Lifestyle
How one Afro-Colombian community honors their ancestry
Camilo Garcia peeks through a curtain of his house on the morning of March 29, 2024, in the town of Juntas, Buenaventura, Colombia. The community gathers during Holy Week to celebrate the Manacillos festival, an ancestral ritual originating in the upper part of the Yurumangui River.
Nathalia Angarita for NPR
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It’s Spy Wednesday, almost 6 a.m. At the shipyard port in Buenaventura, the major port city in Colombia’s Pacific region, the last wooden boats are about to depart for the Afro-Colombian communities along the Yurumanguí River.
Dozens of people embark on a journey that can last up to eight hours, crossing the Pacific Ocean, skirting cliffs and navigating through mangroves. Most passengers now live far from their native territory, displaced to the city due to economic instability, lack of health care access, education or the region’s armed conflict.
Upon reaching the clear waters of the Yurumanguí River, wooden houses begin to appear along its banks. There are 13 settlements in the river basin, home to approximately 4,000 residents, mostly descendants of enslaved Africans and maroons brought to work in the mines between the 17th and 19th centuries.
In a context of geographic isolation and state neglect, where illegal armed groups have a substantial presence, the Afro community of Yurumanguí comes together despite intimidations to celebrate the Manacillos festival every Holy Week.
Far from tourists, this ancestral and unique ritual originated in Juntas, the uppermost village on the river, as an act of cultural resilience. During the festival, no one is allowed to work in the artisanal gold mines or the agricultural fields in the jungle.
In Juntas, the memory of slavery is alive. The Manacillos hold profound spiritual significance, reaffirming their African roots and resisting colonialism and imposed Catholicism through syncretism, creating a new collective cultural identity.
A silhouette of an Afro-Colombian woman in her home, on the night of March 28, 2024, in the town of Juntas, Buenaventura, Colombia.
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People arrive in boats to the village located on the banks of the Yurumangui River on March 28, 2024, in Juntas, Buenaventura, Colombia.
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A boy designated to be one of the Manacillos sews his costume for Holy Week on March 29, 2024, in Juntas, Buenaventura, Colombia.
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Camilo Garcia on the morning of March 30, 2024, in the town of Juntas, Buenaventura, Colombia.
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Manacillos: Spiritual beings
It’s Maundy Thursday. The community has adorned the cobblestone streets and balconies with corozo palm leaves. Ayerson Valencia and Henry García finish sewing their Manacillos costumes with the help of female family members. Meanwhile, in the same room, some women braid their hair, paint their nails, and try on elegant dresses.
The typical Manacillo’s costume is made of burlap sacks and banana leaves and is often adorned with colorful fabric patches. Additionally, every Manacillo wears a slender leather whip fastened to their waist, which they use to “punish” the other participants during the Manacillos’ games.
Along with this, the rest of the costume consists of a distinctive and colorful mask carved from balsa wood sourced within their own jungle. In the backyard of his house, 15-year-old Henry applies the final touches to his mask, painting a red smile reminiscent of the Joker’s.
The masks of the Manacillos transform the wearer into spiritual beings. “Every year, we decide what type of mask to paint, reflecting how we want to be perceived. Some evoke fear, others are humorous,” he says.
Meanwhile, some men are completing the construction of the Manacillos’ house, a small wooden structure located in the center of the village that faces the church. Here, the group gathers to play traditional Manacillo songs, recharge with viche — a traditional alcoholic beverage of the Afro-Pacific communities — and plan their next activities. During the Manacillos’ game, they attempt to steal Jesus’ coffin, play pranks, tease passersby, steal objects and even “kidnap” locals, including babies, for ransom.
There is no age limit to become a Manacillo, as membership is inherited from parents by their sons or other close male relatives after they pass away. This year, the youngest member is 7-year-old Leandro Valencia, who inherited the role after his father, a leader in the community, died in exile. Over the next few days and nights, he plays his role tirelessly, just like a child.
Adolescents such as Henry, who has been playing the role for five years, feel a strong sense of pride: “I became a Manacillo to honor our ancestors and preserve our cultural heritage. My goal is to pass down this knowledge to the younger generation so that our traditions are not forgotten.”
People walk through the town in a procession while singing traditional songs at midnight on March 29, 2024, in Juntas, Buenaventura, Colombia.
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Women sing religious and ancestral songs during a Holy Week procession on March 29, 2024, in Juntas, Buenaventura, Colombia.
