A WEDDING : BRIDESMAIDING UNDER THE ITALIAN SUN

It was a bright  autumn day in 2013 when we sat on the grass across the street from the Irish embassy in Buenos Aires. The paperwork was done, now we just had to wait for the visas to be printed out. Ireland was no longer a tentative plan, in a matter of weeks we would be packing up and flying out, so Vicky finally (if rather timidly)  aired her concern. 

- Well girls, I’ll at least get there, I mean, I’m definitely entering the country...

She’d been having second thoughts about the whole thing, and now felt a bit apprehensive, as a year away from home seemed too long. 

It all ran smoothly during our first year in Dublin. We not only found jobs we liked, rented a flat in a nice area and made a good few friends, but we also went on our first few European adventures and laughed a hell of a lot. Still then, Vicky periodically looked for flights back home making it unclear how much longer we’d had her around for. From day one we knew it could be a couple of months, maybe three or four if we were lucky. Surprisingly though, ten months into our year visa Vicky was still there. However, we had bought return tickets and, after ten months, the days of her Irish adventure were decidedly coming to an end. She was so excited to be going back home that she got souvenirs and started an official Facebook countdown.

But Vicky never left Ireland. In fact, three and a half years later, I was flying back from Australia to attend her wedding in sunny Italy. 

It was a hot and clammy afternoon of late August in 2017 when I arrived in Positano a day before the ceremony. Despite the fact that Vicky was still living in Ireland and was now marrying an Irishman, this charming town on the Amalfi Coast promised what Ireland could’ve never brought herself to commit to: consistently good weather for the whole of the wedding weekend.

It was my first time here and it soon became clear Vicky had chosen a perfect location for tying the knot. This beachside town of mellow colours is perched on the face of a mountain in the Napolitan gulf. Its steep meandering streets lead up to alleyways, balconies, arts and crafts shops and cafes, aperitivos with a view, romantic sunsets,  and a lovely church with a duomo that overlooks a calm sea dotted with boats lazily trailing the water way below. The sight seeps right through your senses making the lines in your forehead unfurl. All you want to be here is present, the worries of the (your) world don’t seem to follow you beyond the pebbled beach at Positano's feet, where the ferry docks.

In the afternoon of the 25th of August, hot as it was, I found myself languidly bimbling around town, feeling almost as if it was all a self-indulgent dream in which I had flown from Australia to be here; a walking reverie tasting of lemon sorbet and sparkling wine. Vaguely thinking of the bright yellow dress I’d be wearing the following day and of the crumpled piece of paper with the unfinished speech I was carrying in my bag, I sat down in a radom cafe and ordered a spritz on a whim. The slight bitterness of the drink was refreshing, but the balmy summer evening tasted sweet in my mouth as I realised that I was living someone else’s happiness (a friend’s, a sister’s) with the intensity I live  my own. 

The bride exploting Positano on the days before the wedding.

The day of the wedding was a fine, hot summer’s day and it found Vicky, her mum, Wan, Dolly and I in a pale pink air conditioned hotel room doing girly stuff I’d never done in the morning before (which was basically drinking sparkling wine and doing our hair and make-up).

Popping the cork. Someone was hoping it wouldn't end up in her eye.

                             

Not too convinced about Dolly's make-up suggestions.

She did everyone's make-up in the end. And my hair, 
after she saw how I was styling it myself ('Oh Vicky please, no...').

                            

Ready for church: the bride with her bridesmaids in befitting lemony dresses.

We then made our way towards the church weaving up and down the narrow streets under the kind of glistening sunlight Dublin could only dream of. The wandering tourists stared a little as we walked past. The priest had been clear about the rules of decorum for entering the house of God, so in spite of the blistering heat, we all obediently covered ourselves up to go in. When the ceremony was over all the wedding guests trudged uphill in search of a much needed refreshment in to the terrace of the Marincanto, which hung higher up on the hill.

After the ceremony at chiesa Santa María Assunta.

The Marincanto was a hotel and its terrace made for the perfect wedding venue. There was a polaroid camera being passed around, a wedding guest book and lots of sparkling wine lined up on a table on one the side, under a lemon tree. I helped myself to a few of those glasses while we mingled because, even though the bride no longer remembered at that stage, months before she had asked me to give a speech and I was feeling a tad nervous about it (for a person who studied language and communication I am not a good public speaker).

The groom looking sharp.

