Italian carnival. This pre-Lenten madness, they call it “taking away meat,” which, having witnessed a few of these affairs, feels like an understatement. It’s weeks of costumed chaos culminating in Martedì Grasso, that last gasp of indulgence before the enforced quiet.
Most outsiders picture Venice, the masks, the canals, the whole gilded cage of it. And yes, Venice does it big. But the urge to throw a party before the fast isn’t unique to one lagoon city.
There are other carnivals and other ways to mark the descent into abstinence. Places like Viareggio, Ivrea, Acireale, and even remote spots like Mamoiada have their own ways of doing things.
So, if you need to know where to go, and what to expect, let me share what I’ve gathered over the years.
When Is Carnival Season in Italy?
The Carnival Season or “Carnevale.” It’s always lurking there in the calendar, this movable feast before the fast. Fat Tuesday – Martedì Grasso, as they have it. Always some Tuesday in late winter, early spring, depending on when they decide Easter gets sprung on us.
I’ve learned not to make plans in February or March without checking the liturgical calendar; you never know when you’ll stumble into a street full of confetti and questionable characters in velvet.
- Date: Shifts every year, chasing the moon and the resurrection. Figure on February or early March.
- Main event: Fat Tuesday (Shrove Tuesday). The blow-out before the austerity kicks in.
- The spectacle: Venice. You’ve seen the pictures. Masks, canals, the whole shebang.
- Other sites of mayhem: Viareggio with their monstrous floats, the orange battles in Ivrea, and pockets of revelry down south, in places like Apulia and Sicily’s Acireale. They all have their own way of saying goodbye to moderation.
8 Spots Where You Can Enjoy the Italian Carnevale
Viareggio, Tuscany
After Venice, this is where the serious crowds gather, a million souls packed along the Tuscan coast. Think of it: a million people all wanting the same fleeting, sugar-rush experience.
Their mascot is Burlamacco, a grinning harlequin, all black, white, and red – a manufactured bit of cheer dreamed up in 1930. It’s the kind of grinning face you see plastered on everything, hiding the sweat and the grit underneath.
This isn’t some ancient pagan rite, mind you. Viareggio’s only been at this since 1873. They lean hard into the spectacle, the big, papier-mâché floats lumbering down the Passeggiata, much like you’d see in New Orleans.
They even broadcast the whole thing on Rai3, for those who prefer their chaos televised. The town is practically built for this. They have the Cittadella, a hangar just for building the damn floats, and even a museum dedicated to the whole sweaty, glittery affair.
If you’re truly committed – or just morbidly curious – the official website has the details and, of course, the tickets. They wouldn’t want to miss out on your contribution to the spectacle.
When: January – February (multiple weekends)
Main Events:
o Float parades (5-6 Sundays)
o Night carnival parades
o Masked balls
Tickets:
o Parade tickets: €20-25
o Season pass: €45-50
o Children under 10 free
Where to Stay:
o Along the promenade
o Marina di Pietrasanta (nearby)
Ivrea, Piedmont
Before the digital hordes descended, lured by Instagrammable orange fights, this Piedmontese town had a different kind of reputation, a whisper of something…unusual.
The Battle of the Oranges. It sounds almost charming, doesn’t it?
The story they tell is of a miller’s daughter, Violetta, a rebellious spirit in the 13th century who supposedly decapitated a baron. A nice, clean origin story for a messy, citrus-fueled brawl.
They say it sparked a revolt, the razing of a castle, the birth of a free town. History is always so conveniently dramatic.
For centuries, it was beans, not oranges, that flew through the air – a less picturesque form of protest against stingy overlords. The oranges came later, a flirtatious game between balcony girls and the parading boys below.
It wasn’t until after the last great war that the organized chaos we see now took root: teams on foot pelting masked figures on carts. They call it a battle.
It’s certainly a spectacle. But beneath the flying fruit, the dyed pulp and the shrieks, it’s still a ritual, a way to mark time, a slightly less violent iteration of whatever primal urge drove those bean-throwing ancestors.
Even their bean feasts, the Fagiolate Rionali, sound more like a necessity than a celebration – hearty bowls of beans with enough fat to fuel another day of simulated warfare.
There are other traditions too, of course: costumes, bonfires, a mock funeral to mark the end. The official website will tell you all about the “historic” details. Make of it what you will.
When: Fat Thursday – Fat Tuesday
Main Events:
o Orange battles (3 days)
o Historical parade
o Bean feast
Tickets:
o Battle participation: €120-150
o Spectator tickets: €12-15
Safety:
o Wear red hat (shows non-participant)
o Bring protective eyewear
Tips:
o Book accommodation in Turin
o Wear old clothes
Acireale, Sicily
If you’re chasing warmth with your debauchery, Sicily is a marginally better bet than the Venetian deep freeze. Not exactly balmy, mind you, but at least the wind won’t carve you down to the bone like some Adriatic surgeon.
This town, clinging to the coast between Catania and Taormina, even has a volcano for a backdrop – a subtle reminder of the earth’s own volatile celebrations. They call their carnival the island’s best, which likely means the other ones are barely worth mentioning.
Floats, of course. Always with the floats. Here, they have categories, a hierarchy of spectacle: flower, allegorical, miniature. Grown adults locked in competition over who can build the most elaborate distraction.
