Vin d’Honneur

This traditional diplomatic term (literally, wine of honor) is held for a country’s national day.  Ours is the June 12 Independence Day observance.  The US has its Fourth of July, Japan the birthday of its emperor, and the UAE its birth date as a federated nation of emirates.

Vins d’honneur are formal receptions of foreign service posts of countries with diplomatic representatives.  Preparing to attend these functions as an adjunct usually takes me more than an hour.  It includes checking all electrical outlets and switches before leaving the house and providing fresh water and food for the cats.

The formal attire, usually a floor-length national dress for women (though one can sometimes opt for power suits), I get to prepare a day before but think about days ahead, without prejudice to changing my mind about what to wear at the last minute.

Always remember the sartorial rule of thumb, the husband had said years ago, sounding like Pygmalion to my Galatea.  It is better to be overdressed than underdressed.  The image that statement had on me was that one couldn’t be incongruous in a flowing gown in the midst of a denim-clad crowd, but that’s putting things to the extreme.

Anyhow, I spare myself the fuss of having my hair combed or my face done by experts.  I not only save the expense for such pampering, I also save time because I can do these things faster by my lonesome.  Besides, hey, as long as I’m comfortable, it’s good enough.  The truth is every other female in a party crowd is conscious of how she looks; no one would really care about how I look.  In short, I refuse to be conscious.

So there I was at the diplomatic reception line during the 110th Philippine Independence Day Vin d’Honneur of the Philippine Consulate General in a Dubai hotel function room.  And there I got to meet up front and exchange a few words with representatives of other countries who came in, quite unlike attending receptions of other countries when I’m one of those who pass through the reception line.

‘So-and-so from…; this is my wife…’ is the usual introduction of incoming guests.  My usual line, following the husband’s, is to say ‘Good evening and welcome’ or ‘Thank you for coming.’ I have this private basis for identifying out guests.   There are those who just smile and extend their hand without saying anything.  (They may not speak English.)  There are those who bow, so the best response is to bow back.

Those who greet with a ‘Good evening’ must have an American English orientation.  Those who say ‘How are you?’ must have the British English orientation.  In this Arab part of the world, I didn’t hear any Arab-garbed guest utter ‘Salaam Aleikum,’ probably in deference to the hosts that they must know represent a country that’s more Christian than not.  But I would have been glad to hear it because it isn’t different from the Christian ‘May God’s peace be with you.’

Be sensitive to the cultural nuances of guests, the husband whispered. Someone in a suit came, shook the husband’s hand, and put his right hand on his chest when he greeted me with a low voice that I couldn’t make out.  Instinctively, I didn’t extend my hand and nodded and smiled in greeting instead. The guest was an Iranian diplomat, and Iranians don’t shake hands with women.

A young man came in alone, in formal Arab garb with a flowing dark cape. He smiled in greeting without saying a word, looked straight in the eye, not condescendingly but friendly but with a marked element of distance. He’s a Kuwaiti prince, the husband whispered.

Actually I don’t really know if he’s a prince, the husband told me the next day, smiling. I just believe he is because of his regal bearing.  Credit cultured upbringing then, I said. That made him princelike. It was back to my more real life the next day. Balls are for Cinderellas and fairies are for tales. My inventive everyday life at home is still what I cherish.

(15 June 2008)