Ah, (other people’s) weddings. They’re a cheap person’s dream.  And black tie weddings? They’re a cheap person’s happily-induced coma, one that involves a weekend full of free food, top shelf booze, and chauffeured golf cart rides around a hotel.

Nonstop flights from Kansas City to Los Angeles are surprisingly affordable. It turns out hotels rooms are too, if you convince your parents to upgrade to a room with an extra bed and you don’t mind blasting a white noise machine to drown out the sound of your father’s snoring and your mother’s weird sleep rambles. This one-two punch of economic shrewdness will leave you plenty of money to spend on an Indian kurti and a reception dress, plus at least three rounds of tacos.

We headed to LA for the wedding of a childhood friend. She was marrying a man of Indian descent, and was going to have a blended Hindu/Catholic ceremony, with a Mehendi ceremony the night before. I had been to my share of weddings while in India, so I was excited to see how the American version compared. It did not disappoint.

After henna came the dancing. First it was the groom’s family, then it was everyone. THEN the UCLA Bollywood dance troupe came out and blew our GD minds.

The highlight for me was, shocker, the food. In addition to an indian buffet, they also had a taco bar and pasta station, but I only had eyes for the paneer. And the chicken tikka. And the chana masala. And the naan. I had a lot of eyes that night, and they were all in love.

I’m going to blame it on the fact that we were two hours ahead and my belly was full to the brim, but the truth is I’m an old B who can’t hang and we were asleep by 9:30. The next morning, I woke up at the buttcrack of dawn (actually, it was 5:30 and the sun doesn’t come up in LA until 7, so it was more like the bellybutton of dawn), and walked down Sunset Boulevard to a bakery I knew would be open.

When I left my hotel the streets and skies were dark, but as I entered the bakery I knew my day had started. Florescent lights illuminated rows of prim macrons, fresh-baked breads, and crispy cookies. I ordered a croissant and brioche and sat outside as the sun slowly came up, eating the flaky goodness and wondering if three pastries were too many pastries.

Once the sun was fully up, we headed to Temescal Gateway Park. If you ever find yourself in Los Angeles with two sixty-something parents, take them hiking. They might be a bit reluctant at first, but hoo boy, will they love it. Gateway park is easy enough that you don’t have to worry about somebody accidentally dropping off over an edge, but hard enough that afterwards, your parents will say something like “well, we really got out of our comfort zones, didn’t we?”

The views were beautiful and the path was well maintained. There are lots of different routes to take, and you pretty much just turn around whenever you’re over it. We went back after my dad fell in a bush after trying to pee inconspicuously by a tree, but not before we made some memories, snapped some selfies, and worked up an appetite.

When I think of LA, I think of street tacos. I had envisioned eating tiny tortillas filled with carnitas and onions while standing on the side of the road. However, apparently those dreams take place in downtown LA, and as this was Santa Monica and downtown LA was a long ride through traffic, we settled on Frida’s – a pretty decent restaurant on the UCLA campus. We were literally the only people in the restaurant, on Saturday, at noon, which is usually a bad sign, but the food was delicious and quick and got the job done.

After a quick nap (is there ANYTHING IN THIS WORLD better than a post-lunch snooze?), we were back up and ready to go to the main event. Now, I had never been to a black tie wedding before, and I knew I wanted to look faaaaancy. But I’m also cheap, so I had spent the previous two weeks scouring the internet for that most rare of shopping finds – the dress that looks expensive but isn’t. I had fretted over hemlines and necklines, pondered skirt length, wondered if lace was too sexy or too grandma-y. Eventually I gave up and went with a $34 floor length black dress from a junior’s store online that I planned on telling people was vintage if they asked. Nobody asked.

The groom’s side of the party started in the parking lot, while the bride’s side waited outside the front doors, everyone with a glass of champagne in their hand. I told you this was fancy! They slowly danced towards us, the groom riding in a convertible in the back. Once the two parties met, both sides danced like the reception had already started. Loud indian music was piped over speakers, with a guy banging a drum to really get the party started. Eventually, two men would embrace, one from the bride’s family and one from the groom’s. They would then try to lift the other one in the air, whoever could hoist the other first won. It was weird and hilarious and the crowd went nuts for it.

The ceremony was half christian/half hindu. It was much longer than a normal wedding, but so, so much more interesting. The hindu portion involved many promises, blessings, rituals and prayers and was romantic and lovely. After all was said and done and kissed and tied, it was time to party.

Next came dinner and dancing and drinks and dessert.  The setting was stunning, the food was incredible and my dad’s dancing was not that embarrassing.

The next morning we got up again at the bellybutton of dawn and headed to the airport to catch our flight back to kansas city and the our regular lives. The trip was short but sweet, and made me appreciate how lucky I am to have parents who can still scramble up and down a mountain. It also made me wish I had more rich friends. Huzzah, destination wedding, huzzah!