The bubbles helped and by the time it was my turn, after the fathers of the bride and groom, I had loosened up a bit. Still, when I  stood between Vicky and her husband Ray with my back to a dreamy cliffside view, facing an expectant public of Irish and Argentinian guests, I sobered up, put on that awkward smile I can’t help when I have to speak for an audience of any kind, and clumsily stumbled over my first few words.

Speech time.

What came out was more or less this:

[...] I’ve known Vicky for eleven years and I never thought I’d stand in front of you on her wedding day to do this: she’s been trying to get me to stop pestering her with my English for as long as I can remember… Ever since we met, whenever I started in English she’d go: en español, Vicky! But she’s a patient soul and here I am.

So anyway, I’d like to tell you about how we all came to be here today.

It started with an ache for travel. When we first moved to Ireland, Vicky, Wan and I didn’t really think of travelling as the adventure it was bound to be. Travelling is a way of challenging ourselves, of challenging who we are, definitely an act of bravery.  For this act of bravery life always rewards us some way or another. But it does not always become apparent, and it was definitely not apparent to Vicky when we first arrived in Ireland. I mean, she enjoyed herself, but  we truly never imagined that she would make it past the first couple of months in Dublin. She was just not convinced at all that she should stay.

If we had known what was in store for her, we wouldn’t have expected her to go home every time she checked for flights -and this happened literally every month on that first year-. 

On our first few weeks she thought it’d be sensible to just see a bit of Europe and then head home; after that, when she found a job, she thought it’d be reasonable to stay through the summer before going back; this was followed by ‘I definitely want to be home for Christmas’ (and here I really thought she meant it). Then, when she had almost lasted the year, she finally decided it was time. We had booked a round trip so she already had a flight back home. She started a Facebook countdown, got souvenirs for friends and family, quit her job and even had a farewell party at work. Tears were shed, of course, they loved her there. But then they had to take them back -the tears AND Vicky, because some three weeks before the flight she let it drop: 

 ‘Vicky, I’m not sure I want to go…’

Vicky always felt homesick, she missed her family, her friends, her dog, her place…  she missed them sorely. She just didn't feel complete being away from Argentina, we all knew that - how could we not, she reminded us often. But in the last minute something made her stay, maybe she had started to suspect it’s the brave who get the best out of life. What Vicky did not suspect by the time she missed her flight back home in March 2014, was that she’d find a reason to stay in Ireland for good before the year was out… These two met in November that year. 

knowing Vicky, that she decided to make Ireland her home after all has been, I believe, her biggest act of love since she left Argentina. These days I look at her and I see her eyes gleam, she looks radiant, happy, more beautiful than ever and I suspect this is Ray’s biggest act of love.

Out of the three of us, Vicky was the most reluctant to go on a journey that would keep her away from home for too long, but she challenged herself. She was brave like that and because of it she came a long way, love has brought her this far. This has been her reward, and I can’t think of a better adventure for her.

Argentina will always be home but, essentially, home is where our heart is full, and Ray has become Vicky’s home.

So here’s to Vicky’s journey because it brought her to Ray, to Ray for being a star and making Vicky shine bright and to their journey together from now on, may it be filled with more amazing adventures, lots of love, joy and laughter, all the way.

I then raised my glass and drank some more.

The speech couldn't have been that bad, she got emotional...

After the fomalities, we ate and we drank some more, of course. The food was deliciously Italian, the wine flowed freely and the live band was the icing on the cake, playing the sort of tunes that matched perfectly with the soft and silvery colours of the summer sunset over the sea in the background, and the stuffed wedding guests mellowed out by the wine, but still in the mood to dance. It was amusing to see the Irish drinking happily and dancing awkwardly and the Argentinians abandoning half full glasses on the tables to take over the dance floor. It was a day to remember.

The newly weds and the band.

A few hours into the party.

. 

Wedding shenanigans.

Next thing I knew it was the afternoon of the day after the wedding and I had already hopped on a ferry and a bus and was now on a train that was taking me  from Naples to Rome, where I’d receive my 30th birthday. I spent the last ride of my 20s replaying the previous day in my mind, feeling it had all happened in the blink of an eye, like much anticipated events often do. As the train sped off Naples Central Station and I sat facing Mu and Dolly, whom I had met in Dublin during my time there, it occured to me that it’d have been ridiculous for me not to have met them, for Vicky not to have met Ray. As I looked out of the window to the passing blur, my mind chasing after idle thoughts about life choices, simple acts of bravery and life rewards, Dolly turned to me and brought me back to the reality of the train.

- Vicky, we should have a tequila night on your birthday!