When you propose marriage in a bunny costume in the middle of a crowded hospital lobby, a traditional wedding seems out. We considered a church wedding and a hotel reception, but we couldn‘t get our invite list under 100, and neither one of us really wanted to eat rubber chicken in the “Aloha Room” at the Ramada Inn, so we blew-off the whole thing and decided to get married in the beautifully unique city of Venice, Italy.

We found out quickly that it’s not quite that easy. To make it legal in both countries there were middle of the night phone calls to Venice, piles of paperwork, and visits to the consulates in Los Angeles and Milan. We were required to be in Venice four days before the ceremony, which gave us time to pay our marriage fees, buy rings, flowers, and hire Niko, a local photographer to capture it all in black & white.

The ceremony was conducted in a Venetian Gothic palace with a terrace that over-looked the Grand Canal and Rialto Bridge. A bored Italian man who looked like Grandpa Munster wore a red, green, and white sash over his shoulder, sat in a chair and performed the ceremony while a translator tried to give us the gist of our lifetime commitment in English. After the ceremony we were given ten minutes to take photos on the balcony and then it was time for someone else’s big day.

Afterwards, we meandered around the cobblestone pathways, twisting maze-like back allies, romantic nooks, and sunny piazzas that make Venice the best place in the world to get lost in. We took photos by all the landmarks, popped in and out of wine bars, rode a gondola, and savored each minute of the experience.

“Our reception” was held on an out-of-the-way bridge over a small canal. We had our hotel’s deskman write Just Married (Appena Sposati) on the back of a paper bathmat and taped it to a wall. We had bought a case of champagne and we served it to our guests in small dentist office-style paper cups. Whoever happened to stroll over the bridge unknowingly walked right into our reception. One minute we’d be toasting with a couple from Switzerland, then a family from Cincinnati, then three college guys from the University of Texas. We received well wishes from Bulgarians, Australians, even a few Venetians who passionately hollered “Molto Bene!” and grabbed my wife and kissed her on both cheeks. There seemed to be a core group of about a dozen Americans who lingered, so we invited them to dinner at a nearby sidewalk restaurant. Appropriately, my Best Man’s toast was performed by a young woman named Lisa from St. Paul, Minnesota.

It was truly a remarkable day, and we were both happy that we had chosen the wedding aisle less traveled.