Destination #27: Weddings in Tuscany (Italy)

Thursday 26 May 2011 - Wednesday 1 June 2011

Definition of "cheating": to behave in a dishonest or deceitful way in order to win an advantage; to take from (someone) deceitfully; to replace a destination on your list by another one because a guy called Basil kicked your ass.

This is what cheating looks like. This blog was supposed to be titled "Destination #27: Hiking up to Mount Everest Base Camp (Nepal)". But that is not what it says at the top of this page. This is the one which got away. So here is were the excuses start. First and foremost, we blame Basil. It surely didn't help when he took "ass-whipping" to another level by actually summiting Mount Everest at the end of last month. This made any attempt from our side to hike up to Mount Everest base camp - more than 3km below the actual summit - sound like the lamest thing in the universe.

Another thing which didn't help either was that we badly messed up our timing and missed our window to get to Kathmandu before the monsoon season kicked in. The next opportunity to do this and come back to tell the tale would have been October. We like our sabbatical, but to make it a two-year sabbatical is a bit of a stretch, even for us.

And you know what it is with excuses? You always need to wait until the end to get the real one. This is no different, as the final straw was this doctor in Amsterdam who basically took a super injunction out against me in order to prevent Em from hiking at altitude. When I tentatively mentioned our Nepalese hiking plans to him, he told me, and I quote here, "Over my dead body". That pretty much settled it. Something to do with Em being pregnant and all that. Yep we are going to have a baby! We thought there would be nothing better to put a year's traveling into perspective than changing diapers....

I just want to go on the record and say that, personally, I still blame Basil.

I admit that this is not the best way to start a blog about weddings. And it definitely doesn't do Max and Beau's wedding justice either, because make no mistake, this was a more than worthy replacement for Nepal.

The wedding was every unmarried man's nightmare: a no expenses spared bonanza with the ceremony taking place in the gardens of a stunning Tuscan villa (previously occupied by the likes of Roman Abramovich and Flavio Briatore), a massive fireworks display (later more on that), as much champagne as Rupop could drink (again, later more on that), a magician, a six course black-tie dinner, a Walt Disney produced animation of the wedding couple and Cuban cigars and Scottish whiskey for the masses. Exactly, wow!

While most of us unmarried losers were still trying to convince our girlfriends that "one of those chapel weddings in Vegas" would be much more intimate without getting much of an audience, a fireworks display kicked off. I think fireworks display actually undersells it. It looked like they had hired the same guys that had done the opening ceremony at the Beijing Olympics. First it didn't start, then it didn't stop. If it had taken any longer, the UN would have declared a no-fly zone over Tuscany.

This blog would not be complete without a mention of Rupop, one of the groom's best men. Rupop reminded me of that little Chinese guy from the movie "The Hangover" but then on steroids. Personally I think he was a bit like a gremlin: perfectly normal in a controlled environment but as soon as you give him a tiny bit of alcohol he wreaks havoc. I am not sure who it was, but someone put Rupop in charge of the champagne. It is safe to say that that was a mistake. The caterer received strict instructions to use 20 bottles of bubbly for the reception and keep the remaining 20 bottles behind to go with the wedding cake. A mere 15 minutes into the reception a clearly distraught caterer came up to the groom to tell him that 35 bottles had been emptied, with just 5 bottles left. From the corner of his eye, the groom could just see a glimpse of Rupop running around with two champagne bottles in his hands, pouring everyone double glasses while looking like a guy who had just won the Grand Prix. He was giving it away like it was candy. What a legend.

Our Unofficial Wedding Awards:

"Early Drunk of the Evening Award" - This prize went to a 50 something year old lady from Belgium who insisted at shouting "chicken shit" during the photo shoot and then continued repeating this at random intervals well into dinner service. She also had the tendency of fondling me at every chance she got. Although normally I don't mind this kind of thing, at this occasion it made me feel cheap and dirty.

"Drunk of the Evening Award" - Matt clinched the title by literally rugby tackling me while stumbling back on to the dance floor, leaving a trail of destruction behind him. He confirmed his undisputed title status by scoffing his way through the dessert table at around 2 AM with a unique technique that I would like to call the "Tower of Pisa Strategy". It involved Matt heavily leaning on one side of the dessert table, while waiting for the sweets to roll down in his direction. I bet he woke up the next morning, wondering why there were brownies in his pockets.

"Moron of the Evening Award" - The fireworks guy who had put his mobile on voicemail while he was supposed to wait for my call to kick-off the display. When he did finally pick up he said in the most casual kind of ways, like only true Italians can, "Pronto". My reply was less cool: "Pronto? I need those bloody fireworks, now!". He duly obliged.

"Schwalbe of the Evening Award" - This award went to Maia for taking "tackling the dance floor" literally. She was fine. As was the dance floor.

The days following the wedding, we applied ourselves to taking "wedding crashing" to the next level and did some serious "family crashing". Maxime's family must have thought they were stuck in a bad hybrid of the movies "Groundhog Day" and “The Shining” when we kept showing up at their villa each and every morning ("Here’s RJ!” Oh yeah we love barbeques").

We ended up spending seven days in Tuscany - much to Max's family despair - and really enjoyed ourselves. Special thanks is due to the fabulous wedding couple Max and Beau and of course Max's family (we had a blast, let's do this again next year?).

For those of you who are disappointed by this blog and would have rather read about an Irish guy eating Jaffa Cakes at Mount Everest base camp, well besides kicking our asses big time, Basil also decided to go head to head with us by starting his own blog (http://www.forgottenirish-everest2011.co.uk). Some people just don't know when to stop...

Next destination: #28: The Grande Finale of Our Sabbatical: New York City