De-stressing a wedding

THE DICTIONARY definition of 'marriage' is the 'legal union of a man and woman as husband and wife' (depending of course on the state or country you live in).
What the dictionary fails to mention is all the bits before and in-between which threaten to de-rail your life like a horribly expensive runaway train.

The stress, the chaos, the planning, the intricate delicate flower button holes…

Our take on our wedding – sod a lot of the usual bullsh*t. It’s about us, it’s our turn to be selfish, and to enjoy our moment as we want.

No stress. No bullsh*t. Just smiles.

Yes, by now our plans for the wedding are in full flow.

Date set (Friday 13^th September), venue booked, honeymoon paid for.

*cue brief sigh, content expression and placing of feet on foot rest*

And... relax

It’s funny how men and women differ in terms of their mental state for such an occasion.

(And I know full well that female readers of this blog will roll their eyes and consider me a 'typical' male).

But given the unusual nature of how we came together, I feel like any stress on my side leading up to such an event has already been expended.

Quitting the comfortable lifestyle in the UK, moving continents to be with the ‘one’, adapting to life in a Mexican home, spending seven months trying to get the U.S. visa to allow me to accept the TV job, finding and buying the engagement ring, planning the proposal etc etc.

All THAT was stressful.

The wedding for me is a walk in the park!

Stress: Banned

Simply agree and say ‘I do’ with everything that the registrar asks right?

Well, I’m trying not to let it stress me out in any case.

By now I’ve been to, and experienced, enough weddings in my time to understand how NOT to do it.

In this case less is not more in terms of stress.

Not the image we want associated with our wedding!

Wedding ring shopping a few weeks’ back in Tijuana…

Me: “That’s nice, that’ll do.”

First jewellery shop, first ring I looked at. Job done.

Jacky: “What do you think of this one? Or this one? Or this one?! Shall we get them engraved?”

Yes, Jacks is taking the lead on this one.

Whatever she wants, I’m happy with. I’d tattoo my finger, or wrap a lollipop stick around it if that’s what she wants.

Thankfully I’ve not been a part of the search for the wedding dress.

Jacks spent the best part of a month in two different countries, as well as online, searching for THE ‘perfect’ dress.
Of course a month isn't that long given the seriousness of the dress situation.
No stone left unturned. The Holy Grail would have been easier to stumble across I'm sure.

Despite the obvious stress it was causing my future spouse, I couldn’t help but sit back and feel lucky I wasn’t allowed to be part of it.

So now she has the ‘perfect’ dress.

And what does Jacks want to do now? Make ‘adjustments’ to make it even more perfect.

I have no idea what to expect. But suffice to say, she’ll look amazing even if she wore a bin liner.

Note Jacks… this is an expression NOT a suggestion!

It’s her moment to be a princess.

And I’m just happy she’s finally, nearly, happy. Nearly.

My mum has also been going pretty crazy with the idea of it all – among other things designing and making flower button holes, and then skyping me simply to show me.

Note mum, for the record… they look fab.

My brother has also been asking if we should be “co-ordinated” in what the men are wearing.

Pfah.

I may sound pretty nonchalant about everything and it’s fair to say I’m pretty laid back about the ‘big’ day.

I’m organised, I’m determined, and I’m feeling good.

My cameraman joked – to the horror of his girlfriend – that he wouldn’t wear a suit to the occasion. Would I care?! No way! We’re in California man!
You want to rock up in boardies and flip flops - do it!

My mum doesn’t quite see it that way but give it a few days over here and she’ll fit into the groove I’m sure.

I’m just giving myself a big old personal high-five that I’ve found the most amazing girl in the world, and that she wants to publicly state that she wants to spend the rest of her life with me. I mean… ME!

Eek.

So yes, getting married away from our normal ‘homes’ allows us some amount of freedom and peace.

I mean, we don’t have to go to church; attend marriage guidance classes (that was the scenario if we opted for marriage in Mexico!); organise a huge stag/hen do; or pay for a hundred people we really don’t care that much about to be fed and watered!

Instead we have a simple theme, a lovely setting, with people here who have helped us along the way. And we have more money for the honeymoon.

The setting for our wedding (the building faces the ocean)

It will be stripped back and perfect, allowing us – to a certain degree – to be selfish and let the hectic world revolve around us for a single moment in time.

Our moment is made by us, for us.

San Diego and TJ are, by their very nature, transient places.

So us, as foreigners, getting married here seems to be the perfect set up.

And we can’t wait!

Actually I have to tell you all a pretty funny anecdote from a couple of months ago.

So after deciding to get married downtown at the administration building, we popped down to get our license for the occasion.

While we were sat there most (it seemed) of Southern California’s news networks, presenters and photographers rushed into the office in a frantic rush.

In a bizarre moment of fate the woman registrar dealing with us looked up and asked “are these here for you…?!”

We couldn’t help but laugh.

It turned out, that on that very afternoon, a ban on gay marriage in California had been lifted.

