"Reppin' the set."

The Asian Honeymoon: Part II

We had wanted to stay a few days in Siem Reap; not to spend another day at Angkor, obviously, but perhaps visit the floating villages of Tonle Sap or take a class in soapstone carving. However, as the next leg of our trip was in Mondulkiri, across the country, and the hotel reception wincingly told us that it was not possible to reach Sen Monorem in one day (after having to show her on a map where it was), we had to cut short our time in Siem Reap. In the end, we decided to take a bus to Kampong Cham, stay a night there, and then continue to Sen Monorem the next day.

On the way to Kampong Cham, we saw that the hotel receptionist had been right. Maps can be so deceiving, can't they? What was supposed to be the main highway between Siem Reap and Phnom Penh had been reduced to a dirt track, and even though the bus driver drove like a madman, overtaking dump trucks and minivans, it still took about 6 hours to get to Kampong Cham. By the time we had arrived, all of the ticket agents were closed, except one. The woman working there saw the two foreigners staring at the sign in front of her store and leapt out of her hammock: “Bus! Bus! Phnom Penh! Siem Reap!”

“No, Sen Monorem,” we said.

“OK, tomorrow morning you here 7.30. Ten dollars, ten dollars!” We paid her, probably unwisely, and then set out to look for a hotel.

Kampong Cham is a small, dusty, ugly city on the Western bank of the muddy Mekong river. All of its hotels are located on the riverfront or within a block of it, and we checked into the nicest hotel in town – the room was gigantic, had air conditioning, hot water, and satellite TV, and only set us back about $20. Indeed, we spent more money on food in the night we were in Kampong Cham than we did for the hotel.

The next day we were at the ticket office bright and early. We waited for half an hour, but no bus arrived. After about 40 minutes, the woman from the day before saw us and began gesticulating toward the road: “Sen Monorem!” We turned the corner and saw, to our chagrin, a minibus. Great.

Minibuses are a popular form of transport in Cambodia, mainly because they are inexpensive. However, this also means that the driver will squeeze enough people and stuff in the minibus as humanly possible. So twenty minutes later there we were, in a 12-person van stuffed with 24 people, a scooter, and enormous sacks of god-knows-what on our way to Sen Monorem.

What should have been a four hour trip took over six hours, mainly because the driver kept stopping to pick up and drop off people and various bits of cargo – sacks of fruit, automobile parts, cookware – in every village along the way. Cambodians also eat a lot (they prefer to snack throughout the day), so there were also frequent stops for cigarette breaks and for passengers to by rice and eggs to snack on.

The worst part of the journey, however, was when we stopped, about halfway, at a durian farm. 

Let me make an aside here about the durian. The durian itself is a green fruit about the size and shape of a rugby ball and is covered with a spiky skin. Although it is adored by Southeast Asian people, it is strictly forbidden to bring into hotels, public transport, and especially airplanes. This is due to the rancid stench it emits, which is something akin to moldy gym socks and festering sewage mixed together. For the unaccustomed, the stench in unbearable; at one point in a market in Bangkok I was so overwhelmed by the odor that I nearly vomited. The odor is one that remains on clothing and surfaces, so that is why it is banned in most places (indeed, the information booklet at the hotel in Kampong Cham proclaimed, “Fruits emitting a strong odor are not permitted. Especially, the durian is strictly prohibited.”) This is the reason we were not happy to see the driver stop at a durian farm (apparently at that point we were in durian country) and everyone pile out to purchase a hefty sack of durians. To put it mildly, our journey to Sen Monorem was absolutely charming. 

Durians (left) and other fruit

Located in the mountainous region of Mondulkiri, Sen Monorem was much cooler than Siem Reap and Kampong Cham. Indeed it was in the middle of nowhere, but we had been looking forward to coming here for a while because of the elephants. Our research in months prior had revealed that Sen Monorem was home to several elephant rescue sanctuaries where you could go and spend the day with elephants in the jungle, feeding them and bathing them. Of course we didn't want to ride the elephants, as such elephants are often underfed and mistreated, so the project appealed to us and we made a reservation.