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Resistance through the traditional music
Holy Week is celebrated differently here. In their tradition, Jesus’ death occurs at midnight on Thursday, not on Good Friday. The ritual begins with a procession of Jesus the Nazarene and is repeated nightly until Easter Sunday. During this religious syncretism, the village is shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by candlelight.
The village catechist, Delio Valencia, and the altar boys chant prayers while carrying leaf-adorned statues of Jesus and his mother, Mary. Leading the procession, a group of women sing soulful and loud salves and alabaos — traditional Afro community songs for religious rituals and funerals to bid farewell to the deceased. Their bodies sway with the rhythm.
At the front of the crowd, Luz Damaris García, a 49-year-old vocalist, sings with a deep, raspy voice. Tears glisten in her eyes as she holds her friend’s arm. Both sway gently, harmonizing the lyrics and melody. “The salve is like a feeling. It reminds us of those who have departed,” she says.
That night, the ceremonial procession visits the local cemetery, where three solitary souls, portrayed by trembling men in white sheets, descend from the sacred heights. Children hold their mothers’ hands tightly, some crying, others laughing. They will sing their unique religious songs in the church until 4 a.m. The Manacillos will not appear until the next day.
The main outer wall of the church is adorned with a large painting of the last two social leaders who disappeared at the hands of armed groups. The painting includes the phrase, “We will die on the day we remain silent in the face of injustices.”
One of the leaders was 79-year-old Delio’s son. “During prayers, we always entrust ourselves to them, who lost their lives to free the Yurumanguí River and liberate their people,” he says.
People dress up as souls in purgatory coming down from the cemetery at midnight on March 29, 2024, in the town of Juntas, Buenaventura, Colombia.
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The Manacillos make a representation of the Pharisee soldiers who collaborated with the death of Jesus Christ, dressed in local tree leaves and colorful wooden masks, on March 29, 2024, in the town of Juntas, Buenaventura, Colombia.
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A person dressed as a Manacillo rests during a celebration on March 29, 2024, in the town of Juntas, Buenaventura, Colombia.
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The Manacillos make a representation of the Pharisee soldiers who collaborated with the death of Jesus Christ, dressed in local tree leaves and colorful wooden masks, at midnight on March 29, 2024, in the town of Juntas, Buenaventura, Colombia.
Nathalia Angarita for NPR
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The rules of the Manacillos’ game
Originally, the Manacillos’ ritual commemorated the passion, death and resurrection of Christ in their unique way. The group started with 12 men led by a Manacillo named Barrabás, after the Biblical figure, and has now grown to nearly 40. According to oral tradition, the Manacillos are the spirits of the Jews who betrayed and executed Jesus.
The Manacillos’ play begins on Good Friday evening, and they are not allowed to sleep for the next 48 hours. Before singing, the masked men shout, “Death to God and long live Barrabás!” The rest of the community responds, “Long live God and death to Barrabás!”
The celebration begins with the drumbeat. A woman initiates a melodic chant: “On Holy Thursday, God died; on Friday, they buried him; on Saturday, they sang his glory; on Sunday, he ascended to heaven.” Other musicians join in with traditional instruments — bass drum, cununo and guasá, which sounds like water. The song is repeated several times.
Everyone is covered in sweat, the musicians seeming to merge with their instruments. The female singers and other participants repeat the song without showing signs of fatigue, their voices full of emotion. The music creates a mystical trance and euphoria among the participants. No other music is allowed until Easter Sunday; otherwise, the Manacillos will punish the offenders with whips.
Over the next few days, the entire community gathers in Juntas, captivated by the nocturnal warmth and viche spirits. Amid this fervor, the game’s characters dance, leaping from side to side, holding their attires. The youngest members of the community move from house to house, singing in honor of the Manacillos.
“Music helps us preserve our identity amid the armed conflict. Today, many children prefer picking up an instrument over a weapon,” explains Franklin Valencia, an instrumental musician from the popular group Matachindé.
A person holds a gold necklace with the image of Jesus Christ on March 29, 2024, in the town of Juntas, Buenaventura, Colombia.
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A child dresses up as a Manacillo on March 30, 2024, in the town of Juntas, Buenaventura, Colombia.
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More than daily violence
During the Manacillos’ dramatization, violent scenes occur as they are allowed to punish locals and vice versa. Many suggest that beneath the Manacillos’ masks are community members affiliated with armed groups. These individuals get permission from their superiors during Holy Week to play the role before returning to the wilderness.
