The writer and Ilse’s (couple seated in the centre) wedding in October 1988, at the Registry of Marriage, Innsbruck, flanked by the writer’s best man, Frenchie (right) and Andre, the bridesmaid (left). — PETER REIFINGER
I was married in Innsbruck, Austria, 37 years ago. My best man was Frenchie, a charismatic dive instructor from the island of Caye Caulker, Belize.
We met at summer school at the University of Innsbruck, where we were learning German. Both of us had Austrian girlfriends at the time – now our wives.
Frenchie was unmistakable: tall, dark, shoulder-length hair, with a magnetic personality and a wacky sense of humour. He spoke English, Spanish and Belizean Creole. He met his wife, Gertraud, when she went diving in Belize. They fell in love, and he followed her to Austria to marry.
Gertraud and my wife Ilse had studied nursing at the same school and later worked at the same hospital. They reconnected by chance at the university, delighted to find their boyfriends were classmates.
From that moment, the four of us became inseparable. We shared many wonderful times together during that summer. Frenchie, always the joker, kept the class in stitches. Once, when asked how people travelled back home, he replied with a straight face, “We swim.” He explained that people on Caye Caulker swam between islands. The class erupted with laughter, and even the teacher couldn’t help but join in.
Outside class, I spent time with Frenchie and Joseph, a Kenyan priest studying German for agriculture. We explored Innsbruck, shared meals, and I even did chalk drawings for spare change – a carefree summer of 1988.
Frenchie and Gertraud married in September 1988 in her hometown. Ilse and I decided to tie the knot in October 1988. Having only been in Austria for 10 months and knowing few people, I asked Frenchie to be my best man. He happily accepted.
The following month, Frenchie and Gertraud returned to Belize. Ilse and I stayed another year before heading back to Malaysia.
We kept in touch over the years, drifting apart until social media reconnected us.
In 2017, we heard Frenchie had suffered a stroke, though details were sparse.
This February, we went on a month-long trip through Mexico and Guatemala, ending in Belize to visit him and his wife.
It was heart-warming to reunite after 37 years. Gertraud now runs a charming hotel where we stayed.
Frenchie shared that the stroke had initially left him unable to speak and sensitive to sound. To recover in peace, he built a secluded home beside a swamp, guarded by his dog, Kaiser – and two crocodiles!
Nothing, not even a stroke, can hold him down. He now lives with discipline: rising at 3am to meditate, do yoga, and weld barbeque grills from discarded oxygen tanks. He runs his home on solar power and is modifying his golf buggy to do the same.
Though older and slower now, Frenchie remains the same spirited soul I once knew.
His son runs the dive shop now and he helps out now and then. Business has been successful, and he has a fleet of diving and chartered fishing boats.
On our last night, he cooked a delicious Creole seafood stew – lobster, crab, fish, vegetables and chillies in coconut milk. I had multiple helpings.
We invited them to visit us in Malaysia, and we wait eagerly.
