While walking the stone path towards the central area of the homestay, we can already see Harry and his friends hanging around. They’re carelessly laughing, chatting and drinking their beloved ricewine, even though it’s just past noon. Harry owns this homestay, but his friends Tarzan and José help out and keep him company. We greet them, all looking like an interesting mix between surferdudes and reggaeguys. Harry immediately picks up on our curiosity. ‘It’s a traditional village wedding,’ he says. ‘If you like, you can come too.’
Harry doesn’t have to say more. We rush back to our hut, trying to make ourselves look decent and wedding-worthy. We don’t have much choice, because most of our clothes are hanging on an improvised clothing line, drying in the sun. But the air is humid today, so it will probably take a while longer. Besides, what backpacker brings clothing suitable for a wedding?
Some time later, we follow along the village road, still unsure whether we will fit in. Besides a few streetdogs scouring the street in search of left over food, it’s deserted here. But then we hear it again. Dum, dum, dum. The throbbing sound gets louder, and as we come closer, we can also hear people mumbling excitedly.