How to Do Venice Carnival Right: A Thrifty Traveler's Guide

When I finally made it to the right party, a man in a ruff collar and a finely waxed mustache shrugged at my predicament. “You haven’t done Carnevale until you’ve crashed at least one ball,” he said. Besides, he told me, tickets for the ball I’d inadvertently infiltrated—the Gran Ballo Mascheranda—cost as much as 750 euro (about $930) a person. I liked my way better.

Few celebrations are as famous as Venice’s Carnival—the raucous, wildly indulgent series of wine-soaked period-costume parties leading up to Ash Wednesday, when festivities traditionally gave way to penitence and fasting in observation of Lent.

Acrobats in harlequin suits do cartwheels on the Strada Nuova. Women in powdered wigs and feathered hairdos jostle past one another at the train station. Men on the Rialto dress as doges—the traditional rulers of Venice during its decadent heyday as the maritime trading capital of Europe. Attending the most famous ticketed balls at Carnival can be a staggeringly costly affair: Tickets for the Doge’s Ball, typically held on the last Saturday of Carnival, can cost more than $2,400, not including the price of costumes. But, I learned, you can experience a great Carnival much more cheaply by combining people-watching (free) and quintessentially Italian spontaneity.

The Venice I found last February was far more ebullient and far less formal than the steep admission to its most famous balls would suggest. Wandering the back streets of the Cannaregio district at sunset, tourists in $5 plastic masks pushed past English 20-somethings in repurposed Halloween costumes, American women in hand-stitched historical reproductions and drag queens whose wigs nearly struck the ceilings of San Marco’s arcades. Nearly every mask shop in Venice rents period costumes of varying quality. Hairdressers like Michele Doardo near Ca’ d’Oro, wrap women’s tresses around wire frames, weaving feathers into them, while tourists gawk through the windows.

At Il Milion, an inexpensive, all-but-hidden osteria in Cannaregio, I found myself eating thick, black-sauced squid-ink spaghetti among friends of friends at an informal “cross-dressing” party. Each of the 30 or so attendees wore 18th-century court dress appropriate to the opposite sex. A popular pre-party venue for those off to balls, Il Milion functions as a prime people-watching spot and all are welcome. Our party shared the space with a mix of Venetians and tourists in costume and ordinary garb, taking photos, bantering with the proprietress and ordering carafe after carafe of prosecco, Carnival’s signature drink (it’s easily quaffable and won’t stain your costumes.)

Still, Venice has its aristocracy. Outside Caffè Florian—the opulent 18th-century coffeehouse that doubles as the unofficial headquarters of Venice’s Carnival cognoscenti—the best-dressed posed for tourists’ photographs before gliding past a lengthy queue straight through the door. The Studio 54 of Venice, Florian is where anybody who’s anybody meets up before their various evening exploits. It’s where you go to see and, if your costume is inventive enough, be seen (and hope to be invited to exclusive private parties). There, the dour doormen adhered to a strict if not immediately graspable entrance policy, allowing the odd tourist in civilian dress to enter with the elite. Later, I learned that he gives priority to regulars, costume or not.

As Carnival went on, and I grew used to the rhythms of the city, I formulated a list of tricks for doing the festival right:

• 1. Avoid the too-crowded streets around San Marco.
• 2. Go to Florian right at 5 p.m. to avoid the lines. It will already be buzzing, but you’ll have a better shot of getting in.
• 3. Buy your beauty supplies in advance or from chain drugstores. The intensely focused nature of Venetian craftsmanship means that most local beauty or craft shops carry a narrow range of supplies. The elderly proprietor of a hairbrush shop I entered was appalled by my presumption that he could also supply me with bobby pins.
• 4. Grab food whenever you’re able. Revelers cited the “Carnevale diet”—prosecco and walking—as the ultimate weight-loss plan. Dinners at the formal parties are served as late as midnight.

As I attempted to follow my last guideline, I found Venice’s culture of cicchetti—small, often seafood-based snacks served with prosecco or Aperol—valuable. Every time I left my guesthouse I’d stop for a $5 baccalà mantecato, pungent creamed stockfish on toast, along the pastel waterfront just off the Rialto Market. These cichetterias also proved useful as a way to meet locals; at the Enoteca Rio Marin, an old man, amused by my Renaissance costume (I’d stayed out all night at one of the balls), started to flirt with me. “Ignore him,” said the waiter, enveloping him in a bear hug. “He’s furbo [sly]”. He was also, it turned out, one of Venice’s oldest gondoliers, Umberto Pavan, pushing 91. The waiter kissed his cheek, and made me promise to come back and entertain Mr. Pavan again. “Next year at Carnevale,” he said. I agreed.

By Fat Tuesday, Carnival’s last day, I was exhausted. I had drunk my weight in prosecco and my feet were blistered from walking all over the city. One night, at 3:30 a.m., I’d passed graffiti strangely pertinent to my hung-over, blearily existentialist state: “There is nothing behind your masks.”

Still, on that last evening I dragged myself once more to Florian. I caught sight of a fellow reveler I’d met at Il Milion, Erwan de Fligué, a historical clothing specialist from Paris. He took my arm, led me straight inside. We sat on Florian’s red plush banquettes and I ordered my last prosecco of Carnival. One by one, I said my goodbyes to people I recognized: the bartender, a few couples at tables. I promised to return next year. “Now that I know the rules of Carnival,” I said. One of them shrugged. “It’s Carnival. There are no rules.”

THE LOWDOWN //A Primer to Visiting Venice During Carnival

Staying There: Don’t skimp when it comes to location—after a night on the town, you’ll want to be able to stumble home from San Marco or the Rialto without risking falling into too many canals. Palazzo Rosa, a guesthouse in Cannaregio, offers enormous rooms with canal views. From about $180 a night, palazzorosa.com

Partying There: Many of the most famous parties in Venice—like the Ballo Tiepolo or Doge’s Ball—cost several hundred euros.(Tickets for Ballo Tiepolo can be purchased through venetoinside.com, for the Doge’s Ball at eventbrite.com and for several others balls and events at venice-carnival-italy.com.) But a drink at Caffé Florian’s on San Marco square—or a promenade around the arcades—is relatively affordable. 57 Piazza San Marco Osteria Il Milion, a popular pre-ball stop for Venetians and Carnival regulars is in the Cannaregio district tucked away under an archway by the 16th-century St. John Chrysostom church. Corte Del Milion 5841