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I recently flew to Paris for a wedding. Envious? So you should be! It was a grand and moving affair.

The couple in question, my friend Micaela and her Flavio (yes, that is his real name!), are very much in love and clearly “meant to be”, so a wedding in the City of Love seemed apt.

He’s a former Swiss diplomat turned politician and cultural advisor to UNESCO and she’s an Italian academic,writer and radio documentarian with a PhD in German literature.

Their work brought them together in Flavio’s home town, Lugano. The catalyst for their meeting was the Swiss-German author, Hermann Hesse, about whom Micaela was making a program in which Flavio had invested. According to witnesses they were instantly besotted with one another and the passion hasn’t faded. They now share their time between Lugano, Rome and Paris. Their’s is a beautiful life.

And their wedding was as entertaining as it was beautiful, so I thought I’d share the experience with you.

The ceremony was held in the Latin Quarter’s 18th century Town Hall. Not your Oz style Town Hall – characterised by the sale of crocheted doilies, the smell of moth balls and bake-offs. Oh, no, this was an opulent building opposite the Pantheon. There was a giant marble statue of naked, entwined lovers (reminiscent of Rodin whose sculpture garden I wandered through the previous day) in the foyer, a winding staircase to climb and valuable tapestries and murals adorning the walls.

The civil nuptials lacked the familiar spiritual element but they seemed meaningful and romantic – thanks largely to my poor grasp of French and Italian which meant I had to rely on body language for interpretation. The city official conducting the ceremony described it as an EU marriage – a union of Switzerland, Italy and France with a guest list that added more nations to the mix. The Roman a capella choir Micaela sings with concluded the ceremony beautifully.

Flavio was beaming and looking fabulous in a bespoke suit and Micaela...well she’s so beautiful she defies description at any rate, but she took my breath away in a tres elegant cream silk and lace suit with ribbons in her hair.

The wedding guests included stylish European literati, academics, journalists, diplomats, UNESCO types and bankers. And there was I – trying to look like I belonged, but just glad my dress zipped up in the aftermath of 10 days of indulgence in the boulangeries, patisseries and fromageries of France. Those long walks along the Seine obviously did the trick!

The reception was held on a floating restaurant/jazz club which cruised the Seine (Ooh, look! Notre Dame; the Eiffel Tower; the Musee D’Orsay…sigh) at a languid pace on a sunny afternoon. The food was outstanding – a hybrid of Italian and French influences…citrus crusted lamb and salmon with green olive tapenade starred…alongside caviar, fine champagne and other notable drops from the elevated appellations. Micaela joined her choir for a performance in between courses and then, a noted (and rather swoon-worthy) Italian guitarist floored the crowd with an extraordinary set which concluded with a Marvin Gaye tribute. As he played “I Heard It On the Grapevine” a “very famous” elder statesman of Italian Left politics and journalism (the former editor of Il Manifesto) sat at the bar as other journos rushed to snap the shot.

Then the disc jockey commenced his duties and it went the way of so many parties in Europe I’ve been to…into a pop-culture void! It was like being in the Eurovision audience. The play-list started with The Village People (yup…with 50 Italian accents yelling “Y-uh, M-uh, C, A-uh”) moved through “Ti Amo” and Kenny Rogers’ “Lady” before reverting to what sounded like the entire "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert" soundtrack (why is it that when Europeans add popular music to an event it sounds like a gay nightclub?) On the dance floor, Flavio’s contemporaries were working their 70’s disco stuff – all gyrating hips and clicking fingers (I failed to muffle laughter). But I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

The Mother of the Bride, who was concerned about Micaela and Flavio’s resistance to tradition and disappointed the wedding wasn’t being held in Rome, was clearly anxious at the outset. But she was twisting (i.e. Chuck Berry-style) by the end of the soiree and pronounced everything: the ceremony; the union; the wedding dress; even the gateau (should have been an Italian fruit cake, apparently) “tuti bellisima!”

I sat next to some friends of Flavio who revealed, under the influence of a fine Bordeaux, that until he met Micaela, his personal life resembled that of fiction’s crime-fighting Lothario, Inspector Moltalbano. But Flavio’s friends described how Micaela “conquered" the “Montalbano of Lugano” and expressed amazement at his devotion to her. I’m not surprised she succeeded where other women failed – arrestingly beautiful; talented; witty; a generous heart; highly intelligent (she speaks three languages, is learning a fourth)…I feel very inadequate listing all her assets! And, just between you and I, Flavio’s quite the catch too! Charming, intelligent, cultured, witty and affectionate - no wonder Micaela fell for him.

And the wedding was more than a celebration of Flavio and Micaela’s love. It also represented their triumph over Italian bureaucracy and strict Swiss marriage laws. Micaela kept her friends informed about her near daily struggles with the Italian bureaucrats who, through some pit-sized gap in the system, ultimately rendered her stateless and removed her access to public health cover in response to her decision to take up Parisian residency. Meanwhile, Flavio had to convince the Swiss authorities Micaela was worthy of marrying into the 'pre-eminent European culture'. A marriage license for a union with an ‘outsider’ is no mean feat in the land of neutrality!

Micaela and Flavio are now honeymooning in China before returning to their rooftop Latin Quarter nest which overlooks St Severin (the Church of the Traveller)…one of the oldest churches in Paris.

I know the grass isn’t always greener but my, oh my, their grass is lush! OK, I’m going to start chanting now: “There’s no place like home…there’s no place like home”…



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