The Gaudy, Hokey, Marvelous Spectacle of Mardi Gras in Civita Castellana

Who doesn't love a parade?

The unparalleled creativity of Italian Carnevale

For five years, we lived in an Italian village about sixty miles from Rome (as the crow flies) called Civita Castellana. It wasn’t the most high-brow, cultured place in the world, but it wasn’t without its charms. Lord Byron passed through there once, as did Mozart, who played the organ for Sunday Mass inside Civita Castellana’s beautiful 12th-century Duomo.

The kebab place stayed open until three in the morning, a rarity in roll-it-up-early Italy. There was a small Paki store around the corner from our house that sold staples like water and tomato sauce. Herman, the owner, suffered from virulent flatulence, so you had to hold your nose when you went inside. He also had a singular inability to count small change.

Revelers taking the edge off with a late-night kebab.

Bar Matteotti held pride of place in the main piazza, a gorgeous old-style watering hole with burnished rosewood booths, Art Deco lighting fixtures, and fresh cornetti. What was notable, at least to me, was the family who ran it: a faded belle, her kindly one-legged husband, and her two sons. With the exception of the husband, I never saw them smile, not once. They were chronically, morbidly gloomy. My boyfriend, John, who can charm people in three languages, couldn’t make a dent in any of them.

Parmaud ran the pizza parlor. He had this peculiar habit of sliding his spatula beneath a slice of pizza and then robotically muttering, “Scaldo,” (warm) as he turned toward the oven to heat it for you. Every. Single. Time. We used to order pizza just to watch him do it.

That boozy, worldly, knowing smile.

There was a drug dealer in the piazza who wore tan Sansabelt slacks. A couple of drunks sprawled over the benches in front of the 15th century fountain. A communist outpost that held weekly meetings and potluck suppers. And lots and lots of young people who likely wanted more than this, but knew they were stuck. You could almost smell the despair.

Despite what many called the “burini factor” (a pejorative term meaning “boor” or “yokel”) of some parts of Civita Castellana, there is one time a year when everybody, young and old, fascist and communist, gets together to celebrate, and that’s the Feste di Carnevale: Mardi Gras.

It’s difficult to overestimate the importance Carnevale has on Civita Castellana and other villages and cities throughout Italy. Mardi Gras begins on or after the Epiphany and culminates on Shrove Tuesday (the day before Ash Wednesday.) It’s a French word meaning “Fat Tuesday,” which is celebrated by consuming vast amounts of fattening food and gallons of cheap wine before the Lenten sacrifice of fasting. Theoretically, you’re supposed to give up a vice for Lent, which is why folks are usually pretty crabby during this period.

In Civita Castellana, you know Carnevale is coming because, overnight, a huge papier-mâché statue appears right next to the fountain where, in the 1500s, the locals used to burn heretics. Had I lived back then, I would have been the first one they torched, I assure you. One year, it was a pair of Black saxophone players whose features were so grossly exaggerated, they looked like Amos n’ Andy rejects. I wanted to take an axe to that statue. The next year, to my horror, they erected a clown.

For weeks, we had to live with this thing.

From the moment that statue goes up, the excitement is palpable. It’s as though the entire village holds its breath. And there’s competitive pressure to outdo rival villages in the Lazio region. The Civitonici really pull together to put on a show.

This video should give you some idea of the trouble they go to. It’s 22 minutes long, so feel free to skip around, but for those of you, like me, who love all things Italian, you will quickly see why I find Civita Castellana’s Carnevale so irresistibly charming:

As might be expected, Covid has had an impact on the manner in which Carnevale can be celebrated, and there is much grumbling and chafing under those restrictions. Still, the last Carnevale I attended in Civita Castellana was in 2020, right when the coronavirus was gaining a foothold in Italy, and there was just as much drunken revelry and shoulder-to-shoulder carousing as any other year. Perhaps the locals share a superstitious belief that a quasi-religious celebration like Carnevale is granted Divine exemption from misfortune. Be that as it may, I watched from a safe distance.

Some of the papier-mâché floats, usually drawn by tractors, are truly remarkable. So much money is poured into this event, it makes you wonder why some of it couldn’t have been redirected to fixing Italy’s notoriously potholed streets, but I’ve been accused by more than a few people of being a killjoy. I accept the diss.

Along those lines, it is fascinating and disturbing to see how Italy reinterprets America. A few years ago, there was a “cowboy” float (many Italians, upon discovering I’m from Texas, marvel that I don’t own cattle or a ten-gallon hat.) festooned with Confederate flags. Italians have no idea what those flags mean to a non-Confederate American, what a symbol of racist suppression and bigotry they are. Instead, an entire float of grinning celebrants rumbled by, each one waving his little piece of Dixie.

Most impressive to me is how these floats are engineered to fold in on themselves to pass through narrow, medieval streets. The first time I saw this procedure, my jaw dropped. One minute, it’s all waving arms and undulating tails; the next, each moving part is tucked in to afford safe passage.

The creativity, energy, and sartorial splendor of Italian Carnevale is one of my favorite things about living here (an enthusiasm not shared by John, to be clear.) My hope—when the ‘rona is more endemic than pandemic—is to witness the Bacchanalia that is Venice’s Carnevale, surely the stuff of legend.

Given John’s reflexive dislike of crowds, I might be doing that by myself, however. If I make it to Venice one day, you can be sure I’ll live-stream it here on Cappuccino.

What are your thoughts on Mardi Gras? Have you ever seen Carnevale celebrated abroad, and how did that compare to celebrations you’ve seen closer to home? I want to hear aaaallll about it. Be sure to leave your comments below.