What do The Nazis, Audrey Hepburn, Ronald & Nancy Reagan, Mikhail Gorbachev, Pope John Paul II, Margaret Thatcher, The Chernobyl meltdown and Mother Teresa all have in common? I knew you would ask!
As always, if you are just jumping in, this will make a lot more sense if you start at the beginning of the series.
It’s March 1 1986. Paola and I have successfully taken care of the mountain of documents we need to get married. We’ve set our date for May 24th to have our wedding. Invitations are out. The menu is set. Honeymoon planned. Only one small wrinkle in the plan.
Wedding #1
As much as I love Italy, I’m getting married, I will have a family, and I will need to provide, right? I mean, the last thing I ever wanna do is be a deadbeat and live off the inheritance. So that’s not gonna happen in Italy. At the end of summer we are moving back to L.A. But Paola needs a visa. And that takes time.
So we decided to get legally married before the church wedding, so we could get started on the visa for Paola. And that is going to happen on March 2nd. Quick ceremony with some close friends and family… and some snacks.
One wrinkle. A few days ago I wasn’t feeling all that amazing in the afternoon. I was freezing! My teeth were jittering! I could not get warm. What the hell is going on with me???? And a little later I was burning up with a 103 fever.
For those of you that did not grow up in Southern California, in the winter we always saw all of the television commercials showing cold and flu remedies, but it all seemed pretty foreign. I had never had a cold or flu in my life. So this is what a flu feels like? Dude! This sucks! Oh, and I am supposed to get married tomorrow?
I’m dying! But I was introduced to another unexpected surprise about local Italian culture. I needed to see a doctor, so Paola called Federico (Doctor Ferri). He came to my place! Seriously? House Calls? I’ve only seen that in old black and white movies! Turns out I am not dying. I have a flu. Rest, and no.. you are not getting married tomorrow.
Wedding #1 called off. Rescheduled to March 9th… if I survive!
And I did get better… and March 9th happened! Cue up the trumpets! Paola and I are married. And now I will tell you all about our wedding night in every detail. Ready?
I went home to my apartment.
Paola went home to her parents.
And that night, I fell asleep as a married man, alone.
OK, so context matters here. If you read Part 15, you know what a civil wedding meant to her family. More importantly you know the backlash they would have if she got married in City Hall! So while we were legally married, this was only a technical wedding to get paperwork started for her visa. However, the mayor, a registered Communist, did congratulate us on our choice to do a civil wedding. He had no idea!
You wouldn’t happen to be a Nazi or a prostitute, would you?
Next step… Visa.
OK, legally married. End of summer, we plan on moving to L.A. and starting our life together. That means Paola needs a real visa, not a “tourist visa”. Hindsight being 20/20, it would have been much easier if she had used the tourist visa, overstayed it, and applied from the US.
In all of their wisdom, the United States Government decided that the American Embassy in Rome – one hour from us – could not handle the processing of immigrant visas. Instead, you had to apply, in person, at the American Consulate… in Naples. Not a day trip. The bad news was that Naples also happens to be the most corrupt city in Italy, so getting this visa was going to be challenging. The good news, on the other hand, was also that Naples also happens to be the most corrupt city in Italy… and we know someone.
We get our appointment, take the drive down there, and Paola walks in. The immigration visa application was long and extremely detailed. She filled it out, and stumbled on a few interesting questions:
Are you a Nazi?
Huh?
Are you a prostitute?
Huh?
OK, time out! She was born well after WWII, so Nazi? But would an actual Nazi answer “Oh darn, I was hoping you wouldn’t ask if I was a war criminal” ? And would an actual prostitute answer “Of course, I just got married and I plan to take my prostitution business to the United States” ?
A Minimum of One Year
Here is where we hit the BIG snag. Paola was at the consulate with other people that were also applying. She met a woman in there that had already lived in the US, married to an American… with kids. And she had a Green Card. A permanent visa. But she had to come back to Italy to take care of her dying mother, and that caused her to be in Italy for more than 12 months… which invalidated her Green Card!
She had reapplied to reinstate her Green Card more than a year prior. Still waiting. Turns out that is not an isolated case! Speaking with others, this was the norm. Once you apply, it is a minimum of one year!
Crap!!!!
