By Sara Bright
Venice is doing it again.
It’s February. The city is damp, cold, and impossibly crowded. And yet, for the next two weeks, thousands of people will put on velvet capes, hide their faces behind porcelain masks, and pretend it’s the 18th century. Or, in this year’s case, pretend they care about the Winter Olympics.
The 2026 Carnival kicked off on January 31st, and honestly? It’s chaos. Beautiful, expensive, slightly unhinged chaos. I’ve been watching the footage, and it’s a strange mix of high art and low comedy.
The theme this year is the Winter Olympics, which start in Italy on February 6th. It feels like a bit of a stretch, doesn’t it? Venice isn’t exactly known for its skiing. But the Venetians are pragmatic. If they can sell a few more tickets by slapping some Olympic rings on a gondola, they’ll do it.
The Rat King of the Grand Canal
Let’s talk about the opening parade. Usually, it’s a dignified affair. A few historical boats, some people in ruffs waving.
This year? A giant rat.
I’m not joking. The flotilla down the Grand Canal was led by a massive vessel shaped like a rat. A “Pantegana,” as the locals call it. It’s a traditional symbol of the city (don’t ask me why, maybe it’s the only thing that survives the floods), but seeing a twenty-foot rodent leading a procession of rowers in period costume is… jarring. It’s grotesque. It’s hilarious. It’s exactly the kind of weirdness that makes Carnival worth watching.
Behind the rat came a hundred other boats. People rowing in freezing conditions, wearing layers of brocade that must weigh a ton when wet. That’s dedication. Or madness. Probably both.
The Masks and the Myth
The masks are the point, of course.
I remember my first Carnival years ago. I bought a cheap plastic mask from a street vendor for five euros. It scratched my nose. I felt like an idiot. Then I saw the pros.
The people who come to Venice for this take it seriously. They spend thousands on costumes. They don’t walk; they glide. They don’t speak; they pose. They turn the Piazza San Marco into a living theatre.
This year, with the Olympic theme, I’m expecting some weird hybrids. Harlequins on skis? Casanova with a bobsleigh? It sounds terrible, but in the fog of a Venetian winter, it might just work.
There are over 50 events scheduled. The “Dream Ball.” The street shows. The “Festa delle Marie,” where twelve local girls are paraded around in medieval dress like it’s a beauty pageant from 1300.
And the “Flight of the Angel.” This is the big one. A girl descends from the Campanile bell tower on a wire. It’s terrifying to watch. One slip, and it’s a very different kind of headline. But she glides down, throwing confetti, while thousands of people below hold their breath. It’s pure spectacle.
The End of the Party
It all wraps up on February 17th. Shrove Tuesday. The day before Lent.
That’s the ancient rhythm of it. You feast, you drink, you wear a mask so you can sin anonymously, and then you repent for forty days.
Nowadays, the repentance part is optional. Most tourists just go home with a hangover and an overpriced mask they’ll never wear again.
But for the locals? It’s a reclaiming of their city. For two weeks, Venice isn’t just a museum or a sinking tragedy. It’s a stage. It’s alive. Even if it is being led by a giant rat.
If you’re thinking of going, take waterproof boots. And maybe don’t buy the first mask you see. The good stuff is hidden down the back alleys, where the tourists don’t go. That’s where the real magic happens.
Happy Carnival. Don’t fall in.