The next day we were in town early for the guide to bring us to the project's jungle bungalow. The guide explained that although the project was new and only had two elephants, it was the only one in town owned by Cambodians and making an effort to educate the local indigenous people, the Bunong, about the importance of forest preservation. We spent the day feeding, washing, and watching the elephants in the jungle while the guide explained about the elephants, the local people, jungle ecology, and environmental destruction in Cambodia. It was very educational, and it was altogether a wonderful experience to see the elephants in their native environment and not behind bars at a zoo or circus. Despite falling in the mud several times and Anna being bit by a leech, we had a wonderful time. 

Awesome guide.

We took it easy the next day in Sen Monorem. We hired a driver to take us to a waterfall outside of town (the largest waterfall in Cambodia) that would have been more impressive had the bottom not been closed off due to it being the rainy season. Back in town, we shopped a bit, had dinner, and bought a bus ticket to Sihanoukville. The next day, we left early on a spacious, air-conditioned van (what they called a “VIP Bus”) for the Southern coast.

From the inception of our honeymoon, the highlight of our trip was supposed to be Koh Rong Samloem, a somewhat deserted tropical island about 15 miles off the coast of the southern town of Sihanoukville. Apparently the island was akin to Koh Chang and Koh Samet in Thailand 20 years ago, before they became commercialized: deserted, long white sand beaches, and crystal-clear turquoise water. We looked at pictures online and rented a beachfront bungalow, and became quite excited about spending a few days as castaways on a tropical island.

Although it was the rainy season during our trip, we had been lucky with the weather. Occasionally it would rain for an hour or two in the afternoon and at night, but otherwise the weather had been clear and not interfered with our plans. It wasn't until we arrived in Sihanoukville that we understood what “rainy season” meant. It rained the entire first day in Sihanoukville. As in, it rained as if we were in the middle of a monsoon. The wind kicked up as well, and the ocean became rough. Bored with hotel TV and playing cards, we went to the bungalow office to inquire about the weather and whether or not we would be able to leave the next day.

“Yes, of course. Be here at 11 tomorrow. The boat may be a bit late, but it will go tomorrow.”

Strict laws in Sihanoukville.

It was raining even harder the next day when we arrived at the office with our bags to catch the boat. The sky turned dark gray and the wind lashed the sheets of rain against the tin roof. After waiting for an hour, we were ushered into a tuk-tuk along with a few boxes of rum and then driven to the port. At the single concrete pier, waves thrashed boats against the wooden pilings. I looked hopefully at a sleek aluminum catamaran at the end of the pier – surely in rough seas like this we would be taking that catamaran. My hopes shrunk, however, when a deckhand began to wave us over to a small, brightly painted wooden fishing boat. Oh, God. I waved Anna over from the tuk-tuk, and standing on the pier examining the rickety boat being tossed about by the waves, I saw her heart sink.

“This is why we came! If we don't go, we're going back to Bangkok tomorrow,” I said. Reluctantly, she climbed shakily down the single wooden plank and tucked herself behind the wheelhouse; I did the same.

With us, our bags, a couple barefoot navy soldiers, and a few boxes of food and booze for the bungalow bar, the captain began to chug out of the harbor. The seas was rough – the swells were at least 8-10 feet, and although Anna was frightened, I wasn't too worried; the captain seemed to know what he was doing – he took on the swells at the right angle and throttled it slow. Nonetheless, it was still a choppy and uncomfortable ride. After about an hour and a half, the island came into view.

“Look amore, there's the island. We're close, it won't be too long now. We're OK,” I tried to reassure Anna.

But I spoke too soon. Past the island, the horizon was black, and soon the island disappeared into darkness. Within minutes, the boat was enveloped in the darkness of a wicked storm, with horizontal rain lashing the boat and fierce winds kicking up the swells even higher. Anna began to cry and move her lips in prayer. She was terrified. Until this point I had trusted the captain and been reassured that we had had two navy sailors on board with us, but once in the midst of that beastly maelstrom – and seeing the deckhand's eyes widen a bit – I became scared. All I could do though, was hold onto the gunwale for dear life, hold Anna's hand and wait it out as the boat rolled wildly amongst the waves.