Now that she had applied, she couldn’t even get a tourist visa! And we have to go back to L.A. in four months!
Remember above where I said Naples also happens to be the most corrupt city in Italy… and we knew someone. Yeah, there was that. I will not tell you his name, because… well, you will see. Let’s just call him Antonio.
OK, “Antonio” was the nephew of an uncle by marriage. He lived in Naples, so he was with us that day. Not someone we knew, but introductions had been made, right? And it turns out “Antonio” was connected.
After the consulate visit, we were extremely upset. “Antonio” asked us to tell him what was going on, and he simply said “don’t worry. I’ll take care of it”. What that specifically meant, we did not know. What we did know was not to ask questions.
30 days later, Paola was holding her Green Card.
All we knew was that some NATO commander in Naples needed a new A/C unit for his car, and it was apparently difficult to get that specific unit… and “Antonio” took care of it… and this guy made the call that got our application taken from the bottom of the stack and placed on top.
A Funeral
Not a funeral that year, but one far into the future. You see, we knew how these things worked. “Antonio” did not specifically ask us for a favor, but you naturally ask if you can do anything in return. There is a way to say nothing and mean it, and there is a way to say nothing, accompanied by a certain facial expression with a certain type of shrug that speaks volumes. Without the words, it says “Nothing… yet”
If this is still not making sense, please read up here and come back. OK, are we all on the same page? Paola and I went into our life together with the “favor” we had not yet been asked, always wondering when it would be called in, and what it would be!
Decades!!! We would see “Antonio” from time to time, and it was always front of mind. Is it going to be today? Facial expression, shrug… Not yet.
Until somewhat recently when we got the news that “Antonio” had passed away. Sure, never nice to hear about a death, but the sense of relief… the weight lifted off our shoulders… LIBERATING!
My, What Big Feet You Have
So, back to the wedding prep.
Civil wedding out of the way. Visa out of the way. All focus is now on May 24. You have probably been reading all of this time, imaging a big Italian wedding. Oh, hell no! We wanted small and intimate. Padre Michele would be marrying us, and we wanted to have the wedding in a small and intimate church.
As with everything, that was more complicated than it likely sounds. Allow me to explain.
Paola is the daughter of Doctor Ciari. She is the granddaughter of Sir Paolo Corsi. And me? I am “The American”. To most, “The American” meant the rich American. Surely “the American” marrying the granddaughter of Sir Paolo Corsi was the event of the year, right? If we had chosen to get married in the main church in town, we knew it would be a spectacle filled with lookie-loos. We really just wanted to get married. So we kept it fairly quiet, only invited 60 close friends and family, and picked the most perfect of perfect churches.
The San Giorgio church was built in the 8th century. Yeah, I am getting married in a 1,200 year old church! More importantly, it was up the mountain far enough away from town that if you were uninvited, you would have to drive there, get lucky parking, and look extremely conspicuous in that tiny church! Perfect.
Paola got her dress custom made by two seamstresses in town that are known as “I Topi” (The mice) – And no, I have no idea why!
Me? Well, we’re going shopping in Rome. I had my suit custom tailored – Versace. Yes, Versace. And then I ran into my biggest problem. Shoes.
We go to virtually every shoe store in Rome looking for dress shoes to go with my suit. And with every one, there was someone shaking their head at me. I wear a size 12 1/2 shoe (46+ in Italy). In 1986, apparently no Italians had big feet.
It was so bad that one store sticks out. We walked in and asked. The man looked at us very enthusiastically, and said “Not here, but I know exactly where you will find them”. Awesome! Where? “Go out the door, turn right. Walk about 200 meters and turn left. Walk a little bit more, and you will find a store that sells suitcases. Surely one of those will fit.”
Yeah… Thanks.
I don’t remember where or how, but eventually I am sure I did find shoes, since I am quite certain I wasn’t barefoot at the wedding.
You Are (not) Invited!
We get closer to the wedding, and some of my family fly in. And I experience an Italian tradition that I found a bit odd. For a couple weeks before the wedding, Paola’s family had something of an open house. First there is the “Dowry” on display. A chest of things the family had put away all of her life for her eventual wedding day. And people would show up with their wedding gifts.
Here is where it got a little complicated.
