How I got married in Vegas
It was time to tie the knot, and what to do? A flash white wedding with all the trimmings? Nahhh, Amy Glass just wasn’t interested.
Dreaming of no-fuss nuptials, I considered a registry office. We could sign the papers and be done. No white dress, no stress. It was the marriage I wanted, not a wedding.
But my future husband Mike thought we could try a bit harder than that. What about Las Vegas? We’d spent time there during a year in North America, and loved it. Glamorous, cheesy, and seedy, all at once. Disneyland for adults, just ... grittier. We were Elvis fans, and America fans. It felt right for us. And flights to LA were on sale.
A few clicks on a keyboard and the most spontaneous thing we’d ever done was booked for six weeks’ time. We were eloping.
First decision: the venue. Google searches revealed the amazing range of weddings on offer – from a drive-through service to elegant, pricey affairs at the city’s plush hotels. We knew we wanted Elvis at our service, but we also wanted a quick, simple wedding.
Initial email contact with the helpful manager at Graceland Wedding Chapel quickly won me over.
It turned out being New Zealanders posed absolutely no barrier to a Nevada wedding. We easily booked our ceremony via email, and the chapel advised me to apply for our wedding licence online too. We would only need to stop at the Las Vegas marriage licence bureau with our passports to collect and pay for the licence US$77 ($108) on the way to our ceremony. Easy.
The weeks rolled by with stressfree wedding outfit preparations. The bride chose a gold Kate Sylvester dress from Ballantynes, the groom went with an existing suit.
We booked leave, and awkwardly fibbed to friends and colleagues we were having a week off work for a ‘‘stay-cation’’.
And then it was Friday night and time to get to the airport. Mike finally presented me with an engagement ring as we walked out the door. I had been wondering when I was going to get my hands on that (the only wedding tradition it seemed I was interested in preserving).
I had been worried about the phone calls to our family from the airport, fearing those wedding dramas I had hoped to avoid. But the news was received graciously – mostly with laughter and disbelief. Everyone was still talking to us. Success.
Our arrival in LA involved the usual torturous wait through US customs, when even the exhausted Customs officer asked why anyone would voluntarily suffer this treatment. He brightened up a bit when I informed him I was off to Vegas to get married. He was also interested in the job market in my home country, and the average salary. Even the Customs officers are friendly in America.
After a night in LA where we caught a Dodgers match and ate the best Mexican food of my life, we hit the highway to Vegas in our yellow Mustang.
Being true romantics, we stopped in the dusty casino town of Primm on the way to look at Bonnie and Clyde’s getaway car. The bullet-ridden Ford is