The Destination Wedding Vacation

Elation! I must confess I am always a little in awe when I hear of someone jetting off to an exotic destination, especially for a wedding. The charmed life. Glamorous. Romantic. The first time it was mentioned in my company was when a recent graduate, earning a pittance, announced she was off to Italy to attend a friend’s wedding. It wasn’t that she was in the pound seats; it was that she had amazing friends. Now everyone has save-the-dates magnetised to their fridge doors, announcing a wedding in some far-off, little-known place. 

With good reason, you might wonder what's happened to the traditional "boeretroue" in a barn. I’ll tell you. They’re still being held, but with such glamour and panache that one wishes for an invitation. The Western Cape has become THE wedding destination for the moneyed elite from Wall Street and Canary Wharf, with stunning venues like Table Mountain as a backdrop.

I must mention that I swooned when my invitation arrived, the old-fashioned way, in the post! It detailed the travel dates, accommodations, and itinerary, giving me a good reason to spend time with my children and grandchildren, and a chance to go on holiday to Mexico, a destination far beyond my aspirations.

Engaged, I spent my two weeks in Saskatchewan, Canada, experiencing a Prairie winter. Snow. I’d stand at my bedroom window for ages each morning, mesmerised by the delicate snowflakes falling, each one a tiny masterpiece. Watching the snow cover everything in a peaceful white blanket was breathtaking and made me appreciate nature's artistry. 

We’d labouriously pull on our snow gear and slip out into the fresh air for a few minutes. Like a child, I’d also choose virgin snow to step on, working on my footfall to get the most out of the crunch. I loved it. The nearest I got to speeding downhill was on a toboggan, which was quite exhilarating. I made more noise as I belted downhill than any 3-year-old could.

Irritatingly, the wake-up call came when the snow melted. The once-pristine landscape turned bleak, brown, and muddy. Mud splashed onto pavements and walls, and covered cars, trains, and buses. It’s depressing. That’s when I realised why a mud room is needed. Coats, scarves, beanies, gloves, and mittens become clammy and smelly, and soon a wet-dog odour clung to me.

I’m not accustomed to keeping children cloistered indoors, but I realised the extreme weather conditions weren't conducive to outdoor activities, and I quickly saw why children become “addicted” to television. One has no choice. When the barometer hits -45°C, it’s all a matter of survival as moods swing like pendulums.

Oh, we had plans. Doughnuts and Vetkoek (a bun made from bread dough, fried in lard or olive oil), a South African winter tradition, were an excellent way to keep my Neil busy. He could knead, mix, pummel, shape and roll to his heart’s content; letting his creations rise under a cloth was tricky, but once we had the finished product, I had him in the palm of my hand! The next morning, he made doughnuts liberally sprinkled with cinnamon sugar and melted chocolate. He loved eating his own confections, while sharing was a concept hard to come to terms with! We had much fun, and even I couldn't resist licking my sweet, sticky fingers. Here is a chef in the making.

Neil and I were excited and got dressed in our snow gear for a day trip to the annual Winter Agricultural Show. With our backpacks on and him securely harnessed, we trudged through the thick snow. He loved it and insisted on “driving” all the tractors, combine harvesters, front-end loaders and digger loaders. He is a hard worker, always giving a helping hand, so it went without saying that he’d try out the handy vacuum cleaner on display, put his feet up to be Dubbined and give a decisive nod of approval.

We were taken to task and warned that the gentle giant in the pen was a Bison, a ferocious beast, and that it would be best that Neil not climb up the steel rungs to take a closer look! He was fascinated by the horsemanship shown in the arena, and we were both bowled over by the rodeo cowboys. Watching youngsters lasso a calf was exciting, and Neil watched my short videos again and again! We returned home exhausted but chuffed.

Our trips to the bookshop were fun: I browsed and picked out a few for my book club, while Neil dived into the soft toys, rolling around in a soft cloud of fur and occasionally leafing through books about dinosaurs and his favourite Pet Patrol. Afterwards, we'd spoil ourselves with a slide or a run in the snow.

One afternoon, while the whole family gathered, we put on our Sunday best and took our seats in the sitting room to watch our Daniel James officially receive his name. Seeing everyone's smiles and hearing the prayer made me appreciate our family bonds even more as we celebrated this precious moment together.

