My mother packed my wedding dress in a 20-liter hiking backpack as her carry-on from Colorado to Europe. She and I had bought the dress two days before my fiancé Tom and I were leaving for a year abroad. Now, her and my father were part of a guest list of 31 friends and family flying from three different countries to meet us in Greece upon our completion of circumnavigating 360 degrees around the globe. My father was burdened to carry the undergarments for the dress in his suitcase and both of their passports which they had recently acquired. My soon to be mother-in-law carried the engagement ring and Tom and I flew from Cambodia, lugging four handmade suits from Vietnam and two 65-liter Gregory backpacks that had been our condition of living for the previous eleven months.

In July of 2016, Tom and I gave into the idea of full-time travel intoxicated by the possibility of a gap year, even though many Americans saw this as unrealistic and irresponsible. The proposal came promptly before our departure and we joked that if we still liked one another after eleven months of travel together, day in day out, side by side then we could handle anything— marriage being one of them. We bought a one-way flight to Santa Marta, Colombia and left with 15kilos of gear accompanied by two years of bartending tips.

Along our 23,736-mile route between South America, New Zealand, Asia, and Europe, we uncovered the commitment of travel. Photographs present traveling for the result— the crisp coastlines, the final peak of a three-day hike, the well-deserved beer after a 38-hour bus ride— but getting there is messy. We traveled with an almost delusional dedication, becoming addicted to a life that we could fold into a backpack. Our hope was to entice friends and family to join us abroad, many who had never left the US. This was a matter of the right destination and the perfect excuse to evade work— a destination wedding. We set our search on Santorini, Greece the first place Tom and I had traveled together as a couple.

We found an Airbnb listing for Zen Villa that was beautiful in its pale colors and plated glass windows that let in so much sunshine that the rooms were glowing in every photo. The decor and architecture were simple, but the terrace overlooking the Caldera transformed the space. It was elegantly cozy, a space where two backpackers could feel both humbled and rich. Where we could exchange vows comforted by both our nomadic habits and our family.

Months of internet inquiries working with Divine Weddings, manifested into something tangible. We had all the makings of a wedding, with flowers, a photographer, the dress, the suits, exquisite food, and alcohol, but having a destination wedding allowed us to ignore the tedious aspects of tradition and status that plagues expensive American weddings. We nixed the cake, the party favors and bridal shower. We scratched the videographer and my future sister-in law generously did my hair and makeup. We only bought flowers for bouquets and boutonnieres leaving the backdrop of the Caldera to be decoration enough. All of our booze came from a convenience store, in which we cleared their shelves of beer and wine, and neatly set up a drink station in the island style kitchen.

The other benefit of a destination wedding was that although most of our two sides of family hadn’t spent more than an hour together at graduation, vacationing together had a way of eroding discomfort. For two days before the wedding, we planned activities that called on all of our guests, meaning that the day of the wedding wasn’t awkward handshaking and cold seating arrangements.

We were, however, subject to guesswork when it came to a Greek ceremony. We hired the island officiant who we met after my procession down the aisle. When the music cut, the three of us shook hands, very professional, before our ceremony began in Greek. During our vows, we fought to be heard over the hum of a drone, and I was suddenly yelling when the hum ceased and I slipped Tom’s $3 wedding band from Cambodia on to his left hand. Later we would giggle at the uncanny similarity to the ceremony in The Princess Bride. A perfect imitation as the officiant mumbled through the pronunciation of the words marriage, husband, and wife, sealed over a sloppy kiss as we couldn’t contain our grins.

The evening proceeded with joy as my Maid of Honor convinced an entourage of guests to jump in the pool following dinner and the best man distributed full bottles of champagne for a series of short toasts. The dance floor was overtaken by my mother dancing with a champagne bottle full of water and later my father and I danced, despite the disability in his left hip, his smile permanently pressed under his bushy beard. Without the long winded speeches, the separation of ceremony and reception, the marriage license, the tradition, it was unconventional by American standards, but it was ours. It was imperfect and therefore the moments that mattered—our promises, our family, our life on the road—were exposed for their flawless joys.

Through our eleven months of travel before the wedding, we collected marriage advice from couples all over the globe. We received everything from “don’t do it,” to the repetitive “people will change.” We found warmth in advice shared by a couple who said, “if you pull at one little thread, you threaten to unravel the whole of what you love in that person.”

I mulled over this comment that seemed too cliche at the time until I stood facing Tom’s wide eyes and saying I do with an uncontrollable grin. I expected to be nervous. All eyes on us, but instead it felt effortless. Tom and I stood facing one another, hand in hand, enjoying the buzz of the moment. Clean and polished, a small part of us reveled in disbelief that the wedding and the miles we’d put in to get here were real. We had cared for one another over the previous year, enduring horrendous smells and conditions no one wishes to witness in their spouse. We’d been held up at gunpoint in Peru, endured eight visits and one root canal from a foreign dentist, vomited from moving buses, and worked demanding jobs on four different continents just to keep traveling, but the good times were enough. Traveling was enough. Having one another was enough. Our backyard Airbnb wedding was enough. We had unraveled at times, succumbing to hunger and frustration, anxious about where the money would take us, but every instance somehow settled into our memory and we kept moving. It was the cycle of life to unravel and our threads were exposed, but neither of us pulled and at the edge of paradise we vowed to never pull for better or for worse.