The alarm went off early. Today we were going to Montoro Inferiore, the town of Tony’s ancestors. But first, we had an appointment at the municipio, the town hall, to present legal documentation for the wedding, now only three days away. We were also going to meet Anna Sorrentino, our wedding planner extraordinaire, in person.
Gino was in bed, dead to the world. You may remember from the previous post that he, Dan, and Kris had a rather extended night of partying. Dan had spent the night curled up on a love seat on the upper terrace. Kris appeared to be awake and getting ready, not too worse for wear…yet. That is the difference between ages 64, 58, and 30.
It was time to meet Anna at the municipio. As we walked towards the sign that pointed us up a flight of stone stairs to the entrance, an attractive woman dashed up on her motorino. She hopped off, shook her hair free of the helmet, and flashed us a friendly smile. It was Anna.
We all introduced ourselves, thrilled to finally be meeting in person after months of exchanging emails filled with the endless details required in planning a wedding across the world. She was as delightful in person as she had been over the computer.
We followed Anna inside the municipio to a large, light-filled room where, in three days, the legal wedding would take place. Chairs covered with white fitted cloth were lined up in rows facing a large wooden table at the front.
On the wall behind the table was a cloth wall-hanging embroidered with the words Comune di Praiano and the town crest. Although all of this was very official-looking, the room did not feel at all austere. On the contrary, it was quite elegant and welcoming.
One of the civil registrars entered the room and opened a large legal book lying on the table. Kris and Nichole moved to two chairs pulled close to the table.
Anna brought forth the necessary paperwork, and the bride and groom-to-be signed the official book. Next, Tony and I, as witnesses, were called up to sign. Then we were done.
After gathering the stragglers from the villa, we hustled down to Hotel Margherita, where we had arranged to have Andrea meet us again with the van. We greeted him like a long-lost friend.
We piled into the van, anxious to get going. Kris moved to the front seat. By now, he was looking pretty pale. Gino was conspicuously silent in the very back seat. Dan sat quietly looking out the window.
I really have to applaud those three. Despite debilitating hangovers, they would rather silently suffer than miss out on an adventure. They were troupers all the way.