What a weekend.
We went to Venice twice since Carnevale was at its high point. What exactly is Carnevale, you might ask? Pretty much the Italian version of Mardi Gras, except the costumes are cooler and no one yells “Throw me something mister!” and lifts up their shirt.
Maria Pia and some of the staff took us on a short tour through Venice on Friday afternoon. This included one of the awesome, already-paid-for group lunches. After big pizzas, an entire bottle of prosecco between my friend and I, and an amazing meringue dessert, we were ready to begin the festivities.
We slowly (and I mean slowly) meandered our way back to the train station to get ready, and bought masks along the way. The thing about Venice is, you have to accept that you WILL get lost. Street signs are pretty unimportant. Instead, big yellow signs direct you to the five or six main areas of the city, down winding narrow streets and bridges. The whole place is a labyrinth, but a beautiful one. Once you surrender to it, you understand how this maze-like quality is part of what makes Venice one of the most unique cities (at least among the places I’ve been to!).
Once costumes/makeup/masks were on, Carnevale began for us in the main piazza (San Marco) with, of all things, an drag show. The announcer was a male Queen Elizabeth, if that says anything about how Venetians do drag. Afterward, we stumbled upon a dance party in the middle of a random piazza, which included a lot of guys dressed as various furry animals trying to dance with us. (We ended up finding this place again the second night and had a similar situation with guys dressed as smurfs. Go figure.) We danced to a mixture of techno, 80s music, songs from Grease, and the Italian equivalent of the "Cha Cha Slide" song, with silly “dancing” instructions like “salutare!” (greet!) “camminare!” (walk!) and “cappelli!” (hair!). Flash forward to a set of interesting events in a bar, which include a) a lot of free shots, b) one of our friends dancing with a very large, hairy man and c) that same friend falling asleep on a table. Overall, great times.
Amongst all this revelry, you’re probably still wondering about the hypothermia.
Here’s the thing: Italians are moderate about pretty much everything, and that includes going out. They do enjoy their wine and leisure time, but are by no means what we would consider party people. This means that nights end early (many bars close by midnight or 1AM). For some reason, we thought “crazy” Carnevale, the Mardi Gras of Venezia, would be different. Our choice of train times back to Padova was limited to 11PM or 5AM. What did we choose? Yup, the 5AM. We figured if we were going to do Carnevale, we were going to do it right. The following is an approximate chronology of the events that followed:
1:40AM: We decide to leave the piazza and go to the train station to nap for a few hours.
1:43AM: We ask for directions.
1:48AM: We ask for directions.
1:53AM: We ask for directions.
1:58AM: We ask for directions.
2:07AM: We ask for directions.
2:15AM: We near the train station and see several others from the group huddled outside. We are confused.
2:18AM: Our friends inform us that the station is closed until 4:30AM. It is approximately 20 degrees out. We want to cry.
2:23AM: We entwine ourselves with the rest of the group and are still shivering.
2:45AM: Kate informs the group that she would readily become a prostitute if it would guarantee her a warm bed.
2:54AM: A group of Italians sit down near us with a protest banner. Without asking, we grab the end of it and pull it across ourselves like a blanket. Someone mentions that it feels like “liquid ice.”
3:14AM: We begin to fantastize about the perfect McDonald’s breakfast. Alex screams into the night “I JUST WANT AN EGG MCMUFFIN!”
3:35AM: Becky calls us on her way over and asks if we want a hot sandwich. Kate yells (with more than a hint of desperation) into the phone: “GET US ONE. NOW.” Alex takes the phone and asks for a sandwich too, but Becky has no money left. He tries his best not to sob.
3:51AM: The sandwich arrives. Kate takes one end, I take the other, and we eat until we reach the middle. We do not know what is in the sandwich, and never will. After, Kate whispers (too loudly) to me: “I know we shouldn’t talk about it in front of the others, but that was AMAZING.”
4:16AM: I spot a homeless man also sleeping outside the station, and wonder if I could steal his sleeping bag.
4:30AM: The station opens and we rush inside, board our train, and promptly fall asleep.
6:00AM: We arrive in Padova and immediately get a cab. Alex whimpers about Egg McMuffins the whole way home.
This is the only photographic proof of that night. I would have taken photos myself, but I didn’t want to move any part of my body at the time. Moral of the story: Carnevale is fun, but NOT an all-night event.
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