A Venetian Carnivale

I just returned from an incredible weekend in Venice. It was freezing, but worth it.

I woke up at 4:45AM to the silhouette of what I was sure was a ghost. It was Daniella, waking me up because I’d sleepily turned off my alarm. After realizing that I wasn’t the star of the latest Paranormal Activity, I jumped out of bed and got ready for my trip on super-speed. Kelsi, Daniella, Kristen, Kara, and I missed our shuttle to the airport and had to split a cab. Already, my funds were dwindling.

A few hours later and I was at the top of the boot, in Venezia! By this point, I was only with Daniella and Kelsi, and the three of us hopped on the bus that would take us to our hostel. 30 minutes in, we thought we had made it to our stop, only to realize that we had just stranded ourselves in industrial sketchville without the slightest idea of where we were nor the proper attire the combat the cold. Eventually, another bus came and we finally made it to Hotel Colombo.

The three of us had booked a private room for two, with the intention of sneaking the other person in to save a few bucks. We soon realized that this was a terrible idea. Daniella waited, posing as our friend staying at another hostel while we checked in. When she got up to come to our room, they wouldn’t let her. We convinced them to give us five minutes, during which they copied down all of her passport information. Cool. This was going to be tough.

We decided to figure it out later, and headed off of the mainland and into the heart of Venice. A ten-minute bus ride later, I was smack dab in quintessential Italy, as I had always imagined it. We scrambled to take pictures on the first bridge we saw, only later realizing that this was one of a katrillion.

Exposed brick emerged from vibrant orange walls. Decadent curtains hung over old glass windows. The city was empty and quiet. We wandered and wandered, stopping for a long lunch during which each of us inhaled an entire pizza. An entire pizza! 

With a bottle of wine in hand, we crossed bridges and wandered down narrow streets. Usually when confronted with a dark, uninhabited road, I’ll turn right around. In Venice, these were the most inviting paths!

Eventually, we arrived at San Marco Square, where the final preparation for Carnivale were being made. We went into almost every single Morano glass shop, simultaneously thawing out and ogling at the intricate designs.

The night was mellow, spent at a couple low-key bars in the city. Venice, apparently, isn’t known for its nightlife.

Daniella decided to stay at our friends’ hostel. I wish I’d done the same. Our room was barren of character. The sheets were stained with god-knows-what and the blanket was covered in mysterious hairs. The shower was freezing, as was the room. It wasn’t ideal, but it was somewhere to sleep.

Kelsi and I woke up early the next morning to go to the train station. Why? Our original train home was scheduled to leave at midnight on Sunday so as to prolong our time in the city. But the weather didn’t play a factor last month during the booking process, and we didn’t realize we’d have to check out of our hostel at 10 in the morning. There was no way we were staying outside for over twelve hours. Enrico, our lifesaver, promised us that he’d get us on the 10AM train on Sunday morning. As long as we found him, he’d hook it up. Relieved and ready, we headed into Venice for a day of Carnivale celebrations.

As usual, we found ourselves lost and ended up on the outskirts of the city, exposed to the surrounding waters. In a grocery store, we bought 89-cent lagers, which we carried with us as we attempted to find civilization. 

In our masks, we asked for directions over and over again until finally the noise got louder and streets became busier. We met up with friends in the square, where we danced to the YMCA and other songs, following the lead of the performers on stage.

Everyone was in costume; either masked or adorned in extravagant garb not exactly appropriate for the sub zero weather. After wandering around open markets and encountering outdoor performances, we ate a late lunch of lasagna and pizza, accompanied by surprisingly free bread. I don’t think I fulfilled my carb quota for the day.

Back at the hostel, we recuperated and added more layers to our ensembles. A tiny dinner of tangerines and disgusting dried pineapples and we were on our way again. Our friends had met two Australians, Anthony and Emma. They had been studying abroad in Sweden and were travelling before heading back to the land down under. We barhopped with them until late in the night. First Torino, then Piccolo Mondo, which we didn’t enter but made some Russian friends outside. Next we ventured to Raging Pub and then across the square to Aranciatta, where we met some New Yorkers studying Classicism in Rome. Pretentious? Yes. But then again, we were in a bar named after a fruit. We then went next door to a bar filled with Americans. The walls were plastered with neon writing. Each piece of paper had a different American university written on it, and so naturally, I asked to make one for Emerson. During the creative process, I met a Lorenzo, Venetian police officer who offered to give us a tour of Venice on his boat the next day. Thanks, but no thanks.

After finding a cockroach in our room that night, we uncomfortably went to sleep. This morning we woke up to a snowy wonderland. The city was covered in powder and small snowflakes gently drifted to the ground. We immediately assumed the worst. Our train is cancelled. We’re stranded. So, we rushed to the train station and saw Enrico nowhere in sight. A lovely man from Korea, who broke the news of Whitney Houston’s death to us, let us cut in front of him in so that we could beg the attendant to let us take the 10 o’clock He complied. Scribbling some letters and numbers on our tickets for the later train, he told us to run to Platform 6.

“How did we get away with this?” we said, realizing that we were on a high-speed train that would have us back in Rome in only three hours. We may have jinxed ourselves. The conductor asked for our tickets and saw that we were on the wrong train. The Italian scribbles meant nothing to him and he explained that we either had to pay 80 Euros to stay on the train, or get off at the next stop. Kelsi faked an emotional breakdown while I explained that she’d had her credit cards stolen and we couldn’t pay for it. I went on to point out the snow that was obviously surrounding us. He grumpily took pity on us damsels in distress and let us stay aboard. That’s right. We paid 30 euro for an 80-euro train.

Back on via Nomentana, my feet are dead from the hours of walking sans adequate circulation. I had spent the entire weekend wearing all of my outfits on top of each other. Two pairs of wool socks, cuddle duds, leggings, jeans, four long sleeve shirts, a wool sweater, down jacket, wool hat, and gloves and I was still freezing all weekend long. It was well worth the suffering though. I met so many people and saw so many things. Venice is my favorite place in Italy thus far. Its charm is unequivocal and the canals are unreal. Despite the fact that the city was crawling with tourists, I felt like I experienced the city to the fullest. That being said, I’m not so jealous of my friends who are still stuck in snowy Venice.