The festival enables improbable encounters in daily life. Civilians and soldiers from different armed groups come together in the same space without violence. Solange Bonilla Valencia, a Ph.D. student in social anthropology and a specialist in peace, culture and international humanitarian law, explains that in the tense conflict of Yurumanguí’s river communities, violence takes on a spiritual dimension — a collective release.
“It’s a moment of catharsis, a chance to encounter the other. The fear of being struck with a whip is different from the fear of being killed with a firearm,” she says.
Amid the exuberant nature along the banks of the Yurumanguí River, prominent signs bearing the insignias and messages of the Jaime Martínez Group, an illegal armed faction of the demobilized guerrilla Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC), appear every few kilometers upstream. The dissident group displays its presence and activity in the territory. The ever-present, yet hidden, eyes that intimidate the inhabitants.
The conflict among armed groups for control over this territory has intensified due to its strategic location for drug trafficking. The celebration has changed, and there is fear of losing ancestral traditions. “Many former Manacillos can no longer participate,” Angulo explains. “Some were killed, others relocated due to insecurity.”
Angulo, a 60-year-old human rights defender and active Manacillos leader who is identified only by his last name for his safety, as he plans on returning for future celebrations, spent several years away from his homeland due to the threats posed by the armed groups. Now, he is enthusiastic about the significant number of community members who have returned for the four-day celebration.
The Manacillos’ festival is not only a moment of joy and a break from routine but also a time to remember deceased relatives, return to the territory and reinforce social ties. “I was raised in this jungle and then forced to leave, abandoning my children and traditions,” he says. “That had a profound impact on me. Here, I feel good. I’m not a city man.”
In late November 2021, two prominent social leaders, Abencio Caicedo and Edinson Valencia, were kidnapped by armed groups, plunging the community into distress and fear. Even the popular Manacillos festival was temporarily silenced by the residents’ grief.
“The loss of a leader is a huge pain. Many have been killed, the most important leaders are lost, and we are left unprotected,” says Luz Damary.
People carry religious representations while walking on the Manacillos on March 31, 2024, in the town of Juntas, Buenaventura, Colombia.
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People carry religious representations while walking on the Manacillos on March 31, 2024, in the town of Juntas, Buenaventura, Colombia.
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Children disguised as Manacillos in the Yurumangui River on March 31, 2024, in Juntas, Buenaventura, Colombia.
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A person wears a Manacillo costume representing the Pharisee soldiers who collaborated with the death of Jesus Christ, on March 31, 2024, in the town of Juntas, Buenaventura, Colombia.
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The Yurumanguí River as a living entity
For the Yurumanguireños, the river is a living entity and an essential part of their community. Daily life revolves around its waters. Children learn to swim before they can speak. Women wash clothes and kitchen utensils in the river, which also serves as a natural shower and the main route for transporting wood, fish and fruits. The crystalline waters are surrounded by a lush, dense jungle that conceals sugarcane, plantain and corn fields, their primary sources of sustenance.
“Their primary concern is to safeguard the territory for future generations,” Bonilla explains. “They emphasize the vital role of a thriving, preserved river in sustaining life. They warn that neglecting the river, especially through heavy machinery in gold mining, would deprive future generations of the essence of life itself.”
“The river is life,” the inhabitants of Juntas reiterate when asked about its significance. The sentiment is evident in their efforts to protect the river from external threats, a struggle that has claimed the lives of several social leaders.
It’s Easter Sunday. After three sleepless nights, few seem tired. Once the rain stops, the Manacillos and the rest of the community — this time without the elderly or the children — march toward one of the river’s beaches. Despite the previous night’s alcohol, they skillfully cross the river. Some dive into the water while others fall asleep on the shore.
During the parade, the sound of the Manacillos’ songs resonates continuously, and everyone dances in ecstasy. This time, a few women, known as Manacillas, join them. Dressed in banana leaves and wearing straw hats adorned with colorful strips of plastic, they play their role while smoking prominent tobacco leaf cigars.
“Wearing the Manacilla attire brings me joy and fulfillment, connecting me deeply with memories of my grandmother,” says 18-year-old Manacilla Camila García Valencia. “I am honored to uphold her legacy.”
The procession returns to the village, where children and the elderly gather around the church, dressed in their best clothes. As Jesus rises from the dead, the Manacillos throw themselves to the ground, acknowledging his resurrection. Now, they are believers.
Once inside the church, everyone dances to the rhythm of drums and bells. After several minutes, the instruments fall silent and the Manacillos retreat into the mystic world. Those behind the masks return to being ordinary people. The game between life and death ends in the ritual, but not in real life. “We are free here,” Angulo says. “Look at the river! We just want more security in our territory.”