After about 20 minutes, the storm passed, and after another hour we were safe inside a lagoon with a little dinghy paddling out to get us. The boat ride had exhausted us, and once on the island we were dismayed that we would have to walk 20 minutes across the island through the jungle to get to the bungalows. We had made it though, and arriving at the bar I swiftly ordered a double whiskey before going to the bungalow and collapsing in the hammock.

Although we had survived the nastiest bit of the weather that day, the rain and wind continued. The surf in front of our beachfront bungalow was ferocious, the wind blew through the floorboards, and the gray sky continued to rain. Welcome to paradise.

The next day the weather remained overcast. We went for a long walk through the jungle and along the lagoon on the other side of the island, seeing wild macaques and toucans along the way, and it wasn't until near dusk that the wind died, the surfed calmed to a gentle ebb, and the sun came out. We made the most of it and went for a long swim afterwards, over dinner, we decided to cut our island holiday short and leave the next day, as we had no way of knowing how the weather would be.

Last day.

Of course the day we left was the most beautiful. The sun shone bright and the ocean was dead calm as we steamed away from the island. Damned if you do, damned if you don't, I thought. Back in Sihanoukville, we took it easy. We did some shopping at the market, had a massage, and finished the day with a beer on the beach. Even though the weather had been shitty, I sipped my beer and wished we had had a few more days.

The next day we spent 12 hours on two different buses back to Bangkok. In the end we had wanted to stay another day, but opted to get back to Bangkok to have a shopping day and a day to spend with Martyn. After buying a ton of souvenirs and drinking a final Chang at the Skyline Jazz Bar, it was time to go. We were ready, but there was so much that we didn't have time for. In the end, it's always like that though: too much time, but never enough time.

The Asian Honeymoon: Part I

Summer, finally. After a year that seemed like an eon, the weather turned hot, the students disappeared, the campus was quiet, final grades were entered into the system, and before we knew it Anna and I were trying to figure out how we were going to get all of our stuff from our rental house to the storage unit in a single car trip. We breathed an overwhelming sigh of relief as we coasted out of Southampton, leaving behind the stress of grades and outcomes and incessant screeching Mandarin and frivolous meetings – all of which, in retrospect, seem so trivial.

Although Anna and I had two weddings, we never took a honeymoon. After both weddings it was either time or money that prevented us from doing so, but now that we had both we could plan an adventure together. Of course, it would have to be a mix of both travel and vacation in an exotic locale; no tropical Bahamian beaches, but someplace faraway from everyone and everything, someplace where we would see very few travelers like ourselves and that is completely different from anyplace we had been prior. After weeks of spinning the globe and debating, we finally settled on a destination; Cambodia.

If you are reading this, you are probably thinking, “Who the hell goes to Cambodia on their honeymoon?” To most, Cambodia likely brings to mind unsavory images – landmines, poverty, genocide. But Anna and I have always loved traveling, especially to those places that are fairly off the beaten path (one of the reasons we went to Georgia in 2011). However once we began researching it as a travel destination, the more appealing it became. There were friendly people, thick jungles, tropical beaches, exotic foods, and beautiful temples. Our mind was made up though after talking to a colleague who had spent two years in Cambodia with the Peace Corps; despite its history it was a wonderful place with wonderful people, she said over dinner one night. By March our minds were made up, and after a few days in Italy at the end of June we were on a flight to Bangkok.

กรุงเทพมหานคร

Bangkok was an ideal hub to fly into to begin our trip. Not only was it cheap to fly to Bangkok, an old colleague and friend from Istanbul, Martyn, now works with the British Council there and he generously opened his home to us. It was wonderful to see Martyn again, and we spent a couple days visiting the major tourist sites of Bangkok with him. Martyn took particular pleasure in this, as he had never taken a river cruise on the Chao Phraya or visited Wat Pho or Wat Arun due to the fact that he was constantly working (and hence when he had time off, he preferred to sleep than schlep it around Bangkok, something with which I can most definitely sympathize). 

