Late 2023 through summer 2024

We met in late 2023 at a festival up in the BC mountains.

When we started seeing each other, we could tell immediately there was something unique between us. This had the potential to go the distance.

Over the next year we vacationed in Mexico together, attended a festival in Texas for the solar eclipse, flew to England to spend time with Jenna's family, and headed out to Connecticut to spend time with Chris's. Somewhere between airports, ski lifts, festivals, road trips, and a lot of long conversations, this thing turned into something way bigger than either of us expected.

The trips piled up. UK with Jenna's family. New York with Chris's.

In August 2024 we drove down to Burning Man together. Jenna's first time on the playa. After a magical and, by Burning Man standards, surprisingly smooth week, the best of Chris's nine Burning Mans by far, we headed home. The exodus from the playa was surprisingly quick and easy. Somewhere in the Nevada desert, driving back in our RV, we decided we would get married.

When we started planning, gathering everyone in one place didn't feel right. Our friends and family are scattered across different countries and different chapters of our lives. So instead of bringing the people to the party, we decided to bring the party to the people.

Our friends and family started calling it the tour. By Connecticut, they had the shirts. By England, a second set.

On the playa, August 2024. The trip we drove home from deciding to get married.

The plan

The plan was, relatively, simple on paper. Get legally married Friday by taking a helicopter up to the Tantalus Ridge above Squamish with our closest friends. Saturday: an outdoor garden party at the Treehouse, our friend Kryshan's incredible house up in the trees, followed by an all-night rager.

Vancouver's bipolar spring weather had other ideas. Torrential rain pushed the helicopter to Sunday and forced the garden party indoors. Since we technically weren't married yet, Saturday inadvertently turned into one giant bachelor and bachelorette party.

The Treehouse, transformed

With the help of an army of creative and resourceful friends, the Treehouse got transformed. Candles everywhere, draping, flowers, Pux on acoustic guitar, cocktails, a tree arch sculpture from Dune, food from Kara, and a beautiful cake from Kat. Rain hammered the roof outside.

Most of the guests were our mutual friends from BC. Others from different parts of our lives joined, some flown in from across the world.

Pux on guitar

Pux played a beautiful acoustic set. The room slowly settled into the realization that we were actually getting married.

The speeches

Speeches from Chris, Efe, Alex, and Gary that managed to be heartfelt and funny in the same breath.

The room shifted between laughter and quiet, depending on whose turn it was at the microphone. Old stories came out. A few embarrassing ones. The kind that only your closest friends will tell on you in front of a packed room.

After the last speech wound down, the room exhaled. People left their seats, found each other in the corners, hugged the speakers, refilled glasses.

The food, the cake

Kara cooked for the entire room. Bowls of delicious food down the long table, family-style platters of roasted vegetables and skewers. A wonderful meal to provide energy for the ensuing evening.

Kat had been working on the cake for days. Layered, fresh flowers pressed into the buttercream, the whole thing standing tall on the kitchen island when we walked in. She had matched it to the colors in the room: pale blues, soft pinks, a touch of gold.

The forced move indoors actually gave the evening an intimacy that the planned garden party never would have had.

Alyssa worked tirelessly to make the whole event come together, and Kryshan opened his home and basically lived in event-host mode for days. Without those two, none of it would have happened.

Roland, Berkan, and Kareem, our bartenders for the night, hoisted Jenna into the air over the signature cocktail station. The kind of unscripted moment that defined the evening.

Dinner and toasts ended. The intimate gathering turned into a full Burning Wedding Reception. The evening guests started arriving. Welcome pictures in front of the heart were taken. The lighting changed. DJs, immersive lighting, art installations, packed dance floors, and a beautifully controlled amount of chaos.

The lounge spaces upstairs filled with friends sinking into couches, swapping stories, kicking off their shoes. Down the hall, Harry's makeshift Elvis chapel was already drawing a queue of guests waiting to be married off.

