A Provençal civil wedding. In France, before any church bells ring or flower petals scatter in chapels, there must first be a civil ceremony at the city hall. It’s the official beginning, the legal part, the one that counts here.
We gathered in the village square under a sky that promised no shade and a sun that didn’t bother to soften its touch. It was exceptionally hot—one of those summer days where even the shutters seem to sigh—but none of us seemed to mind. The air carried something sweeter than discomfort: joy, love, anticipation.
After the vows were exchanged and the documents signed at the city hall, we walked back to their home, weaving through the familiar streets like a small, sunlit parade. Outside, by the cool hush of their old stone house, in their park that is hundreds of years old, with large lush trees we shared an aioli — garlicky, lemony, full of flavor and laughter.
In France, a wedding celebration can stretch across the hours, leisurely and unhurried. But when you’re with family and friends — the kind you’ve known for decades — those hours slip by unnoticed. People linger. There’s no rush. Conversation flows easily. Stories are told, sometimes songs too, or quiet moments of simply being together. The meal can last for hours, literally. Not because it’s planned that way, but because time seems to soften when everyone is fully present. It’s not better or worse than elsewhere — it’s just different. Here, people take their time to be together, and that alone feels like a celebration.
The religious ceremony will take place in September — more formal, more traditional, in a château no less. We’ll all gather again, dressed up and glowing from late summer light. I’m already looking forward to it and sharing it with you. But for now, I wanted to offer a little sneak peek… to show you the beginning before the grander chapter unfolds.
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