The community gathers at the river on the last on the last day of Holy Week on March 31, 2024, in the town of Juntas, Buenaventura, Colombia.
Nathalia Angarita for NPR
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Nathalia Angarita is a documentary photographer and Marina Sardiña is a reporter, both are based in Bogotá, Colombia. You can see more of their work on instagram at @nathalianph and @marina_sardina
You want to see some real fashion ingenuity? Watch the N.F.L. draft.
I’m not saying it’s all good, but where else are you going to see someone in a double-breasted suit made by a company better known for making yoga pants? Or an Abercrombie & Fitch suit jacket so short that it exposes the belt loops on the pants beneath?
On the whole, the style on display at the N.F.L. draft last night was very overeager senior formal: a lot of suits in colors beyond basic blue. The quarterback Ty Simpson wore a custom suit by the athleisure label Alo, which, I have to say, looked better than I would have envisioned had you said the words “Alo Yoga suit” to me.
I thought it might have been from Suitsupply, but the conspicuous “Alo” pin on his right lapel put that idea to rest. Simpson, smartly, unfastened that beacon before appearing onstage as the 13th pick to the Los Angeles Rams. He had, perhaps, satisfied his contractual obligations by that point.
Earlier in the evening, as the wide receiver Carnell Tate threw up his arms in exaltation after being picked fourth by the Tennessee Titans, his cropped Abercrombie & Fitch jacket revealed a swatch of rib cage. He looked like a mâitre d’ who had just hit the Mega Millions.
During the N.B.A.’s extended fashion awakening, its draft has become a sandbox for luxury brands to cozy up to would-be endorsers. The Frenchman Victor Wembanyama broke a kind of cashmere ceiling when he wore Louis Vuitton to go first overall in the 2023 N.B.A. draft.
The N.F.L. draft has none of that. The brands you see are often not brands at all, but custom tailors that reach the league’s neophytes through a whisper network among players. The draft is also a platform to raise the curtain on longer-term brand deals that better suit these rookies. We may, for instance, never see Simpson in a suit again. Nearly every photo from his time at Alabama shows him in a T-shirt or hoodie. It makes sense for him to sign with Alo.
Football is the most mainstream of American cultural entities. And it’s one that still hasn’t, in spite of the league’s best efforts, taken off overseas. Few players, save some quarterbacks and a tight end who happens to be engaged to a pop star, feel bigger than the game itself. If you’re a new-to-the-league linebacker, you’ll most likely never harness the star power to grab the attention of Armani, but you might have just the right pull for Abercrombie.
The N.F.L. draft is therefore one of the few red carpets where the brands worn by the athletes may also be worn by those watching at home. How many people watching the Oscars will ever own clothes from Louis Vuitton or Chanel? People may comment online about Lady Gaga wearing Matières Fécales to the Grammys, but how many of those fans and viewers could afford to buy clothes from it?
The Japanese designers changing fashion
Yesterday, I published a deep dive into how a newish crop of Japanese designers are soaking up all the attention in men’s fashion right now. This was a piece I was writing in my head long before I sat down and finally started typing. I remember sitting at a fashion show in Paris over a year ago — I believe it was Dior — and being asked by my seatmate if I’d made it over to a showroom in the Marais to check out A.Presse. That Tokyo-based brand is now part of a vanguard of Japanese labels that, on many days, seems to be all anyone in fashion wants to talk about. I spent months talking with designers, store owners and big-time shoppers to make sense of why these brands have kicked up so much buzz and, more than that, what makes their clothes so great. You can read the story here.
Other things worth knowing about:
Thirty years ago, comedian and actor Tig Notaro didn’t have a clear direction in life, so she followed some childhood friends who wanted to get into entertainment to Los Angeles. Secretly wanting to do stand-up, Notaro decided to try her luck at various outlets in town, which became the start of her successful career.
“I stayed on my friends’ couch near the Hollywood Improv on Melrose, and a couple months later, got my own studio apartment in the Miracle Mile area,” Notaro says. “I love all the options for everything in L.A. — the entertainment, the restaurants. I like to stay active. So many people love the hiking options in Los Angeles, and I’m one of them.”
In Sunday Funday, L.A. people give us a play-by-play of their ideal Sunday around town. Find ideas and inspiration on where to go, what to eat and how to enjoy life on the weekends.
