Married in Vegas

I was never ambitious about marriage. Sure, I was open to the idea, but it was not something I actively pursued, not like some of the girls around me. They ran after it like a drunk to a bottle. Endless discussions: ‘Will he, won’t he?’, ring, dress (The Dress! Nothing matters more than The Dress!), reception... I’d had my absolute fill of weddings before anyone had a rock.

So it was amazing that I was the first to get married, and incredible the way we did it.

When I was twenty-one I met the plumber of my dreams and two years later we eloped to Las Vegas. A lot of people talk about doing it, but we were cool enough to actually do it. We didn’t tell a soul and it was fabulous. We were fabulous.

Las Vegas may be the easiest place in the world to get married, but only if you’re American. For us Southern Hemispheroids, it is a trip-and-a-half and only the brave see it through. Passports, visas, flights, hotels, car hire and currency; it suspiciously starts to resemble that other list: date, The Dress, venue, menu, bridesmaids and flowers.

When we arrived in the USA, we leisurely took our time arriving in Vegas. It’s not that we were nonchalant; there was just too much great stuff to do before hand. My brilliant beloved drove magnificently while I navigated faultlessly around three states. We survived the spaghetti of the Los Angeles freeway system, the red desert plains of Arizona, Death Valley (superlatives superfluous), Yosemite in bear season, precipitous streets of San Francisco, a cinema in a bad neighbourhood, drunk on the rim of the Grand Canyon, and the whole gosh darn country gone crazy on the fourth of July.

Maybe the best part of all was that no one knew we were there. I’d made up some story for my family about spending the midyear break in Panama (not so unusual for me). I neglected to tell them I’d resigned from my teaching job -I couldn’t wrangle two extra weeks on top of school holidays- and I certainly didn’t share the whole eloping thing. I love my family- my parents are traditional, yet terrific, and we are close. Crucially, I have no sisters and am the only girl born into the family for generations. I hate to use the word ‘selfish’ so I’ll find some better ones instead: brave, daring, plucky...

Finding Vegas in the middle of the Nevada desert is like Lego towers in the middle of the living room floor; looks great but the location is impractical. By this I mean two things- it’s an impractical place for a city in the first place and impractical as a haven for love. Something closer to the coast or the airport with fewer distractions would make much more sense, but I must admit Vegas charmed me in every way. Keeping in mind I was very young, the free drinks, cheap food and nonstop entertainment impressed me.

We found a hotel, a chapel and the Clark County Courthouse where we lined up behind a fellow applying for his fourth marriage licence. Armed with all sorts of documents, we were only asked for our name and address and suddenly, ‘Here you go, Ossies- go get married!’

Back on The Strip I went to a hairdresser and raced back to our room to get dressed. No time to shower- we were running late for our 4.45-5.00pm time slot in the chapel, so I threw on my dress, he dug out his suit and we ran up to the Chapel of the Fountain, Circus Circus Hotel, Las Vegas.

It’s as classy as it sounds. Footage of the previous wedding screening in the foyer, deli fridge full of flowers, show bags for the happy couples (mine had washing powder), bored receptionist and a number system. Inside the chapel it was white, silent and empty; the only time I encountered that in Vegas.

The celebrant began, ‘Marriage is an age-old tradition...’ That’s the only thing I remember about the ceremony until he prompted me when it was time for the vows. ‘Eendra, do you take Michael...Eendra? Eendra?’ I barely remember anything he said, but I’ll never forget the way he pronounced my name. However, I know we were married legally because we have a certificate with the Nevada state seal and the photographer as our witness.

Our wedding package included twelve –twelve!- photos which were rushed through to allow for the next wedding: that groom in tuxedo jacket and board shorts, bride in tight pink. We both look a bit stunned in our shots, but we were enormously pleased at our coup. We still are.

Neither of us have any regrets. We bravely weathered the shocked assails from family and friends back home and I guess in the end, like those silly, inane girls and their eternal babble about wedding frippery, I too had the wedding I wanted. Mine was just way, way better!