by Francesca Di Meglio

Francesca and Antonio in front of Castello Aragonese in Ischia Ponte, Ischia, on their wedding, Oct. 2, 2008. Photo by Foto Elite

After the photographer and florist arrived, we headed out of the house. This is where I was most aware that I was an Italian, rather than American, bride. The neighbors were all gathered outside with plates of Jordan almonds, coins, and rose petals to throw at my feet. My father had to take me by the arm, and my little bridesmaids carried my train as we headed toward the piazza in Testaccio. I was greeted by friends and family and strangers. My brother-in-law Lello picked us up and we headed to Ischia Porto, the groom's hometown, to the Santa Maria delle Grazie in San Pietro Church for the ceremony.

In an Italian wedding ceremony, the groom is walked down the aisle by his mother. My mother-in-law is disabled, so she had her eldest daughter Annamaria walk Antonio down the aisle. The mother of the groom usually carries a more elaborate bouquet for the bride than the one the bride uses for pre-wedding photographs and carries down the aisle. We exchanged bouquets when my father and I reached the end of the aisle. I have to admit I liked the pre-wedding, tight, round bouquet of white roses and greenery better than the bridal bouquet, which was a cascading bunch of green anthurium and white roses.

The sun had been shining. But during the ceremony, thunder was striking literally. It started to pour so hard and so strong that I thought the church, with its doors flung open and tourists peering into see us, would be flooded. Then, in a moment, the lights went out. I truly believe that Antonio's late father was letting his presence be known - or perhaps, my late grandparents, Francesca and Giovanni.

Rain is actually desirable for a wedding day. The saying goes, “Sposa bagnata, sposa fortunate,” which means “wet bride, lucky bride”. But before the ceremony ended, the sun began to shine again. It was perfect timing because we were about to take off in a borrowed Smart car that was decorated with wheat for photos at the Castello Aragonese and Villa Arbusto, a museum and garden in Ischia. The bridesmaids and testimoni do not join the couple for photos.

When we arrived at the reception, the wedding took on the feel of the typical Italian American affair with a cocktail hour, followed by lunch and dancing. The Italian wedding is usually during the day because lunch is the big meal. There is dancing and cake and more photos and throwing the bouquet and garter.

While were taking pictures, our friends were back at Antonio's house playing tricks on us. It's an Italian tradition designed to keep the couple from having relations on their first night. As an American, I always hated this idea because we are raised to believe that the wedding night should be private, intimate, and special. However, our friends were pretty creative and they knew we would be heading to a hotel room, a gift from cousin Fausto, his girlfriend Lea and her family who own a hotel.

They basically trashed our apartment with toilet paper, pornographic cartoons in toothpaste on the mirror, bouillon cubes in the shower, and little gifts, including pink fuzzy handcuffs and a sex tutorial book. I spent the day after the wedding cleaning up with my father no less.

Our day didn't quite finish at the end of the reception. We had an after-party at Valentino, a discothèque, where Antonio works, for the groom's friends. The highlight of this second party was the cake, which featured the New York skyline in crystallized sugar and sparklers in my honor. It certainly was a shining night that Antonio and I would never forget.

Di Meglio is the guide to Newlyweds for About.com, and she blogged about her wedding and vow renewal on BrideBoard.com.

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