I have wanted to go to Venice Carnivale since, gosh, forever! I think I can trace the longing back to primary school when in Italian class we looked at big glossy photos of masks, costumes and of course as part of the lesson got to make our own masks. I also remember seeing pictures of San Marco square, but it was never the full thing, just a segment of a backdrop to a particular costumed individual. I always wondered what it looked like as a whole.
So, I got my opportunity this year! Venice is only 45 minutes away from where I am living in the Veneto Region and my hostess urged me to take this opportunity. So with her blessing I did, and it was a beautiful amazing crazy and at times random experience. The best thing I found about the weekend in Venice was that it was delightfully idiosyncratic. It really didn't feel like it had been invaded and taken over by advertising, or diluted into other smaller and less interesting sub-festivals. It was purely Venetian, purely Carnivale, and the result was bizarre and stunning at the same time.
When I first arrived in Venice Saturday afternoon it was so freezing it was agony waiting for my water bus dressed only, in what I lik to call my warmer-inner-Veneto-Region-garments, a skirt and stockings. It was also grey and spitting with rain. I was worried that my time was going to be spent miserably trying to skip from one overpriced cafe to another, trying to avoid the biting cold.
But the weather the next dear cleared dramatically. It was absolutely golden. The sun was soft and bright at the same time, never stinging or harsh. It was warm, in the sense you could happily stroll around with just your jumper on, no need for a jacket unless in the shade. There was no bitter wind to speak of, just pure unadulterated beauty, natural and man-made all around from dawn to dusk.
So instead of being boring and having a step by step recount of what I did I have jotted down during my two days the funny and interesting happenings I experienced/saw/encountered. I feel they sum up the Carnivale better than anything else I could write.
VENICE CARNIVALE:
1. The grumpy man in Campo San Zaccharia, who seemed to be out and about just to scowl and hiss at all the people having fun. I noticed him because he got into a tiff with a ladies west highland white terrier, who was barking at another dog. The bent over grumpy man shook his fist at the dog and snarled at the lady, before inching his way onwards, scowling and muttering curses under his breath about the terrible state of humanity. Bless the elderly.
2. The disgruntled ladybug: there were many overtired toddlers by the end of Sunday afternoon, most in fancy dress costume. This little girl was dressed as a ladybug, she even had her nose painted black. Despite the fact her cheeks and eyes were flushed red from angry tears, she was totally adorable. But she was not happy, bawling her eyes out, only stopping when her Mum pointed out some gelato in the shop nearby. She glanced, thought for a second whether this was worthwhile her cheering up. She decided no and continued howling. I could hear the poor little thing even once I had turned several corners.
3. The two tripple-chinned sisters I saw on Saturday night in San Marco Square. They were my first sight of carnivale costume. They were decked out as Marie Antoinettes but wearing absolutely garish colour combinations: hot pink with lime green, royal purple with mustard, fluoro yellow and pumpkin orange. They sauntered along stopped occsionally by admirers/those they amused with their hideous gowns wanting to take photos.
4. The friendly drag queen dressed in black sequins, lace and layers, I think as someone from Chicago who winked and smiled at me as he strolled past with his other Flapper drag queen friends. I have never seen someone pack SO much sass into their strut as that drag queen.
5. The cheerful live band, all wearing period costume, playing upbeat funk-Jazz in the Castello area of Venice. The lead Trombonist was particulary enjoyable to watch, his face was for some reason painted bright purple. He looked like a friendly prune. Also the man dressed as a Musketeer deserves a mention for his sensational two minute long drum solo.
6. The spindly delicate waiter with John Lennnon glasses who served me lunch in the Alla Borga restaurant, Saturday afternoon. He struck me as a shy Sheldon-like individual, so it surprised me greatly when he started singing along to the music playing. He knew every word to the terrible country rock and I could never have imagined someone so mismatched in appearance to their music preference. I will never assume anything again.
7. The smoochy Italian boys in Campo San Margherita. They grabbed me out of nowhere and finding out I was from Australia decided I was going to go to a party with them. It was at San Basiliano, did I know where that was? No? Never mind! They seemed good fun at first but I lost my temper with them when one of them, absolutely drunk, kept grabbing me and going in to kiss me with breath that reeked of beer, smooshing his face against mine so hard my hat fell off and my cheek bone felt fractured. They became really handsy and turned out to be creeps. Before things got too uncomfortable I shrugged them off and disappeared into the pulsing crowd moshing to some electronica playing from the stage at the front of the square.
