The Cinque Terre: Part II
The Wedding (La cerimonia nuziale)
The morning of the wedding was filled with joy and ebullience. Despite our arrival the day earlier, elation triumphed over jetlag and I dragged myself out of a deep, peaceful slumber to join my sister for breakfast at a quaint, local restaurant. Deezy, on the other hand, met my dad to run last minute errands...whatever that means for a destination wedding. The sun had already started to warm the air, and the sea breeze was cool but pleasant. As I traversed down narrow stone steps towards our meeting spot, I breathed in the salt air and felt a slight skip in my walk.
The day was perfect. The village hummed with its typical traffic, and local men were seated in the main square playing chess, sipping espresso, and eating freshly baked pastries. The local pesto vendor was already set up by the arch where a road paved of centuries old brick led the way to shops and eateries. Carts pushed through the narrow pathways en route to the square. It was an extraordinarily ordinary day. Clear blue skies, a raucous and turquois sea, and a village immersed in quotidian life gave no indication of the momentous day.
After breakfast, I returned to the villa to do my mother's hair and make-up (spackle, spackle, spackle), which covered the battle scars from her earlier fall but still revealed her natural, soft beauty. And the mother of the groom was prepared to get her hair curled, but an unfortunate accident - too many watts for the EU plug - resulted in a literal meltdown of the curling iron. I had never witnessed such a dramatic spectacle but the improvised straightened hair was equally flattering. It was now time for me to meet my sister at the Grand Hotel to style her hair and help her get ready. I quickly packed a bag of makeup and hair supplies, grabbed my high heels and dress, and gleefully departed for her room.
My sister's friend had arrived to do her make-up, and the photographer and videographer were present to capture the moment. The room was buzzing with chatter and laughter. The french doors leading to a modest balcony were open and the gentle wind danced through the air. Flashes of light bounced off the walls as candid photos were taken and journalistic style filming captured the bustling scene without disrupting the flow. As I was coiffing my sister's hair, we heard a knock on the door. It was the flowers. Vibrant and flagrant varieties were masterfully put together to create the bride's bouquet with a small version for moi, the maid of honor. There were elegant corsages for my mother, the groom's mother, and my sister's friend (who served as a lector), and boutonnières were ready for the groom, the best man, my father, my sister's friend (who served as a lector), and Deezy. My father arrived shortly thereafter to the room, promptly followed by tears and an exchange of well-wishes for my sister and her marriage.
This destination wedding was elegant but not pretentious and the muted colors and sunny spring day suited the occasion superbly. We set out to trek to the church: a generous walk from the hotel to the stone edifice garnered the attention of onlookers, locals and tourists alike. The breeze began to increase and as we made our way to the church, I could hear the waves batter the gray stone boulders along the shoreline while the boats in the harbor buoyed rhythmically with one another.
On the inside, the church is a small but exquisite. An imposing stone structure with ceilings that rise to the heavens and pews crafted of durable worn wood. The priest, an Italian-American from back home in Massachusetts, was the officiant. A jovial and down-to-earth guy that made me reconsider my shunning of organized religion. (But that's a blog - or not - for another time.) His enthusiasm and playfulness made for a fun and unique wedding ceremony. My sister and her groom radiated with merriment and engaged in an exchange of giggles and glances that made the whole scene light and joyful.
The ceremony was followed by lots of photography, and then we all met at the Grand Hotel for the intimate dinner party. The multi-course meal was indulgent and divine; equal parts delicious and tantalizingly mischievous. The table was surrounded by ocean views which quickly became obscured as darkness fell upon the village. Fear not, for the wine flowed generously, and the partygoers successfully consumed 22 bottles of the finest vino offered by the hotel. If you do the math, that's 22 bottles divided by two newlyweds, one priest, nine guests, a photographer and videographer (14 total). You can imagine that some of those sitting around the table did not partake in the immoderation of finely aged grapes, leaving me and several others guilty of rosy pink cheeks, giggling fits and a wonderful case of the hiccups. And we'll not mention my mother's use of the custodian bathroom as the wine got the better of her and she mistook it for the proper facilities. To give you an idea, the custodian toilet was complete with mops, brooms, and cleaning products, far from the cultured facilities available to guests. The recount of this story and photo taken by the groom's mother (of the custodian bathroom) made for the perfect ending to the perfect evening.
