(At Babington’s Tea Room, an elegant salon at the foot at the Spanish Steps in Rome.)
What I remember most of carnevale time in Italy, during the two winters I spent there, were all the children dressed up in costumes from Spiderman to princesses, and how delighted and excited they were to toss confetti from little bags every inch of the way. In the central Piazza Duomo in Milan, the confetti covered every foot of the square, and rested in between the cobblestones for weeks. I remember being surprised at how big of a holiday it was for the children, as it’s something that doesn’t even really exist in America, outside of New Orleans’ Mardi Gras.
Here in Germany, the holiday seems to be more an excuse for adults to dress up and be drunk all day, loudly signing in the streets and subways. The costumes include a disturbing proportion of creepy clowns and racially insensitive outfits. Needless to say, this wasn’t terribly interesting to me, and I spent most of the weekend trying to avoid the festivities, meanwhile enviously looking at friends’ pictures from carnevale in Venice. One of these days that’s on my to-do list.