We walked out of the office after getting our license feeling like we were on the red carpet at Cannes with – I’m sure – many of the presenters wondering if I was actually there to book my ‘civil’ wedding to my ‘partner’.

I hope they’re reading this now just to clear up any confusion!

So yes, all systems go…

A month to go and I’m still pinching myself, as is Jacks, that we’re not actually living a dream.

That’s how it feels. A dream, within a dream.

Oh, on a side note can I also just say a quick thank you to all you lovely people who have been reading this blog over the past year.

We’re now well past 10,000 page views in 30+ countries.

It seems ‘Crazy Beautiful Madness In Mexico…’ is really popular in Germany, Russia, Latvia, South Korea, Canada and Hong Kong… as well as Mexico, the UK and the US.

Who’d have thought it! I can't believe it!

Each and every one of you is a part of this magical story.

Thanks for lending me your eyes!

Sending you all much love x


@tristan_nichols

Paper trails

IN the land of the blind the one-eyed man is king. Or so they say.

And if you’re one of the few – if not the only – places in Tijuana selling rolling papers, you seem to have a license to print money.

Yes in this blog first there was the search for the holy kettle, then came the hunt for the red sauce, and this last week has seen me go on a quest for Rizla.

Needle in a haystack? More like trying to find a Mexican named ‘Frank’.

Listen I’m not proud of it but hey, I smoke.

Not a lot, but enough to miss it if I don’t have it. A bit like missing out on the first cup of coffee in the morning, or finding out that the cinema has run out of popcorn shortly before the start of a much-anticipated film.

So a few weeks ago I discovered I was not only running out of Golden Virginia tobacco, but also Rizlas, or rolling papers.

I guess there are tobacconists here selling baccie – mainly for pipes – so that’s never been a huge issue. GV is replaceable until I can get back to the UK to buy some.

But without rolling papers you can’t roll a cigarette.

You can’t simply grab the nearest copy of El Mexicano and use the Chinese art of folding.

And I’m sure as hell not buying a pipe.

Sure, I could have ordered some papers online for delivery but I didn’t realise I was running out until I ran out. And besides, if I order now I probably won’t see a delivery before Christmas knowing the postal service.

And so began the hunt for papers.

“No biggie” I thought.

Wrong.

A couple of days after running out I popped into two general liquor stores to ask for ‘rolling papers’.

Well, I say ‘ask’ for rolling papers. I simply said ‘tienes?’ (you have?) and then did the universal finger and thumb rolling action.

The first shop owner shouted ‘no’ and pointed to the door. The second just said ‘out’ before looking over and nodding at a makeshift security guard to assist.

I just as well had been wearing a T-shirt saying ‘Mexi-can lick my b*lls’ for the reaction it got.

I tried a few North American-style corner shops but still nothing.

Even the tobacconists drew a blank, and a frown.

And then it dawned on me why I got the initial reaction.

People over here, and in the US, simply do not smoke roll ups.

So when people see me rolling a cigarette they immediately think I’m rolling a joint.

“Marijuana?!” has been shouted in my direction more than once.

Followed quickly by a look of disgust.

One of Jacky’s friends believes it’s only a matter of time before I actually get arrested.

I was beginning to give up on the search until someone half suggested some downtown tattoo parlour come jewellery shop.

We trekked across town and eventually found the place. I honestly didn’t know whether I was going to get lucky or emerge with a dodgy facial piercing and inappropriate spider web tattoo.

I asked the question again ‘tienes… um…’ cue finger and thumb roll.

‘No’ was the reply.

But then a kind of wink-wink nudge nudge action occurred and I was led through the back of the shop. The owner or manager took out a large set of keys and slowly and carefully unlocked a steel-barred door.

‘What the f*ck have I just asked for’ I thought as I was led into the dimly-lit back room.

And there in the back, displayed almost picture-perfectly on a glass shelf were a few packs of rolling papers.

“Amazing,” I said excitedly.

“30 pesos,” came the response.

Er… nearly £2 per pack?!

Oh what the hell. Money can buy me love.

Mission accomplished.

On the way back home on the outskirts of TJ, it dawned on me the number of pharmacies dotted around the place similar in frequency to the number of Spar shops in the UK.

They are literally everywhere.

Mas barata: 24-hour pharmacies for drugstore cowboys

Of course the reason is that neither Mexico, or indeed the US, has a National Health Service.

Instead they have countless pharmacies, and doctor and dental practices battling it out for business.

Seriously, in the UK the average Boots shop is pretty large but over here they have like ‘mega’ pharmacies with daily deals on pills and potions.

It’s almost surreal to see some boasting ‘24-hour’ service. I mean, 24-hour kebab shops, 24-hour Tesco… 24-hour Superdrug?! Weird.

But I guess when you’re ill, you’re ill.

Jacks tells me that Mexico, specifically TJ, has something called ‘medical tourism’ which is a large part of the city’s economy.

Every day thousands of Americans cross the border into Mexico simply to buy medicine because it’s cheaper than the US.

Anyhow, I’m off for a smoke.