The ceremony
Outdoors on the ridge lawn, twenty-five minutes, Taal behind us the whole time.

Chapter I — how it started
Eleven years, three cities and one very patient aspin later, we are going back up the same ridge. We would like it a little more crowded this time.


Chapter II — the day
It all happens at Casa Alta, in one go. Doors at half three, last shuttle back to Manila at two in the morning — everything in between is the wedding.
Outdoors on the ridge lawn, twenty-five minutes, Taal behind us the whole time.
Lambanog, lumpia, and an hour of standing about while we get photographed.
Long tables under the mango trees. Lechon, four courses, short toasts, no seating drama.
A band that only knows loud songs, then whoever is still upright at two.
“Bring a jacket. Tagaytay turns cold the second the sun goes down.”
— Migs, to everyone, repeatedlyChapter III — the practicalities
Chapter IV — eleven years, briefly
Chapter V — the small print
If your invitation says “and guest”, yes — the RSVP below will show you. If it doesn't, we've run out of lawn, not affection.
Doors at 15:30, seated by 15:50. The ceremony starts at 16:00 whether or not you are in your chair — and leave early, the Aguinaldo Highway on a Saturday is its own event.
Yes, forty slots at Casa Alta. But the last stretch is a narrow barangay road with a drop on one side, so most people take the shuttle and drink instead.
Tell us in the RSVP and it goes straight to the kitchen. Everything can be done without pork; the vegetarian menu is the same four courses, not an afterthought.
Please don't — twenty-five minutes, phones down. Afterwards, go wild: there's a shared album linked in your confirmation email.
Three weeks in Japan, most of it on trains. If you would rather buy a specific thing, the registry has about a dozen.
Chapter VI — your line
Replies by 1 January 2027. Find yourself first — the invitation knows how many seats are yours.