Notaro appears in Season 3 of Apple TV’s “The Morning Show” and is a series regular on Paramount+’s “Star Trek: Starfleet Academy,” as she was on “Star Trek: Discovery.” She’s also a touring stand-up comic and hosts “Handsome,” a comedy podcast, with Fortune Feimster and Mae Martin. The trio will be taping a live show May 4 at the Wiltern with the cast of Netflix’s “The Hunting Wives.” The live shows include interviews, but also “incorporate some ridiculous things,” she says. For example, upon hearing that some of the hosts always wanted to learn to tap dance, Notaro “hired a tap instructor to come to our live show in Austin and teach us how to tap dance in front of the audience.”
Notaro lives near Hollywood with her wife, actor Stephanie Allynne, their 9-year-old fraternal twin boys, Max and Finn, and three cats, Fluff, Linus and Skip. When she’s not touring, her ideal Sundays include sampling vegan restaurants, wandering through bookstores or museums, and doing something physically active with the family.
This interview has been lightly edited and condensed for length and clarity.
6 a.m.: Up with the kids
Because we have active children, we still wake up at 6 a.m. or 6:30 a.m. on Sunday, but there’s not as much of a rush to get going. Stephanie and I will often have coffee and chat in the living room together. I love that part of the day. Stephanie may cook breakfast, but Max and Finn are pretty self-sufficient and can make certain little meals for themselves. Max is really starting to take an interest in cooking, so he’d make breakfast for himself. Our family is vegan, but he eats eggs, so he makes himself an egg sandwich with avocado a lot of times.
9 a.m.: Daily morning walk
After breakfast, we usually have a morning walk around our neighborhood. That’s a daily thing I like to do, regardless of what’s going on. Now that I’m not touring as much, tennis is back on the schedule. So I’d go to Plummer Park in West Hollywood and play for a while, then join the family for lunch.
11:30 a.m.: Hike with a side of chickpea sandwich
I love Trails, a cafe in Griffith Park, where you can eat outdoors. It serves simple food, and has good vegan options. I usually get their chickpea salad sandwich. The food there is great. Afterward, we’d visit Griffith Observatory, where there’s lots to see. There are lots of great trails in the park, so we’d go for an hour hike before leaving.
3 p.m.: Browse the shelves for rock biographies
Bookstores are fun, so we’d head downtown for the Last Bookstore, which is in a historic building with lots of vintage books. I really love all things plant-based, and I’m a very big music fanatic. So I love to look for vegan books, nutrition books, rock biographies and autobiographies. It’s just fun to browse around the stacks.
If we didn’t go to the bookstore, we’d probably go to LACMA. Our sons are huge fans of art and want to go for each new exhibit. They love Hockney, Basquiat and Picasso, to name a few.
4 p.m.: Cuddle with cuties at a cat cafe
We’d then make a quick stop at [Crumbs & Whiskers], a kitten and cat cafe on Melrose for coffee, snacks and to pet the cats. It’s best to make reservations in advance. There’s cats all around the place that need to be adopted. You can visit and pet them, or find a new roommate. I’d love to take some home, but we already have three.
5:30 p.m. Italian or sushi, but make it vegan
We’re an early dinner family. One restaurant we like is Pura Vita in West Hollywood. It’s the greatest vegan Italian food, and for non-vegans, nobody ever knows the difference. It’s the first 100% plant-based Italian restaurant in the United States. They make an incredible kale salad and I love the San Gennaro pizza. It’s got cashew mozzarella, tomato sauce, Italian sausage crumble and more.
Then there’s Planta in Marina del Rey. It’s right on the harbor and you can sit outside and look at the boats coming in and out. They have sushi, salads and other plant-based entrees. They’ve got a really great spicy tuna roll that’s made out of watermelon. They are magicians.
Or there’s Crossroads Kitchen in West Hollywood. They play the best classic rock, and the atmosphere is upscale, fine dining. The appetizers that we always get are called Moroccan Cigars, which are vegan meat substitutes fried in a rolled batter. I really like the grilled lion’s mane steak, their mushroom steak with truffle potatoes, or the scallopini Milanese, that has a chicken or tofu option. I get the chicken with arugula on top. I always love to have a decaf espresso with dessert, which is either a brownie sundae or banana pudding.
7:30 p.m.: Comfort watch or word games
After dinner, the kids often like to watch an episode of “Friends,” a show that all ages enjoy, sports or “The Simpsons.” Or we’d play a game where each of us will add a word to a sentence and create a weird or funny long sentence until one of our sons says period. Then they’ll try and remember the whole sentence and repeat it back.