In secret, I slipped away to spend my last afternoon with Joe before we witnessed Emily and Joe’s legal marriage ceremony. She looked beautiful in a pearl-white winter dress, and my beautiful son looked dashingly suave in his bespoke suit. The bow-tied best dog was on his best behaviour throughout the proceedings. The poignant ceremony was conducted with empathy by the Officer of the Court, who planted many seeds of wisdom that, I’m sure, will be nurtured, pondered and enjoyed by this young couple so in love. I couldn’t be happier for both of them, and I welcome Emily into our fold. Later that night, I lay in bed reading a beautiful note from Joe expressing his devotion and appreciation to me—such a humbling experience. 

Enough! We couldn’t wait to pack our bags and head off to warmer climes. A ja riva ja riva, Mexico, we were on our way. The handcrafted surfboard was in its final stages and would've made it if the airline rules hadn't been so stringent. Sadly, it had to stay behind with the pooch and the housesitter. Fortunately, there's no shortage of surf shacks with boards to hire at very reasonable prices.

At first, I couldn’t get enough of the white landscape as we cruised at altitude, but I soon grew bored because it didn’t change much. As we coasted into Mexico, the vegetation turned green and lush again. Sunshine = happiness.

With sunglasses, hats and flip-flops on, we disembarked in Porta Vallarta on Mexico’s west coast. Our destination was an hour from the airport, giving me time to take the picture. Lush subtropical forests wind through a hilly landscape, with small villages and towns dotting the way. Alongside them are condos, golf estates and holiday resorts, too. No one is complaining about the development; tourism pays handsomely.

Our resort was near Punta Mita, a fishing village and luxury resort on Mexico’s Pacific coast. It sits on a small peninsula in Banderas Bay. It’s known for upscale homes, golf courses and private beaches. Public El Anclote Beach, backed by restaurants, has gentle surf. Offshore lie the biodiverse Marieta Islands, home to wildlife such as humpback whales and blue-footed boobies. To the north lies the laid-back surf village of Sayulita.

I must confess I did enjoy our resort. It was small, exclusive, and well run. The restaurants and eateries served good food, the coffee shop served excellent coffee, and the selection of snacks, nibbles and confectionery was mouth-watering.  

Cigar bars have a romantic allure, and I peered longingly, remembering earlier years when I would’ve succumbed to a puff, exhilarated by the aroma of a good Cuban. The buttoned leather, a good cognac, a cigar, curling smoke and a good book - now that does it for me. Alas, this time I steeled myself.

Seeing my children, their friends, our family and grandchildren having fun was heart-warming. The littlies learnt to swim within hours, dive-bombed us, and played in the sand, building their sandcastles all day. There is nothing nicer than being covered in copious amounts of suntan lotion, with the smell of coconut oil and Banana Boat infusing our golden skins. Both grandbabies were exhausted at night when I took over to babysit. It was my chance to watch them, often creeping up to them to get a good sniff at the hollow of their collarbones. Blissful contentment, I call that.

Quick Question: Does everyone have a wardrobe of bathing suits and sexy cover-ups? Am I the only person with one or two bathers? With a gun to my head, I might have three. My mind boggled when I realised that proper beach babes have at least 14 bathers for a seven-day holiday! I kid you not. My only saving grace was the resort shop, where I bought the last bather, a size slightly too big for me. I still had to slink around wrapped in my one cotton Kikkoi, though.

Golden tans, gel nails, and groomed eyebrows and lashes were our only concerns when we prepared for the wedding at the very expensive Spa. It really rankled that the manicurist charged a tenth of the price of a set of painted nails. 

All too soon, our week of blissful abandon ended; we packed our bags, filled with colourful cotton rugs, beads and baubles, with sluggish reluctance. The bus ride back to the airport was a sombre, subdued affair; even the littlies knew it was time to leave the yellows, blues and greens of paradise and return to a bitterly cold Arctic winter. 

While Lise slept on my lap, I had time to read my paperback, though I found it hard to concentrate knowing my clock was ticking. Partings are never easy, and as soon as we’d touched down, friends slipped away in different directions, padding towards their already idling cars. Reality sucks. We drove home in silence. If that were Mexico, I’d have done it.

To do justice to the wedding, you’ll have to wait; I need my wits about me to venture there!

It would be amiss of me not to mention Miranda Bukowicki, the very competent travel agent who managed all our travel arrangements.  We were always kept in the loop regarding any flight changes, visa requirements or immigration regulations.  Thank you, Miranda, for dealing with us in such a friendly, professional way.  If you’re living in Canada (or can depart from Canada), I can recommend Miranda with confidence.

Miranda Bukowicki, CTC, MCC