8. Even the animals of Venice got into the spirit. I saw a masked black labrador trotting around San Marco, posing with the costumed individuals. I also saw a mopey looking Chihuahua not so keen on his outfit. His owners had dressed him as a Gondolier, wearing a stripey shirt, straw boater and black pants. Too cute! And from the amount of photo requests he got others agreed. But he looked rather embarassed in my opinion.
9. The water-taxi driver, blasting Kylie Minogue's 'I can't get you out of my head' from his glossy chestnut coloured speed boat. Bobbing his head to the beat as he sped down the canal. Literally haven't head that song in years and it reminded me of Australia in the early 2000s and getting up early to watch video hits and Rage. Which is a weird thing to remember when one is in Venice in 2014.
10. The Renaissance army making its way down past the Doge's Palace, dressed in full 16th century military attire, feathers bobbing on their helmeted heads, calling out at the top of their lungs as they went by (something in Italian I could not understand). They were followed by a group of ladies and men dressed as Venetian 16th century nobles, all donning velvet, ermine, hairnets and jewels. The crowd parted to let the impressive spectacle through then surged forwards like a tidal wave in order to grab a photograph. I only just managed to survive the skirmish unscathed.
11. The street signs I followed for what seemed like hours, looking for San Barnarba, that led me only to another sign that seemed to be insisting San Barnarba was located off the edge of a pier. Lies Venice. All lies. Never trust a Venetian street sign.
12. The incredibly zealous and impassioned celloist of the Interpreti Veneziani Orchestra who I saw play Vivaldi's Four Seasons in the Chiesa San Vidal. His facial expressions were so amazingly involved in the music they seemed to be a performance in their own right. A little girl was sitting in the front row, and throughout the concert I saw her several times clap her hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing at his flamboyant head tosses and ecstatic grimaces. He at times would even jump up from his seat in order to execute a particularly violent stroke of the cello with the passion he saw fit. It was hilariously amazing. She was not the only one amused. He got a special round of applause and afterwards people asked him for his autograph. I was a little bit smitten, I won't lie.
13. The friendly youths who noticed I was lost in a dark alleyway. They were drinking, actually already well past being just drunk, and merry. After looking at my map gave it back to me non-plussed. They had no idea where they were and they lived here. Typical labyrinthianVenice. They wished me luck and disappeared down another dark alleyway heckling each other.
14. The most chic elderly man I have ever seen, chilling in the sun near Peggy Guggenheim with his two equally chic fox terriers. He was wearing a magnificent grey suit with a cobalt blue shirt, had on a pair of fabulous raybans, was leaning nochalantly on a gold cane, and had beautifully groomed long white hair and beard. He looked like a badass in every sense of the word. Kind of like a Venetian Gandalf dressed in Armani if you can imagine such a thing.
15. The loud lost Americans, moving around in carefree energetic groups, asking always each other where they were going, where were they, how were they going to get there. Always lost, always chilled, always having fun, always loud, always turning heads.
16. The four friends, dressed as seductive counts and courtesans, all masked and glittering, sitting in the window booth in Florians on San Marco square, being oggled at by passersby, cramming in front of the window to take a picture.
17. The annoying receptionist of the hostel I stayed in. He smiled in a smug ironic way because he knew I knew the place was a dump, but knew that I could not get find a room anywhere else, and knew therefore I knew I had to just be polite and take what I was given. My favourite part was the 'Stay calm and love this hostel' sign in the foyer. This could only have been meant ironically, because the place simply put was a dump. 'B.Y.O. toilet paper' would have been a more apt and useful sign. There was no hot water on the first floor, the rooms were littered with broken old (not antique) chairs, the ground was fake marble turning to gravel, the bathroom had a broken washing machine obscuring the entrance, the shower had the dimensions and comfort of Ms Trunchbulls's Chokey from Matilda, and the walls were unsealed, exposed brick, displaying a tatter of aged paint from the 70s. There was no common room or kitchen, and the place was deserted. People obviously saw it as simply a functional roof over their heads and left at sunrise and returned only when their feet were about to drop off. I too took this functional road. Less is more with this hostel I decided.
18. The rowdy teenage Ventians who got on my waterbus at San Marcuola, and after donning red bowler hats, they locked themselves in the seated section of the boat and forced the elderly, the babies and mums, the couples and tourists to view an impromptu performance. They stood up the front and in a show of cringey teenage self-entitlement sang, danced and generally made fools of themselves while one friend filmed the whole thing on her iphone. Apparently teenagers are annoying everywhere in the world, even in my beloved Venice.
19. Everything, I saw, did, ate, bought, admired, photographed. Venice Carnivale was an absolute treat. I will never forget it. Ever
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