Go Because You Only Live Once: Some Travel Advice from My Grandma
Two years ago this month, Francisco and I were married on Playa de los Cabros, one of the dozens of beaches on the island of Vieques. Francisco spent the morning cooking filet mignon, seafood paella, and a vegetarian dish for the friends and family who had come to spend a week with us at some modest houses we'd rented a few miles away on another beach. I shimmied my way into a fairly traditional gown I hadn't expected to wear and drove people back and forth to the beach in our rented Suzuki-- we hadn't remembered to plan for transportation.
We called it the anti-wedding wedding. We didn't want bridesmaids or best men. We didn't want ministers or the formality of ceremony. We didn't want presents. What we wanted was to have a small group of loved ones with us in a place we loved. We wanted them to have a vacation and to know and experience one another. Francisco wanted to cook for them. I wanted to plan experiences for them. The only things we asked of them were to show up and, if they so chose, to offer a reading during the wedding. They could wear what they wanted (and I love that the pictures prove that they did!). We'd take care of the rest.