Elvis at the Wedding Chapel

Harry showed up as Elvis and started performing spontaneous shotgun weddings for our guests, marrying off half the dance floor by the end of the night.

Hands forming hearts everywhere we turned. A house full of love and energy.

The DJ booth, the announcement

More than one hundred and sixty people packed the Treehouse.

The call from Squamish

Earlier in the evening, just as the party was kicking off, we got a call from the helicopter company. A weather window was opening up the following day, and we needed to be in Squamish by morning if we wanted to fly to the Tantalus Ridge.

Trying to bail on a party of one hundred and sixty to get a few hours of sleep before our actual wedding day felt absurd, but we wanted to make it happen.

Around six in the morning we slipped out to sleep while the party kept going downstairs. The last guests rolled out around seven-thirty.

After almost no sleep, we threw a few things in the car and pointed it north to Squamish.

Nate had crashed earlier than the rest of us, which meant he graciously offered to drive Alex, Efe, Jenna, and Chris up the Sea-to-Sky in the morning. The weather was still threatening, but there were hints of sunshine breaking through along the highway. Just enough to keep the hope alive.

The original ten o'clock flight got pushed back. Then pushed back again. At one point the pilot warned us we might have to settle for a short flight along the Squamish River instead of the full ascent to Tantalus Ridge.

A wide bend in the Squamish River, ten minutes from the brewery. Antje had scouted it earlier that morning, while we were still trying to figure out whether the helicopter was happening.

While we waited on a final call, our officiant Antje led us to a hidden spot by the Squamish River, where we got legally married. Short, simple, and surprisingly emotional after the previous night.

The moment we were actually married, in front of our closest friends.

The whole small group, after the river ceremony. Alex, Efe, Nate, Antje, and a few others. Thrilled, a little surprised this had just happened.

We retreated to Backcountry Brewery to wait it out. Officially married now, but still hoping the clouds would clear enough to let us pull off the original plan.

A few hours later, the call came in. Weather had cleared just enough to fly. By four in the afternoon, the whole group had gathered at the helipad. Helmets, headsets, layers, smiles. A long morning of waiting had finally turned into a go. Soon we were airborne, climbing through breaking clouds with Mount Tantalus ahead and the valley dropping away below. Within minutes everything in sight was glaciers, alpine ridges, and pure wilderness.

The helicopter banked hard out of the valley and the entire window filled with mountains. Snowfields, glacier ice, ridges. Breathtaking and unreal.

Nate officiated with a speech by Efe, and we exchanged our vows.

Deeply emotional and full of love and connection, the vows struck a chord deep in our hearts. A walking cane stuck upright in the snow served as the altar.

Chris sabred a bottle of champagne and we reveled in the miraculousness of being able to be up here against all odds.

The Rings

The exact mountain we were standing on was etched into our wedding bands by our friend Vlad. Which made this the only place to actually marry.

The post-party clean-up took a tremendous effort from all of our friends. The Treehouse had to be returned to a house. Candles, draping, flowers, lighting rigs, the whole reception kit. Everyone showed up and pitched in.

In the days after, we were just beginning to process everything that had happened. Two ceremonies, one helicopter, a hundred and sixty people, everything coming together against all odds. The magical weekend that had somehow happened.

Less than a week later, we found out. Jenna was pregnant. We could not have scripted this better.

We would wait another couple of months before we said anything publicly. That happened to coincide with the next event, in Lakeville, Connecticut, where Chris grew up.

Immediate family in the tour shirts Justin made.

A few months later, we brought the celebration to Lakeville, Connecticut, for Chris's family and the people who shaped him growing up. The weekend was built around the town Chris grew up in, and the events were held at the Salisbury School campus.

Justin had designed the shirts like the bootleg Grateful Dead shirts he and Chris used to print and sell on lot: same typeface, same layout, with the tour dates and city names on the back.

