Barefoot beach wedding

The day dawns bright and sunny, boding well for the festivities ahead. For most of us, it's a question of marking time until the ceremony in the early evening: plunge pool cavorting, beach swimming and snorkelling. For the family of the bride and las sobrinas, it's a day of frantic preparation. Early afternoon, the bride heads off to the marriage night villa to dress while the groom frets and sweats back at base. Furniture is rearranged and decorations put up in the top villa, and finally it is time to don the smart dresses and trousers.

In twos and threes we head down to the beach at the appointed hour, where the groom waits with the presiding clergyman before a temporary gazebo decorated with flowers. A mere five minutes late, the steel pan starts playing - here comes the bride, escorted towards the imaginary altar by her father and brother, while a flower girl (still sober at that stage) prettily paves the way with rose petals. Resplendent in white, la Colombiana joins her novio and the ceremony gets under way. The sun shines brilliantly, the cleric gives a sermon about Naomi, which passed right over my head, and mistakes (deliberately or not) Colombia for Venezuela, hermano and sweet sobrina the elder give readings, and finally the couple exchange their vows which onlookers struggle to hear over the roar of the surf. Then the wedding bands are slipped on, and le petit frère is finally married to his beautiful novia. Cheers all round.

The newly married couple and their witnesses sign the register in the late evening sunshine, and then husband and wife simultaneously fill a vase with individual bottles of sand to symbolise an inseparable union. Finally the groom pops the champagne cork amid a cloud of bubbles and a glorious sunset. Toasts are drunk (a little too enthusiastically on the part of la petite sobrina), many photos taken, many kisses and hugs exchanged, and many waves wet many legs and feet. Then paper lanterns are lit and rise into the rapidly darkening night sky.

Back to the top villa for more champagne. The partying starts with a splash when the bride and groom jump fully clothed into the pool and are soon joined by half the wedding party. The other half clean up while the impromptu swimmers head upstairs to change into dry clothes. Dinner is laid out and swiftly consumed, the cake is cut, and then the party continues back down at the bottom villa, where we are royally entertained for an hour by a drum and dance troupe from Trinidad. Audience participation towards the end with limbo dancing and bamboo pole hopscotch - risk your ankles if you dare.

The dance troupe leaves, and the party continues. More paper lanterns rise into the night sky, some more successfully than others, none of the spinster girls catch the bouquet, more drinking and dancing follows before la bienheureuse and I take advantage of her condition to lead a gradual drift off towards bed. The end of an idyllic day.