The first carnival I ever went to was at my overnight camp for the 4th of July. I was ten, so naturally I thought the cheap decorations and games the older campers put together were awesome. Ten years later, on a train coming back from the Carnival in Venice, I scoffed at this memory, for I had just experienced one of the most outrageous festivals in Europe. Every year before Lent, cities all over the world host wild celebratory festivals. I was fortunate enough to join the party in one of the most beautifully picturesque cities in the world-Venice. Known for romantic gondola rides and tender canals that flow throughout the city, Venice is a honeymooner's dream. Except during Carnival.
A trail of confetti guided Paula, Kelly and I from the small train station to the Piazza San Marco, an enormous square filled with empty wine bottles and clusters of costumed Italians and foreigners alike. Every shop we walked slowly past sported walls of detail-oriented masks. I wanted all of them. We even met a mask-maker who explained the history behind some of faces and showed us how he makes them in his shop. He proceeded to dress me in a cape and glittery purple mask that made me feel like a performer in Phantom of the Opera. But my stage fright showed when he tried to kiss me. Cue curtain fall.
After crossing bridges, pausing every so often to take a 'send home to the parents' snapshot, and stepping inside every shop to try and find the perfect mask, I spotted a winner. The process reminded me of when I got my dog, Miki. He was the only white husky sliding around the antique shop in Boston where the owner's dog gave birth a few weeks prior. With one blue eye and one brown eye, I knew Miki Blue Eye was a keeper. I had the same feeling when I saw my mask. The intricate details making up the face of a cat was the stunning work of a conscientious Venetian. Illustrations of the canals on the cheeks, music notes above the eyes, a gold trim around the eyes, and contrast of black and white made this mask as weird and desirable as my blue and brown colored eye dog. Strangeness attracts me.
Strolling alongside other veiled faces added an exciting element to our trip. But what was probably the most thrilling part of our time in Venice was our lack of housing. That's right, we were homeless for a night. Intentionally. It wouldn't have been so bad had it not been for the negative degree weather. Until about 2 a.m. we were fine, parading around the city with newly made friends who took us to the different parties happening around the city. They also exposed us to a new cultural layer of Italian wine-hot wine. Skeptical at first, it was delicious, like everything I've tried thus far in Italy. That is, except for the restaurant we had dinner at. Not only was our waiter a brashly rude ogre, but they inflated the service charge by triple the amount when we went to pay. (Now I don't feel so bad about secretly drinking wine we smuggled in.) I fought the absurd charge while wearing my mask figuring that he'd get too annoyed to fight with someone who looked like a cat. I was right. Me-oww.
But around 2, after parting ways with our friends who reminded me of Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle Dumb, the way they argued over silly logistical problems and such, we made our way to the train station. We assumed there would be a cafe we could sit in all night, but we were severely mistaken. I should have known better. Catering to tourists who come to their gorgeous city to breathe the scenic views of pastel-colored buildings lining canals whose tranquil waters are only interrupted by the gentle stroke of gondolier, it is no wonder that Venetians close shop early. The train station was our only option.
Evidently we weren't the only ones to be stupid enough not to book a place to stay in the middle of winter. As soon as we walked up the steps, we saw tons of passed out drunk bodies spread throughout the station. We found a small open space against a storefront, and my body was just about to go numb when a clearly inebriated Italian started speaking to us. We couldn't understand what he was saying, which didn't help when he threw a small backpack at our feet. But like heroes, Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum appeared out of nowhere, just in the nick of time. The guy wandered off, and we asked the guys what they were doing. "We came to say goodbye!" they said.
The rest of the night was a blur. Paula, Kelly and I sought warmth in the car of a train leaving for Milan in the morning, and hopped off before it steamed out of Venice. The train back to Florence was at 8:30, so we still had a few hours to wait. We stood outside of the station's cafe, ready to knock down the door as soon as they opened-like a clearance sale at Neiman Marcus. When they finally did, I realized how numb my body was. Heat felt like a distant memory as it slowly warmed the tips of my fingers. When my body temperature was back to normal our train had arrived. Finally.
I sank into my seat, ready to fall into a deep slumber-if only for a couple of hours. As I drifted off, flashes of the weekend flooded my head. Despite everything I saw, the two guys we met stood out most prominently. I was so surprised that strangers we only met a few hours earlier would be so kind as to make sure a few American teenage girls were safe. But I guess we're all strangers before we become anything more. It's funny to think how we can go on with our lives just fine, and then someone comes along who you can't picture living the rest of your life without.
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