Everyone wore them at some point during the weekend.

Since the event was far from Vancouver, where Chris and Jenna live, Chris's family came together to make this a reality.

Chris's mom Jude basically ran point on the entire weekend. She held the schedule together, coordinated family across three time zones, kept the catering on time, and quietly handled the dozen things that would have otherwise unraveled.

Amity handled the flowers. She worked through the week, pulling stems and greenery from around the property, building arrangements for the boathouse, the lodge, the tables, and the doorways.

Rob built the welcome sign. Hand-cut, hand-painted, with our names and the date. He set it at the foot of the driveway the morning the first guests arrived.

Pizza by the Lake

Friday night kicked off with a casual welcome dinner at the Salisbury School Boathouse on Twin Lakes, just across from the campus where Chris grew up.

This was the same spot where Chris's brother Erik had been married eighteen years earlier. A bit of nostalgia for the family. Full circle.

The boathouse opened wide onto the lake. Old wooden beams overhead, string lights threaded between the rafters, the dock just outside the back doors.

Friends and family rolling in from across the US. The pizza truck had pulled around back, and the first guests were already arriving with kids in tow.

The pizza truck from New Haven had a line by the time the sun touched the lake. Jude moved from group to group, making introductions and pointing people toward the food.

Family and friends were coming from all over, so we wanted to have a proper welcome evening. The sun set over the water.

Drinks, music, kids running around the docks, and conversations stretching late around the firepit.

The Underground House at the edge of the property, half-buried into the hillside, glass on the front, the rest of it tucked into the earth. Breakfast on the patio Saturday morning before the main event.

The room filled up steadily through the morning. Generations side by side on the couches, kids weaving between adults' legs.

Kevin, Chris's best friend from high school, served as the unofficial photographer all weekend, and found himself in a few shots as well.

The main event was at Belin Lodge the next afternoon. Chris's parents Rob and Jude, his brothers Erik and Justin, sisters-in-law, nieces, nephews, cousins, aunts, uncles, and old friends came in from across the US and beyond.

More of the family rolling in. Erik and his kids, Justin and his, a dozen cousins, and the aunts and uncles from the Hansen clan, who came in from across the eastern seaboard.

A band played the lodge that afternoon, working through old hard rock classics. Everyone ended up on the dance floor at some point.

Dom Pérignon

Rob had been saving a bottle of 1995 Dom Pérignon for when Chris would finally get married. After three decades, he had basically given up. By the time the cork came out, the wine had aged past its maturity, which we all had a good laugh about.

The toast Rob had been waiting decades to give.

This was also where we told everyone Jenna was pregnant. Chris worked it into his speech somewhere near the end, around when he was already running long. Welcoming Jenna into the family, with one more on the way.

The cake came out late in the evening, after most of the speeches and well into the dancing. Turquoise, with figurines our friends had made by hand on top.

The band leaned into the seventies. Old hard rock classics. The lodge floor cleared and filled within the first song.

Last group shot of the night, around the fire pit, after the band had packed up and the cake plates were stacked. Someone decided it was a good idea to shotgun a beer.

Before the celebration kicked off, we spent a few days in Windsor with our mothers, Jude and Nina, staying at a cottage on Oxford Road. After the pace of the previous months it felt slow and grounded. We walked everywhere, hit the castle, ate long meals, drank in the old high street pubs.

The original venue fell through right before the event. Jenna's family stepped in. Michael opened up his home and beautiful garden outside London. Tina and Nick helped Michael put together a massive marquee and organize catering and garden setup, the lot of it. Jess and Alex put together beautiful arrangements on the tables.

The week leading up to the event was wet and rainy. On the day itself, the sun broke through the gray clouds. About forty guests arrived, welcomed in the garden with prosecco and elderflower.

Dilip's photo shoot

Dilip moved quietly through the garden with his camera, catching the in-between moments. He shot all day from the edges of the party.

