The bride in the garden is a vision in white, her snowy dress contrasting sharply with the brilliant purple of the irises around her.
"Beautiful!" sighs the gaggle of Japanese women around me, with that classic, high-pitched exhalation of breath and wistful looks in their starry eyes. The bride herself smiles little, her face serene as she retains the haughtiest of composures. Her steps are measured and the procession is slow; following behind her, both clad in black, her husband-to-be and mother are equally solemn.
At the edge of the garden, a boat bobs gently on the tranquil Mae River, waiting to ferry the new couple to their wedding reception. As the bride settles herself on the scarlet-draped stool in the bow of the craft, a congratulatory shout erupts from somewhere in the crowd and the bride cracks her first smile of the day. Slowly, a wave of applause ripples down the riverbank, swelling into a crescendo as the boat casts off from the dock and glides smoothly down the waterway.