The heritage wedding.

Before location or florals, we find where you come from. The exact village. We rebuild the genealogy across at least three generations, working with a network genealogist, parish archives, civil registries, and the Italea platform.

If the house still stands, we locate it. If relatives remain, we contact them.

For couples coming from across the ocean, this step is often the first: typically you only know the great-grandfather left from a village starting with S. Three weeks later you know which one.

Two or three months before the wedding, a day in the village of origin. Not a site visit: an experience, told and photographed.

The mayor or the parish priest, the church where ancestors were baptized, the cemetery, the house, the relatives found in research, lunch in their homes or a historic trattoria.

It is often the most moving moment of the entire process — sometimes more than the wedding itself.

A reading in dialect by an elder. A traditional song as the bride enters. A village dish at the banquet, with its history printed on the menu.

Favors made by the artisans of the territory — bergamot, Rossano licorice, honey, ceramics.

The mortaretti at the church doors: something luxury planners avoid because they find it folkloric — and which, for those who return, is exactly the sign that the wedding is real.

Most of these weddings have a guest list in two languages: the Calabrian relatives who speak Italian and dialect, the friends arriving from Boston, Zurich, Sydney.

Without a bridge between them, the two groups live the wedding in parallel without meeting — and this is exactly where a heritage wedding fails.

Bilingual celebrant, menus and signage in both languages, and a welcome guide sent to international guests beforehand: explaining traditions, food, why rice is thrown, why grandma cries during lunch and isn't unwell.