Steph, the music

Steph played two sets through the afternoon. Quiet, unhurried acoustic during the buffet, then more lifted material once the speeches were done.

The buffet stretched into hours of speeches, wine, and tea. Long English afternoon energy. Nobody hurried.

Jenna leaning into the cake with the knife. The marquee behind, the guests packed around the table.

The whole group cheering the cake. Friends had presented the second tour t-shirt, this time using Taylor Swift's Eras Tour as inspiration.

The moment the cake was eaten and the music stopped, it began to pour. The party closed down on cue. We had a flight to catch in the morning to start the honeymoon in Italy.

The Tour Shirts

They called it The Wedding Eras Tour. Canada, USA, UK, Italy.

We took the water taxi from the airport into the lagoon, watching the skyline of domes and bell towers come into focus across the green water.

Our first day was for walking. We wound through the narrow alleys, paused at small piazzas, and let the slower pace catch up with us.

One of the small bridges over the side canals. The kind of view you walk past a hundred times in Venice without registering, then suddenly stop for.

The Piazza San Marco and the San Marco Basilica, then the Doge's Palace.

Inside the Basilica di San Marco. Gold mosaic ceilings. The whole interior glows even on a cloudy day.

The gold mosaics of San Marco, lit dimly from above. Every surface is decorated.

At night there was a lot of buzz in the city because the Venice Film Festival was just beginning. We caught a little bit of it at the edges while having drinks at the Gritti Palace and dinner at La Zucca, a fantastic Italian vegetarian meal.

We had a beautiful Airbnb right on a canal for two nights. We could have stayed longer, but the itinerary was packed, so we made the most of the short window we had.

From Venice we drove west to Sirmione, at the south end of Lake Garda, and stayed at Hotel Flaminia at the base of the Castello Scaligero di Sirmione. After being around water in Venice but not in it, the Lake District was a relief. We finally got to swim in the pristine lake.

Dinner on the lakefront in Sirmione, the castle lit up across the water. Handmade pasta covered in local truffle, a glass of Amarone della Valpolicella, perfect honeymoon vibes.

Climbing the castle towers, swimming on the beaches, eating slowly.

Walking the medieval streets of Sirmione. Stone walls, narrow lanes, gelato stops, lake views breaking through at every corner.

We drove on to Verona, this classic city we'd all heard about so many times. Instead of queueing for Juliet's balcony, we headed north into the Valpolicella hills for an afternoon of wine.

An afternoon in the Valpolicella hills, in a cellar dug into the slope. Wines, fine cheeses, and a long view back down the valley.

In the evening, we took our seats inside the ancient Roman arena in the center of the city to watch the opera Carmen. The stage built into ancient walls, seats on stone, sky overhead. Our first opera ever, and probably the most magical Italian setting we could have imagined.

Jenna walking the cobblestone street to Osteria Francescana. The signage is restrained. Easy to walk past if you don't know what you're looking for.

We arrived in Modena and went straight to Osteria Francescana. Three Michelin stars. We worked through the tasting menu slowly and tried not to laugh at how good it was.

World-famous chef Massimo Bottura came out to talk to us at the end of the meal. He was excited that we had chosen to bring our baby (in Jenna's tummy) to enjoy his food. Such an unexpected treat.

The dining room at Osteria Francescana. Quiet, warm, dressed-down for a three-star.

Each course at Osteria Francescana arrived with its own short story from the server. The tasting menu ran almost three hours and we kept wanting it to continue.

The tasting menu moved through about a dozen courses. We laughed quietly at how good the food was.

After lunch we headed to Massimo's villa for a private tasting of his DOC balsamics, some of the best in the world. From there, we spent two nights at Agriturismo La Vedetta in the hills outside town. La Vedetta is itself a working balsamic winery, which makes sense for the region. Modena is the epicenter of balsamic in the world, and the visit gave us a proper immersion.