Wat Arun.

Reclining Buddha of Wat Pho.

Religious Market.

There's something you don't see everyday.

In the evenings, we went to Kho San Road to eat, indulge in a “fish spa”, and generally take in the craziness that is Kho San. It was a good way to wind down from a day of sightseeing and hoofing it through sweaty Bangkok all day, and after dinner we took a taxi back to Rangnam Soi and had a beer (with ice, of course – this is Thailand, after all) at the Skyline Jazz Bar, an awesome rooftop bar right with great music right across from the Skytrain at Victory Monument.

Obviously Martyn didn't enjoy the fish spa as much as I did.

Yes, that is a grasshopper. And it was delicious.

After a few days in Bangkok, we took the train to the airport to catch a flight to Siem Reap in Cambodia. The night before Martyn had told us how fiercely patriotic Thais are, and this was confirmed as we arrived at the airport. At exactly 8 AM, the Thai national anthem began to play over loudspeakers. Immediately, everyone froze where they were out of respect for the anthem – it was as if they had switched off, or turned to zombies at that instant. Of course, out of fear of disrespect we froze too, and after a minute it ended and everyone went about their business as if nothing had happened.

ក្រុងសៀមរាប

The flight to Siem Reap was pleasant. The Angkor Air prop-driven plane was small yet uncramped, the weather was clear and beautiful, and the in-flight sandwiches were obviously homemade and cut and wrapped with loving care. After an hour, we were cruising towards our hotel in a taxi.

Coming from Bangkok, Cambodia was markedly different from its neighbor to the north. Traffic was chaotic and nearly unregulated, yet there was a tranquil flow to it. Bicycles and scooters and cars and buses and tuk-tuks cut in front of one another and ignored traffic signals and passed each other with no regard for oncoming traffic, yet there was something graceful about it, like a well-practiced dance. It was chaos, but everyone respected the chaos and went with the flow.

Cambodia was also noticeably poorer and more polluted than Thailand – trash was not ubiquitous, but there was a fair amount of rubbish in most places, obviously a result of a lack of proper disposal services. Much of the land in Cambodia is composed of red soil, so a red film of dirt also covers everything and contributes to the sense of “dirtiness”. However Siem Reap was an orderly city and had a nice center with an old market and a variety of restaurants ready to cater to the tastes of all tourists. This was, after all, the home of Angkor Wat.

Despite the dustiness, heat, and ruthless insects in Siem Reap, we found it pleasant. The day after arriving we hired a tuk-tuk driver – Mr. Sak – for the day to take us around the temples of Angkor. The weather that day was clear and beautiful, but without a breeze the heat was merciless. We tore through a gallon of water in two hours, and even though Mr. Sak dropped us off at a tremendously overpriced and touristy restaurant fro lunch, we were tickled to sit under the icy breath of an air conditioner. 

Angkor Wat.

The temples of Angkor are beautiful indeed. Angkor Wat, the most famous temple, is massive – and was also overloaded with tourists despite us visiting in the rainy (low) season. We found Angkor Thom with its many-headed temple of Bayan to be more laid-back, beautiful, and fun, as you were able to climb on the ruins and explore more of the nooks and crannies of the ruins. At Ta Prahm, the temple choked by trees, we got caught in a rain storm and took shelter in the ruins and played with two young Cambodian girls as we waited for the storm to pass. 

Bayon.

The shade was no relief from the heat.

Ta Prohm.

The most overwhelming thing about the temples of Angkor is the size of it. Not the size of the temples, as there are many at Angkor, but the area over which the ancient temples and palaces themselves are spread. It is kilometers between temple complexes, and we were happy to have Mr. Sak driving us around. Seeing that some tourists temple-hopping by bicycle left us dumbfounded – why the hell would you see Angkor by bicycle, especially on a day as hot as today (it must have been at least 100 F)? Thus, the sheer size of Angkor conveys great respect for those who built it and the great civilization that once flourished there at a time when Europe was still healing illness with bloodletting. Unfortunately, many of the temples have been looted and their Buddhas desecrated, but the complexes are still overwhelming and awe-inspiring. 

