Are We Married Yet?

Travel Stories: Joe Tortomasi quit his job, traveled to Taiwan and tied the knot with his sweetheart. At least he thinks he did.

01.04.03 | 9:58 PM ET

imagePhoto courtesy Joe Tortomasi

Pacific rains soaked the metropolis of Taipei, Taiwan on the day we were married. Teresa, the cute blue-eyed blonde walking beside me, had been living in the Republic of China for four months. I had arrived a few days before, having been teaching stateside to earn extra money.

We’d been dating for only four months when she left Southern California in September for a one-year sabbatical that would take her around the world. “Follow me,” she said before leaving for Los Angeles International Airport.

“I’ll…I’ll have to quit my job,” I said. “What’ll I do with my car? What if I don’t like the airline food?”

“Follow me,” she said. There was adventure in her eyes.

The next time we spoke was over a transpacific phone line that reached from California to Tokyo. 

“Follow me,” she said.

“Marry me,” I replied.

We both said yes and decided to rendezvous in Taiwan, where Teresa would be studying Mandarin for three months. “While we’re there, let’s get married,” she said. We had both been married before and wanted the next nuptial to be different.

We hurriedly traversed Taipei’s busy sidewalks crammed with portable food stalls, skyscrapers, and theaters showing American films. Our wedding ceremony was scheduled for 3 p.m.

Teresa made her 10 a.m. hair appointment. Meanwhile, I had just returned to our second story flat to press the shirt that my bride had bargained for at Asia World Department Store. I tried to adjust the fabric settings, but with everything on the iron printed in Chinese I could do nothing but play a round of Russian laundry roulette with the dial and hope for a wrinkle-free shirt.

Later, after a taxi ride that made me an avid seat belt promoter, we arrived at the downtown courthouse just as another thunderstorm hit. I sported a locally made three-piece suit, complimented by a successfully ironed shirt. My bride-to-be, newly-coiffed, was beautifully conspicuous amid the sea of black hair.

Her wedding dress reached just below the knees with alluring slits up both sides; gold Chinese dragons were embroidered throughout the white satin fabric. The local tailor had replaced the traditional Mandarin collar with a v-neck—at Teresa’s insistence.

The wedding room was on the first floor with a clerk-occupied table at the entrance. Finalizing the paperwork was my best man, our good friend Michael. As he proofread our wedding certificate, Michael pointed out our Chinese names: Tang Tai Li (Teresa) and Zhou Shao Fu (me). Everything else looked just like the settings on my iron.

The wedding room doors swung open. An orderly surge of couples and guests poured in, immediately filling the one hundred seats. Our maid of honor, Flora Ho, had recently joined us and was saving four seats. Teresa and I were the only Westerners in the room.

Ten couples were to be joined simultaneously in one brief secular ceremony on this last day of the Western year: a date, according to the Chinese calendar, signifying good luck.

Some brides wore long white gowns while others dressed like secretaries on a lunch break. Most men wore, as custom dictates, dark blue suits. The rest were casually attired in dress shirts and sport coats.

At 3:15 p.m., his honor entered. He wore a black magistrate’s gown. On the wall behind him, beautifully written in large characters, was the Chinese symbol for marriage: Double Happiness.

The court bailiff spoke and all ten wedding couples, including us, stood up to form two rows facing the front. Due to the large number reciting their vows, best men and maids of honor remained in their seats.

All that was required of the couples was to occasionally turn, face each other and then bow. Only the judge spoke.

Teresa’s Mandarin was limited, while mine consisted of “thank you” and “beer.” Glancing back at Michael every now and then, we’d mouth the words in unison, “Are we married yet?” A patient smile always accompanied the shaking of his head.

“San ji gong!” announced the bailiff. Following the motions of the other couples, we turned and bowed to one another for the third and last time.

“Are we married yet?”

Michael nodded. We had tied the knot, Chinese style, and yet, in a way, nothing seemed foreign. I thought of the Double Happiness symbol. I was never very good at math, but I did know what two times happiness equaled. The answer had blue eyes and was smiling back at me.

We kissed, adding a Western touch to the ceremony. Traditional Chinese music began playing over the courtroom speakers, as camera flashes whitened faces.

One more pose for the family back home was in order. Holding our Chinese wedding certificate between us, we beamed a look of wedded bliss for the camera. Michael, still smiling, gently took the certificate from us and replaced it in our hands—right side up.

Tags: Romantic Travel, Asia, Taiwan

Joe Tortomasi lives and writes in Los Angeles.


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