Published in the December 10-23, 2014 issue of Morgan Hill Life
By Michael Fogestrom
Photo courtesy Michael Fogelstrom
Heather Cowan and Michael Fogelstrom in Italy.
How could Heather Cowan and Michael Fogelstrom follow up a magical, knee knocking proposal? That was the question the Morgan Hill couple contemplated for months before arriving at their answer: An intimate wedding in Italy’s Amalfi Coast.
The two set to work, navigating piles of Italian paperwork, crafting invitations and planning a wedding from 6,000 miles away. One Italian wedding planner and four dozen forms later, they were finally ready to exchange their “I do’s” on a hilltop of Ravello, a picturesque little town overlooking the Mediterranean.
Fifteen family members and friends joined them for an unforgettable day. Opulent cart-drawn music boxes and tenors dotted the streets of Ravello in a music festival on their wedding day. Heather and Michael were treated to a serenade of “O Sole Mio” by a group of traveling tenors headlining the festival. In post-wedding bliss, Heather and Michael anticipated a week of honeymoon sunshine and sand on the beaches of Malta. What they got was a series of misfortunate events worthy of a “Family Vacation” film.
On their first night on the tiny Mediterranean island, Michael ordered a bottle of wine to toast their first getaway as husband and wife. Irony slapped Michael in the face in the shape of a corkscrew. In a breach of physics, the wine opener flew from the hands of the waitress and struck Michael square on the eyeball, the tip gashing him just above the cheekbone and narrowly avoiding carnage.
After sleeping off the awkward start, the newlyweds decided to explore the island with a morning visit to the ancient cities of Valetta and Mdina. Their unyielding spirit was dampened by continuous power outages and endless bus rides.
On the third, and final day on Malta, the couple set off to one of the most renowned swimming destinations in the world, the Blue Lagoon. But thanks to a gaffe in bus timetables, they were forced to explore a lesser, but supposedly respectable beach at the north end of the island. What should have been a 15-minute bus ride turned into a three-hour tour through 12 miles of squalid development and barren stretches of limestone.
The reward was a quaint strip of beach, the golden sands strewn with rocks eager to scrape against bare soles. They later discovered the premier sandy destination was one bus stop behind them.
Calling the beach day a flop, Heather and Michael hailed an expensive cab back to their hotel. The cabby, a bull of a bitter British expat, greeted the two with a hearty: “Well what brings you to this godforsaken little piece of rock.” Their awkward response: “Our honeymoon.”
By this time, the newlyweds were ready to tap out and head back to Rome, where the warm Italian disposition and mounds of pasta awaited them. After several phone calls pleading with the hotel manager to release them from the no cancellation reservations and a small fee (or tithe?), Heather and Michael headed back north to Italy.
At the airport, the couple sipped cappuccinos and searched for a suitable honeymoon suite, but none was to be had. One travel website suggested a nameless four-star hotel at a severe discount. After some travel hacking and narrowing down the likely choices, the couple booked another “no cancellation” hotel room. The results this time was less glamorous than Malta. Peeling wallpaper, black mold streaked on the walls, exposed wiring above the shower. The bride erupted in tears. This wasn’t the honeymoon they had hoped for.
Thanks to some Internet research, a camera phone and a health and safety exclusion in the booking contract, Heather and Michael escaped the roach resort and traipsed the dusky streets of Rome, three suitcases in tow, looking for a bona fide reputable hotel.
Hotel hopping along the famed Via Veneto proved fruitless. Heather and Michael found slim pickings among the top hotel chains. Not willing to max their credit cards out on a €1,200 per night suite, the couple headed to the airport and greeted the Bay Area with open arms.
It might sound like a honeymoon of horrors, but Heather and Michael learned an important lesson: it doesn’t matter if you’re atop the most awe-inspiring vistas or the filthiest crevices of a city. What matters is being there with the one you love.
Michael Fogelstrom is the chief operating office of GoVoluntr.com. He wrote this column for Morgan Hill Life.