Our guidebook suggested spending at least two to three days exploring Angkor (and in retrospect, this seems like a bit too much, unless you are a temple fanatic). However, by 2 PM we were exhausted and completely run down by the heat, and boredom ensued quickly. The temples became one hot rock pile after another, all with the same hawkers selling the same things: Hellooooo lay-dee....you want something cold drink? Coconuuut? Pineapple? T-Shirt? You come my shooop? Out of politeness we continued to let Mr. Sak take us where he thought was best, but come 3 I had to put my foot down: Please just take us to Preah Khan and then take us home? It had begun to rain heavily by then, so it was even more of an excuse to get back to the hotel. Luckily our hotel had a pool, a perfect way to wash away the grime and sweat of the day, and that afternoon that pool was all I could think about. 

Can we go back to the hotel now?

Dropping us off, Mr. Sak asked if we would like to see some traditional Cambodian apsara dancing over dinner. It was only $12, so we agreed, because we had wanted to see the dancing but could find many places offering it, as it was the low season. He picked us up at 8 and brought us to a gigantic dining hall. At the front was a great stage and at the back, an epic buffet with Thai, Western, Khmer, Chinese, and Japanese dishes. The dining hall looked like it held about 600 people, and much to my chagrin, most of our fellow diners this evening were Chinese tourists.

Of course, after a year of teaching soulless rotten Chinese children, the last thing I wanted to do was eat dinner with 500 Chinese tourists. Throughout the past year I had been patiently tolerating them, but this dinner was the nail in the coffin for me. They made a mess of the buffet area as they gorged themselves, and when the dancing began, dozens rushed to the front of the room to record the spectacle on their various i-devices. This enraged me, because as we were sitting near the front this crowd of rude, ugly gawkers was blocking my view. More than once I cast etiquette aside and got up, seized one on the shoulder and said, “Sit down! Get out of the way!” Most, however, continued to stuff their face at their table, spewing food as they conversed loudly with each other in screeching Mandarin. Indeed they were so loud throughout the performance that it was difficult to concentrate on the dancing, let alone hear the music. Even before the show was over, most Chinese got up and left, their tables messy with chopsticks and spilled beer and hunks of chewed food. I felt sorry for the dancers. Sure, it was probably a job for them, but to have to get up and dance every night in front of cackling, gluttonous tourists who paid no attention to something that was a part of your national heritage must be demeaning. The worst part was that after the dance was over the dancers had to stand on stage as still as statues while idiot Chinese tourists came up to snap photos with them while giving the peace sign.

After the dinner, I felt sorry for having come. I had wanted to see the dancing, but there was something wrong with eating at a buffet dinner in a country where a quarter of the people were starving. On our way out, there was a traditional Khmer boat completely filled with an elaborate display of carved tropical fruit – enough fruit to feed four families for a week. Remembering the limbless beggars and relentless child hawkers and women desperate for us to buy something from their shop, Anna and I felt a tremendous sense of guilt because in the end, we knew what would happen to all that fruit.

Spring Break

Finally, a reprieve from stupidity (and work)! After 4 long months, we - at last - received a hiatus from work and were able to escape New York (briefly). Anna and I seized upon the opportunity to escape and booked tickets to California, a destination to which neither of us had ever been before.

Throughout all my years living in the US I had never visited California, so I was excited to go. As stupid as it may sound, it was almost like visiting a different country for me, and to a certain extent, I was a bit afraid of going out there. Travelling in America has always been an issue for me. I have no problem ending up empty-pocketed in Poland, Bulgaria, Georgia, etc. (indeed the thought tickles me), but the idea of ending up in a New Mexico motel with a flat tire and twenty bucks in my wallet scares the balls off me. Truthfully, America scares me, and this fear was solidified within me as we flew to California. Flying over Kansas, Anna suddenly woke up, looked out the window and exclaimed, "Holy shit! Look how flat it is! Let's never go there." True, America is better seen from the ground, but seeing it from the air is frightening. How many miles of flat nothingness are there? What did the people who lived down there actually do? Only God knows, but the flight really hammered home how fucking big America is, which I apparently hadn't grasped before.

