A Travelogue

It was as if we had walked into a circus. As we crossed the bridge from the Venezia Santa Lucia train station on a Tuesday evening in February, my husband and I were swallowed up by a city-wide celebration. This was our introduction to Venice after 30 hours in transit.
Unbeknownst to us, it was Mardi Gras, the final night of Carnevale di Venezia where revellers flood the streets wearing ornate masks and costumes. Just like the masquerade ball in the movie Labyrinth, the experience was bewildering, enchanting and, at times, creepy. We couldn't wait to join.
Realizing any attempt to follow a map to our guesthouse would be useless, we adjusted our oversized backpacks and began following foot traffic through the Venetian streets, dimly lit by overhanging fairy lights.
As we shuffled through the confetti-littered alleys, we could hear the beat of a dance party a few piazzas over – in which direction, we couldn’t tell.
Turning a corner, we encountered a mob of party goers in elaborate gowns, capes and wigs. After squeezing our way through their merriment, we turned the next corner only to find ourselves completely alone. At times, we would walk several blocks through darkened corridors hearing only the sound of our shoes on the cobblestone, and wondering where the revellers had gone.
When you’re lost in Venice, look up. If you’re lucky, you might find the names of popular landmarks like "Per Rialto" or "Alla Ferrovia," with an arrow to help you out.
As we followed the signs labelled "San Marco," fading into the façade of the old Venetian buildings, we wondered how long this journey would last before we could partake in the festivities. We felt like hamsters in a maze, sometimes taking a wrong turn only to reach a dead end.
Some signs were too pale to read, other signs had two arrows pointing in opposite directions for the same destination, but never once did the signs fail us.
After one hour of wandering left and right, the walls opened up to the empty Piazza San Marco where the basilica’s Byzantine structure overlooked a makeshift stage and the remnants of, what appeared to have been, one heck of a party. With a few stragglers stumbling nearby, wine bottles clinking in their their hands and streamers dragging behind them, we found our guesthouse and checked-in, exhausted and feeling as though the night had cheated us.
The next morning, we awoke to music, bells and the buzz of Venice. That’s when we learned that in this town, the celebration is never over. -30-