9:30 p.m.: Bubble bath then bed
The boys usually go to bed at 8:30 p.m. and bedtime for us is 9:30 p.m. Stephanie and I would read or chat. I like to take a bubble bath, if people must know. The best Sundays for me mean finding a good balance of relaxing and being active. I feel very lucky that my family and I can do those things together.
When Marian Sherry Lurio and Jonathan Buffington Nguyen met at a mutual friend’s wedding at Higgins Lake, Mich., in July 2022, both felt an immediate chemistry. As the evening progressed, they sat on the shore of the lake in Adirondack chairs under the stars, where they had their first kiss before joining others for a midnight plunge.
The two learned that the following weekend Ms. Lurio planned to attend a wedding in Philadelphia, where Mr. Nguyen lives, and before they had even exchanged numbers, they already had a first date on the books.
“I have a vivid memory of after we first met,” Mr. Nguyen said, “just feeling like I really better not screw this up.”
Before long, they were commuting between Philadelphia and New York City, where Ms. Lurio lives, spending weekends and the odd remote work days in one another’s apartments in Philadelphia and Manhattan. Within the first six months of dating, Mr. Nguyen joined Ms. Lurio’s family for Thanksgiving in Villanova, Pa., and, the following month, she met his family in Beavercreek, Ohio, at a surprise birthday party for Mr. Nguyen’s mother.
Ms. Lurio, 32, who grew up in Merion Station outside Philadelphia, works in investor relations administration at Flexpoint Ford, a private equity firm. She graduated from Dartmouth College with a bachelor’s degree in history and psychology.
Mr. Nguyen, also 32, was born in Knoxville, Tenn., and raised in Beavercreek, Ohio, from the age of 7. He graduated from Haverford College with a bachelor’s degree in political science and is now a director at Doyle Real Estate Advisors in Philadelphia.
Their long-distance relationship continued for the next few years. There were dates in Manhattan, vacations and beach trips to the Jersey Shore. They attended sporting events and discovered their shared appreciation of the 2003 film, “Love Actually.”
One evening, Mr. Nguyen recalled looking around Ms. Lurio’s small New York studio — strewed with clothes and the takeout meal they had ordered — and feeling “so comfortable and safe.” “I knew that this was something different than just sort of a fling,” he said.
It was an open question when they would move in together. In 2024, Ms. Lurio began the process of moving into Mr. Nguyen’s home in Philadelphia — even bringing her cat, Scott — but her plans changed midway when an opportunity arose to expand her role with her current employer.
Mr. Nguyen was on board with her decision. “It almost feels like stolen valor to call it ‘long distance,’ because it’s so easy from Philadelphia to New York,” Mr. Nguyen said. “The joke is, it’s easier to get to Philly from New York than to get to some parts of Brooklyn from Manhattan, right?”
In January 2025, Mr. Nguyen visited Ms. Lurio in New York with more up his sleeve than spending the weekend. Together they had discussed marriage and bespoke rings, but when Mr. Nguyen left Ms. Lurio and an unfinished cheese plate at the bar of the Chelsea Hotel that Friday evening, she had no idea what was coming next.
“I remember texting Jonathan,” Ms. Lurio said, bewildered: “‘You didn’t go toward the bathroom!’” When a Lobby Bar server came and asked her to come outside, Ms. Lurio still didn’t realize what was happening until she was standing in the hallway, where Mr. Nguyen stood recreating a key moment from the film “Love Actually,” in which one character silently professes his love for another in writing by flashing a series of cue cards. There, in the storied Chelsea Hotel hallway still festooned with Christmas decorations, Mr. Nguyen shared his last card that said, “Will you marry me?”
They wed on April 11 in front of 200 guests at the Pump House, a covered space on the banks of Philadelphia’s Schuylkill River. Mr. Nguyen’s sister, the Rev. Elizabeth Nguyen, who is ordained through the Unitarian Universalist Association, officiated.
Although formal attire was suggested, Ms. Lurio said that the ceremony was “pretty casual.” She and Jonathan got ready together, and their families served as their wedding parties.
“I said I wanted a five-minute wedding,” Ms. Lurio recalled, though the ceremony ended up lasting a little longer than that. During the ceremony, Ms. Nguyen read a homily and jokingly added that guests should not ask the bride and groom about their living arrangements, which will remain separate for the foreseeable future.
While watching Ms. Lurio walk down the aisle, flanked by her parents, Mr. Nguyen said he remembered feeling at once grounded in the moment and also a sense of dazed joy: “Like, is this real? I felt very lucky in that moment — and also just excited for the party to start!”
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