reactions from the villagers. The English/French speakers in the crowd offered a chorus of translation that got everyone involved and laughing. The Gypsy accordionist struck up "Hello, Dolly!" and demanded that the wedding couple dance. We tangoed in the twilight, then made our way through rose petals and accordion music back to Marcia's apartment for the wedding dinner.

The dinner came off with near-military precision, thanks in large part to Gale and Peg. They are friends of Gary who live in Seattle and simply thought it would be swell to make their first trip to the South of France to help prepare a meal for two people they had never met.

Brigitte, the shy, seductive wife of Jean-Claude, who is the unofficial historian and raconteur of the village, brought roses from her garden for the tables. More roses came with Michele Moser, the French wife of a German diplomat.

It was Michele who had instructed me earlier in the day that it was important I not prevent my new husband from flirting. This, she counseled, was the French way. The French never divorce, she said. "We have many affairs." This instruction was delivered in her tiny car at heart-stopping speed while she whizzed us up a stroke-steep mountain road pointing out landmarks and telling her husband by cell phone that he must order rabbit for lunch. I want to be this woman.

Also in attendance were the baron and baroness, Monsieur and Madame Journu, he in his eighties, she in her sixties, recently retired from Paris to their house in Saignon. He came to the wedding attired in a forest green Alpine-style jacket. The soft-spoken baroness chatted quietly with Mina.