Among the olive trees at La Vedetta. Olive trees, vineyards, and the balsamic cellars all on the same property. We enjoyed a private vinegar tasting.

The olive grove behind the agriturismo, late afternoon.

We swam in the pool, walked the vineyards, and took a pasta-making class with the family that turned out to be one of the highlights of the trip.

Eating the tortelloni we had folded that morning. The family ate with us at the long kitchen table.

Modena is also Ferrari country. We went to the epicenter. We tried to talk our way into a test drive, then opted to avoid the unnecessary speeding tickets, which we somehow still managed to get later in our VW Polo.

The Ferrari Museum in Maranello. Decades of road cars, race cars, and prototypes under one roof.

Back at the agriturismo for the harvest. The family had us crushing grapes by hand in the old wooden press, the first step in the balsamic-making process. A candlelit dinner under the olive trees rounded out the night.

A stop in Bologna for the food, often called the capital of Italian cuisine. Chris ate a traditional Bolognese, vegetarian of course. Jenna had the real thing. The two towers in the city center, leaning against each other.

Florence was a place Chris had spent a semester in twenty-two years earlier, and this was his first time back. It was great to be able to welcome Jenna into a city that is essentially an open-air museum. We stayed close to where Chris had lived, right by Piazza della Signoria, where Michelangelo's David was originally located.

The view from above, with the Duomo rising over the terracotta rooftops.

We spent a day at the Palazzo Vecchio and climbing the Campanile. A walking tour through the streets.

Crossing the Ponte Vecchio in late light.

The next day we rented e-bikes and rode down through the city, across the Arno, and up into the Tuscan hills for a tasting at a vineyard.

Lunch at the winery in the Tuscan hills. Long table, local salumi, big glasses of Chianti, a perfect taste of Tuscany.

From the hills above Florence, looking back across the city to the Duomo.

A fantastic ending to the first part of our Italian leg. We had seen, tasted, and experienced so much in such a short period of time.

A long dinner at Ora d'Aria, the Michelin spot tucked off Piazza della Signoria. The right note to close Florence on.

Catania felt like the Sicily of movies and reputation. Very different from the polished tourist circuit of northern Italy. Raw, hot, full of energy, with a hint of sketchiness.

We had a wonderful dinner at Mì Cumpari Turiddu, which translates roughly to friends closer than family. A fitting name for a restaurant for our chosen family from around the world.

After dinner, drinks in town. We bumped into others from the wedding party who had just arrived.

The next day we checked into the four villas we had booked in Plemmirio, just outside Syracuse. Originally we had plans further south in one large villa that fell through. In a way it worked out better to have multiple options. Different groups settled into different places, then everyone came together for the welcome dinner.

Welcome dinner at the beach club Varco23. One long table outside, candles down the middle. Paul DJed. People who had never met were deep in conversation within the hour. Shots of grappa, limoncello, and other digestifs were consumed.

Friends rolling in from eight countries. Some who hadn't seen each other in years. Others meeting for the first time.

The party continued back at the villas.

The next day was the wine tour at Cantine Pupillo, a castle winery in the hills above Syracuse. Everyone got the full experience of Italy through wine and food, all specially curated for us, even though many were worse for wear after the previous night.

The main tasting of the afternoon. Sicilian reds and whites poured in succession, each with a plate of local cheese to match.

From there everyone returned to the villas for beach hangs and rest to get energy for the night.

We all met later that evening on the island of Ortigia, at the heart of the ancient city of Syracuse. Several long tables at the trendy Zefiro Solarium, right on the water. A fantastic dinner. Everyone showed up looking beautiful and fully acclimated to Sicily life.

Dinner at Zefiro Solarium on Ortigia, long tables right on the water. Thirty-two of us at one table, the lights of the old town climbing the hillside behind.

Speeches between courses from people who knew us at every stage. High school, college, Vancouver, the years in between.