As one flies into LA, the folds of the mountains and the bright sunshine envelop you: Welcome to the Golden State. On the ground, however, things didn't look so golden. Yet another thing I hadn't grasped before going to LA was the hundreds of miles of urban sprawl. It seemed endless. For those who haven't been there before, there is no public transportation (none that goes anywhere meaningful, anyway) and it takes forever to go anywhere. If you don't have a car, you are castrated. True, in most places in America you need a car to get anywhere, but the frustration with this fact was pronounced in LA. Maybe it was because of the traffic. The oddest thing was that those in LA didn't seem to mind it. Indeed, they seemed complacently resigned to it. "I hated it at first, but it's OK now. I call Europe a lot, and I get a lot of calls done on the morning drive," my cousin's husband Andy confessed. For someone whose morning commute is seven minutes, this thought of spending 2+ hours in the car everyday sounded dreadful. Why would anyone do that to themselves? There must be something appealing about LA if so many people do it though.

Welcome to Hollywood.

Admittedly, the climate and natural surroundings of LA are beautiful. Of course my experience was jaded as my cousin lives in "the Valley" and we spent most of our time cruising around the Hollywood Hills in her Audi and shopping at Trader Joe's like two fucking yuppies. The weather was perfect and it was nice to go to Santa Monica and cruise down the beach on fat-tired bicycles. We did what we could based on Kiliaen's daily schedule and our ability to hijack her car for an afternoon. We went to the Museum of Natural History one morning so Bodhi could see the dinosaurs, and another afternoon we visited the Getty (which is one of the most beautiful museums I have ever been to). Of course, we spent a day wandering up and down Hollywood Boulevard, which is little more than a taco and souvenir shop runway. The "Star Walk" we found to be similarly depressing -- miles of sidewalk named after dead film and music celebrities of the 40's and 50's. And in the end, aren't you just having your photo taken with a slab of sidewalk? For myself in the end, the most exciting part of LA was going to In-N-Out Burger. I had heard tales of this legendary California fast-food establishment, so I was excited when we stumbled upon one on Sunset Boulevard. And it did not disappoint. Unfortunately, it wasn't until afterwards that I discovered their "(not-so) secret menu".

The Thai of her life. 

Finally. 

On the last night in LA, Kiliaen and Andy invited us to dinner. A friend was in town from London, and they wanted to catch up. We drove deep into the Hollywood Hills to a hacienda-like house. Apparently it was the residence of a Law and Order star ("Don't I see you every afternoon at 6 on the treadmill?", I thought) who had let his house to Kiliaen and Andy's friends via AirBNB. He was nice, and the dinner was good, but this heady mix of self-proclaimed British fashionistas fawning over the plastic dinnerware, primetime American TV celebrities, and toddlers running around poolside unattended became a bit surreal in an overwhelming and sour way, so by the next morning we were ready to leave.

Anna pacifica. 

Day at the Getty. 

In the end, I was glad to have visited LA in order to cross it off my bucket list. However, I failed to see its appeal. The weather? Perhaps. We were thankful to Kiliaen and Andy for putting us up, but we looked forward to our next destination where we would be a little more independent: San Francisco.

Hello, San Francisco

San Francisco was everything and nothing what I expected. I had always had it in my mind that San Francisco was clean, chic, and trendy, posh even. That is true to a certain extent; however, this preconception was shattered when we got off the bus. I was unprepared for the amount of homeless people in San Francisco, and hence the smell. For the first few days, I didn't really like SF -- there were lots of homeless people who stunk to high heaven and bothered you on public transit, the smell of weed was inescapable, and to be frank I found the city dirty. However, after a while I began to see its charm. The panorama from - and of - the city is wonderful, and the entire Bay Area itself is spectacular. There was lots to do and see as well, along with plenty of history. Despite a glut of Mexican restaurants, there were endless culinary possibilities, and infinitely more bars and music clubs. Like New York, it is a cosmopolitan city, yet unlike New York the people were unhurried and friendly. "If it weren't for the sinister eternal expectation of a devastating earthquake," I thought, "I could live here."

