"Your wedding was a real American wedding — like in the movies!" my friend exclaimed.

I always wondered what she meant by that. Are weddings in Germany so different? Rather than go down the aisle to the altar, do the bride and groom stomp atop long, stein-covered wooden tables toward a polka stage? Do they exchange vows and pretzel rings? Recite Nietzsche? Gather around as the new husband and wife cut into a four-tiered bratwurst?

When my friend invited me to her wedding on the tiny German island of Sylt, where she was raised, I was excited to not only experience her march toward matrimony but also see the island I had heard so much about. And neither wedding nor island disappointed. Greeted by nude bathers and wedding party members in traditional lederhosen and welcomed to a week of large barbecues on the beach with crabs nipping at our toes, we found everything about our island vacation to be a pleasure. But the true moments of joy were found in places most unexpected.

—Curtains. You beautiful flaps of fabric, you. On the island, I learned that curtains are much more than just ugly swatches Sister Maria sews into play outfits for the von Trapp kids. We were staying as guests in my friend's parents' bed-and-breakfast. After the previous week of squeezing my family into tiny hostels without window coverings, accosted nightly by the midnight sun, finally getting my family adjusted to the time difference and enjoying some shut-eye was pure bliss. How do you solve a problem like Maria? If she had cut down the curtains in my guestroom, with a shiv. I'm sure any jury would let me off for temporary insanity caused by sleep deprivation.

—Vehicle procession. After the wedding ceremony, honored guests piled into a vintage bus and made the half-hour trek from church to wedding reception location. We were followed by a steady stream of cars adorned in wedding flags. The vehicles honked their horns as villagers came to the side of the streets and waved. I've never seen such a procession; the only thing that comes close is a funeral drive. And those have far fewer cheering pedestrians. At least, I hope they do.

—Baby sitters. Apologies to the folks who attended my wedding. Small children were not invited. If you had a small child, finding accommodation for said child was completely on you. But not at my friend's wedding. Off to the side of her beautiful beach reception location, all seven attending children, ranging from 18 months to 4 years old, attended camp. Counselors — armed with bubble machines, a bottomless ice-cream cart and a treasure-trove of games — tended to our children. The kids ate dinner in the room next door and fell asleep on mattresses, while the parents danced until 4 a.m.

—Language barrier. My friend's wedding guests were so kind, shifting to English the moment we walked by, thus making conversation possible for us and more cumbersome for them. But my son, the only English-speaking child, didn't have that luxury. It was magical watching him relating to the other kids on a nonverbal, physical level. My son made new "best friends" as they jumped and ran and hugged and played. Travel provides such beautiful reminders of how we can connect despite our differences.

Not that those differences were so great — at least not at the wedding. My friend had a church ceremony, followed by cocktail hour, toasts, food, speeches, food, dancing, food, games and more food. Yes, it was a pregnant lady's dream. And though they didn't cut into a four-tiered bratwurst, they did have a bratwurst buffet after we passed the midnight hour. The only big difference — and this is pretty huge — came in the form of music.

A month prior to the wedding, my friend told me to request a song for the band to play. There was only one option, the song I walked down the aisle to, Bon Jovi's "Livin' on a Prayer." The band began to play it, and the dance floor came to a sudden and awkward halt, while I remained the only person busting a move, big belly bouncing to the beat. When the song ended, the lead singer asked into the microphone, "Who requested this song?" The crowd yelled out, "The American!"

Ah, so that's what she meant by a real American wedding.

Like Katiedid Langrock on Facebook, at http://www.facebook.com/katiedidhumor. Check out her column at http://didionsbible.com. To find out more about Katiedid Langrock and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.