Since I'm not Catholic, the rector of the parish where we're having the wedding has to ask the curia in Kraków for permission to perform a mixed marriage. He felt it would be better to have the civil wedding done first before he took the documents to the curia and began all that. Hence the festivities of 15 May.

Arranging a civil wedding is in itself an adventure. Polish law requires some sort of document that confirms you're not married before the civil wedding can take place. The States, of course, don't issue such a document, which is why we can get married in Las Vegas in the blink of an eye. What to do? Well, I had to petition the Regional Court to let me get married without that document.

Thus began the problems.

I went in mid-December (!!!) to begin the procedure. And considering the nonsense we went through to get all this done, a bulleted list is called for:

• The secretary of the court tells me I simply have submit an official, written request. "That's all?" "That's all," she smiles. What she failed to tell me was that said request is only an official request to start the whole beauracratic machinery in motion.

  I take the document to the court in mid-December.

• I quickly got a letter back with a bulleted list of required documents. Among other things required was a copy of my birth certificate. Nothing was said about it being translated, so I didn't get it translated. (The process for my residence card required the same thing two years ago, and no translation was needed. I reasoned it was the same here.)

  I take these documents there in early January.

• Two weeks later, I get another letter informing me that I needed to have my birth cerficate translated.

  By the time we got that done, another week passes.

• I take the translation back and ask if there is anything else they need. "No, that's all," says the secretary, then adds, seemingly on second thought, "But the judge handling the case is here now. I'll go ask her to be sure." She comes back a short while later and says, "No, that's all." I turn to leave. I have my hand on the doorknob — no exaggeration — when someone begins calling from the back office. The secretary asks me to wait, hurries back, then returns to tell me that yet another document is needed.

  It's now mid-January.

• Sometime in mid-February, we get the notice that documents have come from Warsaw that need to be translated. It turns out that these are copies of the marriage law for Massachusetts, my last state of residence, but my first reaction is "These idiots communicate by English, then require translation?" The enclosed letter informs me that I have to go to the court to pay 300 złoty for the translation costs. I go and pay, thinking, "Okay, almost over." How naive.

  Time passes.

  Eventually we call Kinga's uncle, who works in the court, and ask him to see why we haven't heard anything. He does, and informs us the next day that the court's secretary told him, "We sent him a letter about translation costs, and that's the last thing we know."

  "WHAT?!" I think. "I paid them!" I rant for a while. "I have the receipt!"

  So the next day, I head back to the court and ask the woman what's going on.

  "I paid," I conclude my explanation, showing her the receipt. "Here's the proof."

  "Yes sir, but we don't have proof," comes the unbelievable answer. I look at the slip of paper in my hand.

  "Then what's this, I ask?"

  "That's your proof, sir. We still don't have the proof you paid." She tells me I'd have to go to the cashier's office (the next door down) to get more information.

  I go to said cashier and ask what was going on. I show her my receipt and ask her why they hadn't sent the appropriate "proof" to the office next door, where it is clearly needed. "Oh, that's now how it works, sir," she explains. "We send it to the bank, and then the bank sends them the documentation."

  So I go back to the office and ask what they suggest. "Well, I don't know," says the lady, and begins reading a newspaper.

  (Anyone who has seen the Polish movie Miś will recall the greatest line in the movie at this point: "Przecież, jem." The line, "But I'm eating," comes from the apathetic lips of a shop attendant, with her bowl of soup on the counter, when a customer comes in and asks for help. Some things never change.)

  The next day, by some miracle, we find out that the papers have been sent for translation. A small present taken by my mother-in-law-to-be seemed to help, as did, more probably, the uncle's talk with the judge when we told him all that had transpired.

  Finally, we get the translation done, but not before taking a bottle of brandy to the translator to encourage him to do it as soon as he gets it.

• A few days later, we get the notification: the court date is set for late March.

  Throughout all this, the date of the church wedding (26 June) loomed in the future. The priest told us he needed at least three months to do everything. "We might just make it!" we all think.

• The big day. I stand in front of the judge while she asks me questions, then takes my answers and turns them into proper Polish dictated to a typist. "Maybe we will get all the documentation today," we thought, waiting in the corridor after the fifteen minute interview. We were quickly called back into the room, where the judge informed us that our petition had been granted and we could pick up a copy of the decision after waiting three weeks.

  On the way back home, we decide that it's just not worth the risk and go ahead and postpone the wedding.

• Early-mid April. I go to Nowy Targ to get a copy of the decision. Shortly after that, we go to the local civil authority to arrange the wedding. We have to wait, according to the law, a month and a day. We can, however, submit another petition to have the required waiting period shortened, up to two weeks.
• Finally, we get everything done and have the civil wedding.

All told, from the time I first went to the court until the actual wedding, five months pass.

So now that that's all done, we have to start the process with the church.

(To be fair, the regional court was just slow and ineffecient. And they did keep their word. For example, when I protested pazing 300 złoty for the translation, the secretary said, "Well, if it turns out not to cost that much, we'll give you back the difference." "Sure," I thought, "If I hound you about it enough." But sure enough, six weeks after the court hearing (in other words, some two months after I paid), I got the money back.)