We did all of the touristy things in San Francisco because, well, it's kind of obligatory for anyone visiting SF, isn't it? We stayed in the Mission in San Mino's apartment, and that was probably the best place to stay because we were close to downtown and there were a lot of neat bars and trendy restaurants in the surrounding blocks (the Mission is a bit like Williamsburg with a West Coast flair -- it reeked of hipster, but was still a nice place to go out nonetheless). We did Alcatraz, had dim sum in Chinatown, queued for an hour to ride the cable car, and biked the bridge (a hairy experience for an acrophobe like myself). I loved that San Francisco still had old streetcars running through the streets, and we rode them everyday not only because I am a railfan, but it was actually a handy way of getting around.

I also got a chance to catch up with Patrick, a former colleague of ours from Istanbul. He is a native San Franciscan, and he took us to a great martini bar and later, for excellent Filipino cuisine. When we explained that we wanted to go to the Muir Woods with its great trees but could not find public transport to take us there, he generously loaned us his car for the day (thanks again, Patrick). In the end, we were happy: Anna got to see the big trees, I got to go to Alcatraz, and most of all, we got to see Mino (we miss you!).

Muir Woods. 

Crimes and Misdemeanors. 

Taco night!!

My Big Fat Italian Wedding

I'm the only person I know who married the same person twice. Well, in reality I officially married Anna once, but we celebrated it twice. Our first wedding took place in August 2012 at the Islington Town Hall in London. It was a small affair; because none of our family were there we invited a few friends and coworkers as witnesses to us signing the certificate. We hadn't told our families, so we kept it hush-hush until we went back to see them in our respective home countries. In some ways that first wedding was more special, more memorable, perhaps because it was so intimate and small. And also the guy who married us was named Stephen Lord.

To Islington!

My beautiful bride.

"Sign on the line, Sir." 

Our lovely guests.

An English Wedding. 

An homage to where we met.

But of course we always knew we had to have a proper wedding, one where both of our families and friends could see us and celebrate. In early 2013, we settled on a date of October 5th. While in Italy in January, we began planning.
It may be easy to get married in a church in the US, but it's not so easy in Italy. The only church in Italy is the Catholic church, and that is a problem for those who are not Catholic, such as myself. Thus, we couldn't get married in a church. Even if I were Catholic, Anna said, it would still not be possible, because the town priest wouldn't marry us without before taking "classes" with him about marital life (ironic that someone who is forbidden to marry should be giving marital coaching), and there was no way she was going to do that because of her vigorous disdain for the said priest. So we had to find an alternative.
Luckily, one ancient church in the heart of town, the Chiesa del Santo Spiritu, was deconsecrated, and by some miracle of fortune the mayor allowed us to use the church for our wedding (after hinting that the ceremony was a theatrical farce). Since we were already married, we convinced one of Anna's best friends, Luca, to "marry" us. Thankfully, he agreed.
We also had to find a venue for the reception, and after puttering around the mountainside villages surrounding Bormio for a day, we settled on a lovely hotel in Ciuk, a village nestled not far above the town.

Ten months later, after much planning (mostly on Anna's part) we piled the family on a plane and touched down in Milan. From there, we crammed into a minivan and made our way up to Bormio for the wedding.
I'll let the pictures do the talking, and I hate bragging, but it was the best wedding I have ever been to. The food was to die for, the view was breathtaking, everyone had a great time, and nothing made me happier than having all of my family there. But most importantly I have never seen Anna look more beautiful.

Enjoy the photos.

Second most beautiful woman at wedding.

Like father, like son.

Rice down my pants. 

Damn rice.

Bormio. We had to. 

La famiglia americana.  

My new family.

Bormio.

Another tradition. American weddings could never be this saucy.

First (and only) dance.