It's Carnevale (Carnival) in Italy right now and with it come memories of the time a friend and I inadvertently experienced the merriment of the season there. I'd like to relive them with you.
We did not know it was Carnevale when we decided on a whim to drive from Vienna to northern Italy to buy garden urns. Yes, I know it is a long drive (four hours to the border) to run an errand, but I have always taken any opportunity to go to Italy. My friend had visited us many times in Vienna and had already seen all the sights, so we had an added incentive to explore a new place.
We made the road trip before the border between Austria and Italy was erased by their entries into the European Union. As we approached the barrier that would take us from one country to the other, we did what all self-respecting women do before they cross the Italian border: we reached for our lipstick.
It didn't matter that we still had a way to go on the autostrade before we arrived at our destination. Italy makes some of us instinctively ramp up the glamor a bit. Italians in general take such care in how they present themselves that it seems wrong not to do the same.
As we walked around the northern city of Udine, we had our first clue that something unusual was going on: we turned a corner and were startled to see a figure in a long black cape with a white Bauta (the traditional white Venetian mask that covers all facial features), and a black tricorno (three-cornered hat), sitting statue-still between two columns. Remember, we didn't know it was Carnevale, so the encounter seemed entirely random, like something in a Fellini film.
Soon we were caught up in una sfilata (a parade) of costumed adults, children, and showers of i coriandoli (confetti). We asked a spectator what the occasion was. "Carnavale!," she said.
This festive period takes place in the weeks leading up to Lent, which begins on Le Ceneri (Ash Wednesday). While the austere Lenten season encourages penance, no meat, and giving up the things you love for forty days, during Carnevale "ogni scherzo vale," (anything goes).
Mischief and pranks are expected, carried out by people usually wearing le maschere (masks), so they can act anonymously.
Carnevale in Venice is well known for its elaborately dressed and masked frolickers who preen and make merry while being photographed by thousands of tourists who descend on the city to take part in the centuries-old tradition. It gets so crowded that police have to direct foot traffic through the narrow Venetian streets.
We were not far from Venice geographically, but the merriment was much quieter in the tiny town of Cividale, near Udine, where we had booked our hotel. We arrived late in the afternoon and stopped for a caffe macchiato. As we sat at a window table overlooking the town's piazza, it was already getting dark and much colder.
Our conversation was interrupted by two jovially masked men who appeared in front of the window and clowned around for us before turning the corner and disappearing down one of the narrow cobbled streets.
We prepared to leave, but first things first: we reapplied our lipstick. As we did so, my friend looked at me and began gesturing with her head towards the window. I looked up.
There before us were two naked rear ends. They seemed particularly white in the dark square. Two pale moons in Cividale. Moons on the piazza. Moonstruck. We burst out laughing. The merry masked mooners, apparently satisfied with our reactions, pulled up their pants and went on their way. It was a Fellini moment again.
Soon enough we experienced another one. When we arrived at our small hotel we found a sign on the front door that read "mercoledi chuiso" (closed Wednesdays). It was Wednesday. But we had a reservation! We banged on the door until someone finally answered. "Abbiamo prenotato per stasera!" (We booked for tonight), I said. "Va bene, avanti (It's fine, come in)" we were relieved to hear. If we had arrived without a reservation, we were told, the hotel would have been closed to us because it was Wednesday.
My language skills at the time were not up to pursuing the logic of that. Today, with more advanced skills, I would know better than to even try. Sometimes you just have to shrug and say, "It's Italy."
Later that evening we strolled across the piazza to a nearby restaurant. I wish I could adequately describe the street sounds of an Italian town at night. It is a soft cacophony of footsteps on stones, conversations, music drifting out of windows, a peal of laughter and an occasional shout, all echoing off the buildings of the narrow streets. I've never experienced sounds quite like it anywhere else.
We examined the menu and asked a few questions of the waiter, who was anxious to practice his English. My friend asked what cinghiale was. With elaborate hand gestures he explained, "It is...it is...it is...the wild beast!"
Who could resist ordering that? Later we found out it meant wild boar, a common Italian dish.
When we left the restaurant, classical music was wafting over the empty piazza. There was a bright crescent moon peeping over the ancient church at the far end of it. We started across when suddenly two masked men in capes jumped in front of us. We were too startled to react, and had no time to do so as they took us in their arms and waltzed us across the piazza.
Imagine whirling around an empty, moonlit piazza with a masked figure. It makes an impression that will last a lifetime.
At the other end, they bowed to us and vanished down a side street. My friend and I were speechless for a moment. The music continued. We looked at each other, laughed, and shrugged. It was just another Fellini moment. It was Carnevale. It was Italy. Ogni scherzo vale.
top photo: karnavati
confetti: free extras
