Volare

Tuesday, September 30^th, 2025

Bill Bonner, en route back to Ireland

Volare, oh oh

E cantare, oh oh oh oh

--Dominco Modugno

No time for serious thinking about the gold standard or the end of the empire (you can thank us later!) Instead, we’ll just tell you about something you’ve been wondering about for years — French weddings.

Our friends are all getting older. Their children and grandchildren are getting married. And la mode in France is to have a large wedding. So, this summer, we attended five of them, in different parts of the country.

We present this memoir as an ethnographic study and travel advisory. If you are invited to a French wedding be aware that it will be a long affair. It will start as early as two in the afternoon and continue until two in the morning...and later. It is a test of stamina. But it is a good way to get to know France and its people.

“We explore France by marriage,” we explained to other wedding guests.

We also visit hotels and restaurants all over the country. Elizabeth aims for hotels with historic provenance. One wedding, for instance, took place in the town of Vernon, north of Paris. There, someone had constructed a mansion in the style, supposedly, of George Washington’s home: Mount Vernon. The doorman explained:

“He was a great admirer of the American experiment with self-government. So, he wanted to replicate Washington’s home here in France.”

While the American experiment runs its course, the ‘Mount Vernon’ of Vernon, France, was less successful. We saw no resemblance to the graceful place in Virginia of that name. Here was a stone house, large, but it had none of the charm of Mount Vernon. Instead, the owners packed in as much modern art and Indian (as in, the country) bric-a-brac as they could. The restaurant blared music from the 1980s. The entryway was dark. Dogs ran through the halls.

There are always surprises. Most of them are unpleasant.

A French wedding begins with a mass in a local church, typically in the village where the bride’s family has its roots. The churches are usually old and interesting, accommodating a crowd of hundreds.

The mass follows the usual program. An old organ thunders. The assembly rejoices. Sometimes, however, the bride’s family will play a larger role. One family, for example, was especially musical. The bride’s mother, an exceptionally attractive woman, sang an enchanting version of Ave Maria by a Central American composer.

The mass completed, the crowd goes outside and awaits the bride and groom. They appear at the door, wave to their friends, and the crowd gives out a grand hoorah. As in the US, the bride and groom embrace aged relatives, salute friends and make their way to an antique car in which they drive off.

The wedding attendees follow, aiming for what is often a chateau that has been in the bride’s family for generations. With no suitable location in the bride’s family, perhaps something from the groom’s family will be used. Failing that, an ‘event space’ will be rented.

In good weather, everyone enjoys a cocktail and conversation outside, for a couple of hours. Then, around 7pm, begin the speeches. It’s the bride’s big day. In American weddings, the father of the bride takes the microphone near the end of the dinner. Your editor has married five children, two of them, daughters. He gradually became more confident of his discourses...ranging so far afield, into philosophy, history and monetary policy, that his wife had to unplug the microphone.

The weddings in France that we’ve seen leave the parents a smaller role, bit players, not stars. Here, the bride’s father and mother open the program by welcoming the crowd. They tell everyone what a great gal their daughter is...how they will miss her at home...but how happy they are with the groom...and how glad they are to welcome him and his family into their own.

These speeches tend to be light-hearted...and reasonably quick. An exception — the same woman who sang Ave Maria in the mass, an Argentine, gave a rather long, and emotional, talk about how delightful her daughter had been as a child and how she would be missed by her parents.

Once these preliminary remarks are completed, the whole assembly makes its way to the dining hall. Seating charts have been placed outside, so people gather ‘round trying to find their assigned seats. In South America, couples are always seated together. In France, they never are. They are often not even at the same table. Instead, each is placed between two people of the opposite sex, selected by the bride’s mother, intended to stir up a lively conversation. Often, the bride will think it wise to put us with other English speakers. It hardly matters, because the noise level is so high, we have trouble following the conversation no matter what language is used.

When everyone seems to have found his place, the music comes on — loud. This is a signal for you to pick up your napkin and begin whirling it over your head. The song is usually a disco favorite from the ‘70s...or, on one occasion, Dean Martin singing ‘Volare.’ The bride and groom enter...holding hands aloft to the cheers of the crowd...and they make their way around the tables to the applause and cheer of the noisemakers. Many people — including those old enough to know better — stand on their chairs to get a better view as well as a fuller sweep for their helicopter-blade napkins. Some swing them around so violently it looks as though they might soon lift off.

Once seated, you will stay put for two or three hours. So, your enjoyment of the evening depends heavily on the people you are seated with. Generally, French women are good conversationalists, so the time passes quickly and pleasantly. But sometimes, it can be a challenge to find common ground or even hear what they have to say. You open up with: How many children do you have? Where do you live? Your husband works in Paris? When these obvious conversation starters are exhausted, you have to use your imagination. ‘How many times do you and your husband have sex?’ or ‘Were you always this fat?’ for example, are bound to draw a lively response.

After the main course and opening conversations have been digested, the DJ cranks up the volume for another round of Volare. This is a signal that speeches by the groomsmen and bridesmaids will begin.

It is here where the pistons customarily begin to misfire. First, because the speaker system is rarely very good. It is often difficult to hear what is being said. And second, because what is being said is of much less interest to the listener than to the speaker. These are the young couple’s friends and family members, trying to outdo each other with scandalous anecdotes and embarrassing recollections, meaningful only to those close enough to have some personal knowledge of the referenced events...and close enough to the speakers to understand what they are saying.

Often, the sound quality is so poor that guests at the periphery simply give up and resume their regular conversations. This, of course, adds to the background noise and makes it even more difficult for those still trying to follow the headline event.

These speeches go on for quite a while, simply because there are so many people with something to say. (We are always impressed by how many friends and relatives these young people have...and how much energy they must put into keeping up with one another.)

When the speakers finally run dry, and the dessert has been eaten, another rousing chorus of Volare tells us that it is time for the final stage of the party to begin. People get up...mingle with people from other tables...go outside to smoke a cigarette...or gather for coffee. This gives the wedding party time to come together on the dance floor. The back-straightening sounds of Johann Strauss cue the bride to waltz with her father. The mother of the groom waltzes with her son. If not rehearsed, this can be an awkward part of the program. The waltz takes a little practice; otherwise, it can be clumsy and awkward.

After a few minutes of admiring the principal actors, other couples take to the dance floor and pretty soon a large group is gliding and swooping to the Blue Danube...soon followed by contemporary boom-boom disco-esque music and French rock dancing.

It was after midnight at one of these occasions that your editor stepped outside to get a breath of fresh air. There, he was introduced to a young woman, with whom he had some professional, but uncertain, connection.

“Yes, I worked for a while with a financial analyst in Switzerland,” she explained.

“Oh...I had a partner in Switzerland. Very nice place. Where were you?”

The conversation deepened.

“I studied economics in college. But this was something new to me. The analyst there followed some American named Bill Bonner. He thought this guy was great...not sure why.

“I mean... he was always recommending gold. I didn’t think much of that. Anyone can buy gold. But why would you buy gold when you could own a super-profitable company like Nvidia? Warren Buffett is right; gold is a waste of time.

“He also had some theory about how the world economy had been ruined when the US went off the gold standard. According to him, it changed everything...I mean, he seemed to think everything depended on the gold standard, as if there was some kind of magic to it.

“But you’re an American. Have you heard of Bill Bonner?”

“Oh...yes.”

“Do you know him?”

“Well, let’s say, we are close.”

E cantare, oh, oh, oh oh...

Stay tuned.

Regards,

Bill Bonner