The whole table, end to end, on Ortigia. Thirty-two people from eight countries, half of them just meeting for the first time, all of them somehow already in deep conversation.

From there, groups went off to different locations around the city. Others went back to the villas to continue the evening.

The next day was the crown jewel of the trip. A 75-foot yacht, the Maeva Star, launched from Ortigia and took us around the Plemmirio marine reserve. Beautiful emerald green waters, sea caves, sea cliffs. Supposedly the mythical location in Homer's Odyssey where the Sirens tried to lure Odysseus in with their songs.

Smaller groups breaking off across the deck. Some up front in the sun, some at the rail, some near the speakers at the stern.

The two of us off the back of the boat, the water clear enough to see the rocks below.

Mid-afternoon on the boat. Music pumping, half the crowd in the water and the other half passing drinks down from the upper deck.

More of the crew on deck. Drinks in hand, friends draped over the railings, somebody always queuing up the next song on the speakers.

Music, dancing, eating, drinking, swimming, jumping off the back of the boat. Just living our best lives.

The big group photo, taken as the captain swung the boat in close to one of the sea cliffs.

Plemmirio Reserve Beach Club

For our last day, we booked out the Plemmirio Reserve Beach Club for the official ceremony celebrating the final event of the wedding tour. A delicious afternoon lunch, drinks, toasts, and one last cake.

Dancing under the gazebos. We had picked the playlist together over the winter. Everyone seemed to know the words to half the songs.

The group at Plemmirio. After three full days together, this was the version of the wedding party that had fully come together. Former strangers, now best friends.

Jenna's college friends, all together. People who knew each other before any of this was on the radar.

We danced to the traditional Sicilian wedding song from the Godfather. Gifts were given. The party ramped up.

The Onesies

Halfway through the afternoon, Max and Simone disappeared. They reappeared in matching 80s ski onesies, marching down the steps to cheesy euro après music. Within five minutes, half the wedding was wearing them. Within ten, we were all in the sea.

The pool party afterward at one of the villas. The afternoon kept rolling into the evening, and the evening kept rolling into the next morning.

Everyone was fully connected at this point. The full party went well into the next morning, capping off one of the best events of our lives. Many of the stories and pictures could not be included in this book.

Villa Belvedere, perched above the Mediterranean below the slopes of Mount Etna. Two quiet days to decompress before the long flights home.

Mornings on the pool patio with coffee. Long looks at the water.

An afternoon climb to the ancient Greek theater above town. The seats face Etna across the bay. They have been pointed at that view for thousands of years.

From the high terraces above the theater. The coast of Sicily curving south, the Ionian Sea catching the late-afternoon light.

Truffle treats, pistachio everything, gelato in narrow streets. The cliffside town from White Lotus, mostly without the White Lotus.

Long dinners trying to wrap our heads around the year. Vancouver, Squamish, Connecticut, England, Italy, Sicily. Six months. Hundreds of people. One marriage.

We flew back to Vancouver from Catania. Long flight, layover in Germany. The wedding tour was over.

The first week home was strange. We woke up late, made coffee at our own counter, walked the seawall. After a year of countdown lists, we had nothing on the calendar.

The boxes of leftover decor, the gift envelopes still sealed, the spreadsheet of guests by event. We worked through it slowly.

October, November, December. Vancouver settled into its rain. We saw friends two at a time instead of two hundred at once. The pace dropped back to something human.

Through every event of the year, Jenna had been pregnant. The garden party in Vancouver. The helicopter and glacier. Connecticut. The garden party in the UK. Venice, Modena, Florence. The buddymoon in Sicily. Taormina.

Every flight, every dinner, every dance floor, every boat day. Our baby was with us the whole time.

We told a few people in Connecticut, during Chris's speech, with the Dom Pérignon. We told more in England. By Sicily, most people knew. We never made a formal announcement. The trip was its own announcement.