There are two kinds of wedding invitations in Italy. An Invito (invitation) and a Partecipazione (Participation). If you got an “invitation”, you were invited to the wedding ceremony and the reception. But if you only got a “partecipazione” invitation, it basically said “Hey, we’re getting married – Feel free to show up at the ceremony, but we don’t like you enough to invite you to the reception”.
Seriously. That’s a thing! And the unspoken part of it is “don’t even show up at the ceremony, but we will accept your gift?”
I still don’t get it, but this was normal. And for 2 weeks before the wedding, people would filter in to their house with wedding gifts. They would be opened right there on the spot, and put on display for all to see.
After a while, their living room started to look more like a department store. And yes, people with the “partecipazione” did show up with gifts.
Suckers!
The Wedding Singers
If you know me, you will read this next bit and say, “Of course Michael did this.” It is 1986, so please think back to the political atmosphere at the time. I had this joke that we were going to have Ronald Reagan, Mikhail Gorbachev, Margaret Thatcher and the Pope for the band at the wedding. But I did take one little bit of that joke somewhat seriously. We invited three out of four of those people. Yes. We sent wedding invitations to The White House, The Kremlin, and The Vatican! Not sure why we didn’t send one to Maggie, but there it is. Now if you think it through, imagine the treaties that could have happened over some amazing pasta and wine, right? Imagine how much sooner they might have torn down that wall!
And one day, I hear Knock. Knock on my door. I answer it, and my landlord Alberto is there, holding up an envelope. His hands were shaking, and he had a look of shock on his face. Michael, you have a letter from THE WHITE HOUSE! He asked me to open it for him, and inside were wedding wishes from Nancy & Ronald Reagan. I don’t think I have ever seen someone so excited! He asked me to make copies for him to frame and put up on his wall. Because mail from The White House came to HIS address!
Not sure if he realized that the White House probably has an office that processes hundreds of these every day, but hey! There it was! Sadly, they couldn’t make it. Neither could the Pope, but we did get a telegram from him. And Gorbachev? Not even the courtesy of a reply!
Needless to say, the band never got together.
The Meltdown
Not us. The actual meltdown. We were getting married on May 24. On April 26, the Chernobyl meltdown happened. But Italy is so far from the Soviet Union, right? Not so much, actually. It was about 1,000 miles from us, and there is this pesky little thing called weather.
Hmmmm, now that I think about it, Gorbachev was probably busy. But still, not even an RSVP?
The radioactive fallout reached Italy, and on On May 2, the Italian government prohibited the sale and serving of fresh leafy vegetables because radioactive iodine had been detected.
So there was that. Turns out we had a lot of fresh veggies on our menu, so a couple weeks before the wedding, we had to change the reception dinner menu to a nuclear-friendly menu. Sigh.
The Rain In Spain Stays Mainly in the Plane
And so… my musical references usually relate to the music of the moment when whatever I am talking about was happening. But it does not necessarily mean it was current music at the time… at least not today.
Why on earth does Michael have us watching a scene from My Fair Lady? Stay with me.
It is wedding day. I wake up, get some coffee and a shower. My mom is staying at my place. Her husband is there, and Kathy – My neighbor growing up that was more of a big sister.
Paola is at her place, surely with a team of people applying her makeup, doing her hair, and assembling the wedding dress on her body. All the while, half the town is surely trying to grab a look. Of course, I can’t see her until the wedding. I’m showered, it will take me five minutes to put my suit on, and I have nothing but time.
My mother, her husband and Kathy are running around my apartment like chickens with their heads cut off, screaming, yelling, nervous as can be. Huh? Aren’t I the one here that is getting married today? Shut the @%$# up! I kick back on my sofa, pop a VHS tape in, and decide to watch My Fair Lady. Seriously, this is my morning! Be quiet! I’m watching Audrey Hepburn try to speak proper English, for God’s sake!
Knock. Knock.
It’s Alberto again. Apparently Alberto has some sage advice to give me on the morning of my wedding. I open the door, and he looks at me very seriously. “Michael, before you leave today, there is something I need to say.” I am expecting wisdom handed down through the ages. He continues, “You still have time to call it off.” What? Why is everyone so much more stressed about this than I am?
