Carnival(e) – the word itself brings to mind dancing, singing in the streets, partying, music, and enjoying life. Best known in Brazil, with popular variations in Cádiz, Spain and Venice, Italy, this festival lasts for days and is ripe with celebration, tourists, and a touch of hedonism. Carnival begins the friday before Ash Wednesday, and commences on Ash Wednesday, which begets Lent. The name “carnival” itself comes from latin, “carnelevare”, meaning to remove meat. However, this is not observed during the festivals themselves. Cured and smoked meats are just too tasty.
This trip revolves around the Italian version – called Carnevale and held in Venice. This name change is due to the fact that Murphy’s Law does not translate into Italian. As it goes, the entire theme of the weekend was “if it can go wrong, it will.”
I transited to Venice by way of Milan, where a friend was on exchange. After a night in Milan, we headed off en route to Venice and supposed craziness. This is where everything started to go poorly. The first notice wasn’t even in Venice; it was getting to the Milan train station. My friend lived around 40 minutes from the central station, and any reasonable person would wake up early to ensure boarding the train. However, we left at 11:25 for a 12:10 departure, needing to walk, tram, and metro to the station. As luck would have it, we arrived to the train station at 12:05. Not the platform, the metro exit. Making Usain Bolt look slow, we took off sprinting for the gate. Hopping on the train just as it was pulling away from the platform, we were finally Venice-bound. A few hours later and conversing with Italians who had also gone on exchange, we arrived. During a festival, the cheapest accommodation usually sells out months in advance. My friend had booked two nights before, ensuring we would be lucky to get the pick of the lowest value, sordid, and likely uncomfortable. Onwards.
We had dropped our bags off in the unheated room and set off to eat and take in the nightlife. To my later surprise, nothing of note happened. It wasn’t until the next day, when, finding out that only one night had been booked at the hostel, we were to either return to Milan or seek alternate arrangements. Such as street camping. In February. Taking the best approaching, worrying about what to do later, the group set off to explore Venice, take in the jovial atmosphere, eat as much pizza as humanely possible, buy a mask or three, and pretend to fit in to the historical ambiance, backpacks and all. Though the afternoon went on without a hitch, we suddenly had to make a choice: return home to Milan, ride the rails until morning, sleep in the train station, or find a bench.
We decided on the last option. Returning to the station at 7:47 pm, there were two Milan trains – an 8:00 and an 8:10. Picking the latter, we stopped for a slice of delicious train station pizza and waiting. At 8:03 pm, my friend got a call from his roommate, who had joined us last-minute. “Where did you two end up?” Responding, “we’re waiting for the 8:10 back to Milan. Try and catch that” to which his roommate yelled “…the 8:10 is an ARRIVAL. You missed the last outbound train to Milan at 8!”. Merda.
Luckily, there was an erasmus event in the nearby town of Padova and with yet another 8:10 train (outbound this time), his roommate got to the station at 8:07, bought tickets, and was on the train a minute before departure. And yes, the train did leave on time. One problem remained. We were en route to Padova, but with not only no knowledge of where the event was, but also lacking a place to sleep. Fortunately, a couple seated next to us gave the location, so one of the problems was solved. The next step was finding accommodation that wasn’t located in a public transit stop. After pulling out our various phones and checking hostelworld, airbnb, booking.com, and others, no results populated. Somehow, turning around, there was a hostel located one block from the train station. We paid 65 euro to pack four people in a room the size of a pantry…I slept on the floor.
Finally, with bags dropped off, we headed to the event. Located in a club in an obscure corner of the city, the night started out well. Then, well before closing time, someone turned all the lights on. Yes, clubbing in zero darkness is exactly as much fun as it sounds. Needless to say, everyone emptied out. Beats sleeping on a train station bench. Getting up in the morning, we missed our check-out time, but didn’t think much of it. As everyone was packing up, the cleaning crew entered and seeing four people in a room clearly fit for two, began shrieking in Italian. It was go time. Everyone grabbed their pack and bolted, one staggered after another, to appear as if we came from different rooms. Before able to leave the building, the manager pulled my friend aside and charged him for another night; what a separate room would have cost.
Having a few hours before the train to Milan, we decided to wander the city. Of course, we stumbled into a gambling operation. TVs streaming sporting events in analog quality from around the world, currencies from what seemed to be half of Europe, and enough languages to pass for the Tower of Babel. This is not the restaurant you’re looking for. After looks, gestures, and a few threats, we decided to move on. Getting to the train station early for a 5:40 pm train, we waited. And waited. And waited. In typical Italian fashion, the train showed up…an hour later. Amidst the chaos, an idea was floated to catch a train towards Genoa and transfer somewhere from there, but it was not acted upon.
Pulling into the station, the train looked oddly packed. Although Padova was only the second stop after Venice, the amount of passengers standing, sitting, and packed together was more akin to a third-class train in the developing world. With nary a free space, we rushed the door, the last ones on. Despite having purchased tickets and reserving seats, there was no path to the heated cabin. Too many people had merely hopped on the train to Milan, not bothering to obtain fares, which meant all of the legitimate passengers had to wait. In the storage/transit compartment between the heated cabins. Standing, with nowhere to sit. Unable to take the backpacks off. And in a cruel twist of fate, the train took an extra hour and a quarter to arrive. So for three and a half hours, we stood, in the frigid passing compartment, looking hopefully upon our taken seats. Finally, the train had arrived into Milan. Running into the compatriots who shared our first leg cabin, my friend and I headed straight to his apartment for a drink and to avoid anything else that may have gone wrong. This was not without realizing we arrived too late for public transit, after hopping on a tram…that wasn’t even running. Finally, to the universe’s credit, the taxi after did not break down and the only inconvenience was an expensive fare. Who doesn’t love the 6.50 euro starting meter?
Even being delayed, the plane back to Madrid the following day landed safely. And apparently, Easyjet has cleaner seats than the hostel. As it turns out, the first room we had was occupied by another guest. Bedbugs. The only thing worse would have been food poisoning, a canceled debit card or two, and a backpack in the canal. Somehow, we got out without losing anything else and although frustrating, Carnavale was one for the memories. Though next time, make sure to book everything well in advance and learn the Italian gesture for hitchhiking. Carnavale, mi scusi. Arrivederci.
Dispatches by Alec 