The pace slowed but Jenna kept moving. Hikes, dinners, weekends away with friends, the seawall in the rain. Active and healthy the whole way through. New Year's at the Nest was the last big gathering before the final push.

Summer Bella Winters was born on a Thursday morning in Vancouver. Eight pounds, ten ounces. A big beautiful baby.

We had picked the name Summer Winters well before the birth. The middle name came after we finally met her. Bella. An ode to our time in Italy and to the beautiful girl in front of us.

The wedding tour had a route, a guest list, a structure. This did not. We took her home from the hospital and figured it out one hour at a time.

A year earlier, we had decided to bring the party to the people instead of asking everyone to come to one. We had ended up with five weddings, a helicopter ceremony, a yacht day, a marquee in a windstorm, and a worldwide family to help her through her life. The book is for her, when she is old enough to ask how we got here.

This year took more people than just the two of us. A short list, by event, of the ones who pulled the heaviest weight.

Vancouver

Kryshan, who opened his home and lived in event-host mode for days. Alyssa, who tirelessly held the whole event together. Pux, on acoustic guitar all night. Kara, who cooked for the entire room. Kat, who made the cake. Dune, who built the tree arch. Roland, Berkan, and Kareem, our bartenders. Harry, as Elvis. Gary, Efe, and Alex, who gave the speeches.

Squamish

Antje, who officiated the river ceremony and scouted the spot herself. Nate, who officiated on the glacier and drove us up the Sea-to-Sky on no sleep. Efe and Alex, who made it to both ceremonies and gave the toasts. Vlad, who etched the exact mountain into our wedding bands.

Connecticut

Jude, who basically ran point on the entire weekend. Rob, who built the welcome sign and saved the 1995 Dom Pérignon for three decades. Erik and Justin, the brothers, who showed up in every way they could. Amity, who handled all the flowers. Kevin, Chris's best friend from high school and the weekend's unofficial photographer.

England

Michael, who opened his home and garden outside London when the original venue fell through. Tina and Nick, who put together the marquee and organized catering and garden setup. Jess and Alex, who built the table arrangements. Dilip, who photographed the day and produced the spine of this chapter. Steph, who played the music.

Italy

Massimo Bottura, who welcomed us into Osteria Francescana and then opened his villa for the balsamic tasting. The family at Agriturismo La Vedetta, who hosted us for two nights, taught us how to fold tortelloni, and let us help crush the balsamic grapes by hand.

La Zucca in Venice, for the vegetarian Italian dinner that surprised us. Hotel Flaminia in Sirmione, perched right under the Castello Scaligero. The cellar in the Valpolicella hills, for the afternoon of wine. The Arena di Verona, for the open-air Carmen that turned into our first opera. The Ferrari Museum in Maranello. The Tuscan winery above Florence, for the long lunch at the end of the e-bike ride. Ora d'Aria in Florence, for the dinner that closed the Italian leg.

Sicily

Paul, who DJed the welcome dinner. Max and Simone, who showed up in the onesies.

Mì Cumpari Turiddu in Catania, the restaurant whose name set the tone for the whole buddymoon. The four villas in Plemmirio, and the owners who let us take them over for a week. Varco23, the beach club that hosted the welcome dinner on the long candlelit table outside.

Cantine Pupillo, the castle winery above Syracuse, for the full day of Sicilian reds and whites. Zefiro Solarium on Ortigia, who pulled together the long tables on the water for thirty-two of us. The captain and crew of the Maeva Star, for the day around the Plemmirio marine reserve. The Plemmirio Reserve Beach Club, who hosted the closing ceremony.

Everyone else

And the rest of you. The photographers and cooks and bartenders and drivers and house cleaners who made each event run. The family members who flew in from across oceans. The friends who came to one event, or two, or four, or all of them. The ones who couldn't make it but sent the message. The chosen family.

This year happened because of all of you. Thank you.

Vancouver, May 18, 2026.