Back to Eliza Doolittle. 🎵🎵 Just you wait, ‘enry ‘iggins… Just you wait! 🎵🎵
Wedding #2
It’s time. I make my way to the church, stand outside the door and after a little while… Whoa!!!! There she is! I walk in, watch her come down the aisle with her dad, and it begins. We turn to face Padre Michele, and said “Si” multiple times. Kiss the bride, we are married… again.
Look at us! So young and in love!
Now, get me out of this @%$!& suit!
Mother Teresa
Because when you started reading about our wedding(s), you just knew I would have stories about Nazis, prostitution, world leaders, Audrey Hepburn, and Soviet nuclear meltdowns, right? You must have been wondering where Mother Teresa fits in all of this! And yes, she does.
Turns out that this afternoon she is flying into Rome. You may picture some motorcade with high security and Vatican officials meeting her at the airport. Nah! Padre Michele is picking her up. In his tiny little car. And Riccardo, my best man? He made a painting for her, so he needs to get over there as well.
Apparently Mother Teresa was more important than our wedding reception, so they left early to go meet her at the airport. I mean, seriously? She outranks us? Some friends they are!
Thunderstruck
Now we are not just married, but we are married in the eyes of the family. We did the obligatory photos, posed with everyone, and headed up to our reception for what, in Italy, was considered to be a fairly simple wedding reception meal.
- Assorted appetizers
- Champagne risotto
- “Hay” pasta with ragu sauce
- Veal with tuna sauce and mayonnaise
- Peas with prosciutto
- Veal scallopini with cream sauce
- Artichokes
- Mashed potatoes
- Mixed skewers
- Sparkling wine (Ferrari and Martini)
- Peach Melba with blackberries
- Seasonal fruit
- Coffee and digestifs
- Orvieto white wine (Classico)
- Chianti red wine (Gallo Nero)
- Chocolates and candies
Notice the peas, cooked artichokes, tomatoes, and cucumbers, but no fresh leafy salad. Our own private Chernobyl effect.
And of course, the wedding cake:
This wasn’t just the moment we cut the cake. It was the moment for a sign. May 24, 1986 was an absolutely beautiful day. Sun shining, perfect temperature, not a cloud in the sky. You could not have asked for better.
But the moment we cut that cake, BOOM! BOOM! CRACKLE! BAM! BOOM!
Seriously? Massive storm hits the moment we cut the cake. We look outside and it is dark and pouring! Fortunately, neither of us is superstitious, and given that I am such an optimist, if I were, I would make sure it was a good sign. Yeah, applause from heaven!
So how late did this wedding reception go? I have no flipping clue. What I remember as being about 12 milliseconds after the cake, Paola and I just vanished. We went to change real quick, hopped in my car and headed to Rome. By everyone! Have fun!
And that was it. We spent our wedding night in Rome, came back to Soriano the next day… Paola to my apartment this time. And a few days later we boarded a flight for Thailand & Indonesia. Our married life has officially begun.
The Takeaway
Above all, the thing that really stuck me was how nervous everyone else was about our wedding. But here’s the thing: When you know, you know. As I write this, Paola and I have been married for 40 years. I’m not going to lie and say it has been easy. We have been through some VERY rough times! But we worked through those and came out better on the other side. It also amazed me to look back and think about all of the people that had their warnings or got nervous. I didn’t get into the details of much of my family, that were against us getting married. But we have the longest lasting marriage in my entire family, we have two amazing kids, and the best granddaughter on the planet. Paola and I are still best friends. So what was I supposed to be nervous about? When you know, you know.
The other takeaway here, is that if you are going to invite people to your wedding, the leader of Russia probably won’t RSVP.
That’s it for now. Part 17 will come when it comes, but I can tell you it will be My Life in Italy, Part 17: The Villa & The In Between Years.
Until then, drop a comment… I love reading them.
Michael Kovnick is the Co-founder & CEO of Culture Discovery Vacations, the small-group cultural travel company he's run as a direct operator since 2006. An Italian-American who's spent 40+ years with one foot in The USA and the other in Italy, he built CDV around a simple, stubborn idea: keep the majority of every travel dollar in the local community, and treat guests like family instead of customers. He's a CTIE-certified travel professional, published in 2025 on the anti-extractive tourism model CDV is built on. He still writes here about the gap between how Americans and Italians see the world... and which side got it right.