When Jeff and I were invited to a Garden Party last month, I didn't really give any thought to what one might wear or bring to a party that sounded so fashionable and glamorous.
It wasn't until yesterday morning when I was getting ready that I started picturing Southern Garden Parties, the kind one might find in Virginia on a well-manicured lawn with prim and neat gardens. I pictured ladies in white hats sipping mint juleps in the shade and men in suits playing crochet.
I thought about what I should wear to this Garden Party. A dress? Skirt? Nice pants? Should I wear heels?
I called my American friend Sarah, who was going with us and who happened to go to secondary school in Virginia, and asked for her thoughts. I figured she'd have some insight into the matter.
"Well, I know what to wear to a garden party in the States, but not in Istanbul. And not in March," she said.
That didn't give me much to go on. But we three trekked out to the suburbs of Istanbul to my host sister's house from when I was an exchange student here and discovered that her idea of a Garden Party was more or less an old-fashioned American barbeque with the men all at the grill: (Notice how hard Jeff is working.)
And the women hanging out drinking all the wine:
Apparently there was no need for us to have worried because the Garden Party was exactly that: a party in a garden. (And why do I keep capitalising "Garden Party"? I have no idea.)
But, of course, I should have known, as my host sister is kinda crazy. And I suppose, so am I. And lest you think she's drinking water here, let me tell you that in her champagne glass is straight-up raki, no water, no ice.
Now that's my kind of Garden Party.