These things have been parading through the streets since 1880, a tradition built on fleeting moments and the eventual decay of paper and paint. They trundle down the main drags – Corso Italia, Corso Savoia, Corso Umberto – for a brief moment of glory.
And then there are the masks, inevitably skewering the famous and the foolish. A fleeting bit of satire before everyone goes back to their regularly scheduled lives.
When: February (weekends + Fat Tuesday)
Main Events:
o Float parades
o Flower parades
o Folk performances
Tickets:
o Daily pass: €10-15
o Weekend pass: €25-30
Where to Stay:
o Acireale center
o Catania (20 min away)
Tips:
o Evening parades most spectacular
o Combine with Etna visit
Mamoiada, Sardinia
This city, marooned out there in the Tyrrhenian, does things its own way. Isolation breeds a certain…persistence in tradition. Their carnival in Mamoiada is a prime example. Less a party, more a primal echo. It’s the kind of thing that sticks with you, not in a good way.
You have the Mamuthones, draped in black, their faces hidden by grotesque masks, weighed down by cowbells that clang with an unsettling rhythm. And then there are the Issohadores, flashes of white, with their ropes, their movements almost predatory.
They call it a dance. It feels older than that, something dragged up from the island’s ancient, unspoken past – pagan rites barely veiled by a Christian calendar. I’ve seen things like this before, in other forgotten corners. Rituals that haven’t quite scrubbed the old gods away.
If you go, don’t expect confetti and cheap thrills. Expect something…heavier. Something that lingers in the air long after the bells have stopped.
When: January 17 – Fat Tuesday
Main Events:
o Mamuthones parade
o Traditional dances
o Wine festivals
Tickets:
o Most events free
o Museum entry: €5
Where to Stay:
o Nuoro (larger town nearby)
o Local B&Bs
Putignano, Puglia
Puglia, down in Italy’s heel, seems to have cornered the market on pre-Lenten excess. Putignano throws the longest party of them all, a drawn-out affair that starts the day after Christmas with poets droning on in dialect – a tradition they call the Festa delle Propaggini.
It drags on until Fat Tuesday, culminating in a parade and the symbolic funeral of Carnival, represented by a pig. A pig, mind you. Subtlety isn’t their strong suit.
They claim it’s one of the oldest in Europe, dating back to 1394, something about relics and fleeing invaders. The story goes that peasants abandoned their vineyards to follow the procession, bursting into song and dance, improvising verses that poked fun at the powerful.
Some things never change. After that initial burst of enthusiasm, they stretch it out, celebrating every Thursday until mid-January, when things supposedly “take off.” From then on, it’s a daily grind of parties, feasts, and parades, a marathon of manufactured joy leading to the inevitable hangover.
When: December 26 – Fat Tuesday
Main Events:
o Thursday parades
o Propaggini poetry
o Final parade
Tickets:
o Parade tickets: €8-10
o Festival pass: €30
Where to Stay:
o Putignano center
o Bari (40 min away)
Fano, Le Marche
Forget your confetti and cheap plastic streamers. Here, they hurl sweets. Hundreds of pounds of it, the kind of sticky, brightly colored rubbish that ends up coating everything. They call it the getto, the throw.
The crowds, of course, come armed, paper cones at the ready like supplicants at some bizarre altar of processed sugar.
They trace this sticky spectacle back to 1347, a fleeting truce between warring families. A sugary moment of peace in a long history of squabbles. They bill it as the “sweetest Carnival in Italy.” Predictable.
The floats, inevitably, will lumber through the streets, reaching a fever pitch when darkness falls and they add lights and fire – a desperate attempt to elevate the mundane.
And then, the grand finale: a giant puppet, the Pupo or Vulon, set ablaze in the square. They say it burns away winter, along with the town’s sins. As if it were that easy. As if a bit of fire and cheap confectionery could erase anything of consequence.
When: Three Sundays before Lent
Main Events:
o Candy throwing parades
o Musical bands
o Puppet burning
Tickets:
o Parade entry: €10
o Children under 12 free
Where to Stay:
o Fano historic center
o Pesaro (nearby)
Tips:
o Bring bag for catching candy
o Morning parades less crowded
Milan, Italy
On the surface, Milan’s carnival is the same gaudy mess as anywhere else: the parades, the desperate revelry, the confetti that gets into absolutely everything. The costumes, a flimsy shield against the encroaching banality of everyday life. But Milan does things on its own schedule. They always have.
Their carnival, the Ambrosian, drags its heels, a final, straggling party long after the rest of Italy has swept up the glitter and begun their Lenten repentance.
They have a story for it, of course, some tale about their patron saint, Ambrose, being stuck on a pilgrimage and demanding a raincheck. So, year after year, Milan holds out, extending the chaos for a few more days, until the Saturday after everyone else has gone quiet.
They gather in the Piazza del Duomo, a final, slightly pathetic flourish at the very end of the season. A stubborn refusal to let the party die, or perhaps just a convenient excuse for a few more days of indulgence.
Either way, it’s a reminder that even tradition can be a negotiation, a bending of the rules to suit the local temperament.
When: Four days after regular carnival
Main Events:
o Parades in city center
o Street performances
o Food festivals
Tickets: Most events free
Where to Stay:
o Duomo area
o Navigli district
Venice
Of course, we end up here. The grand spectacle, the one plastered on every travel magazine, promising a glimpse of something…magical. Ten days, they give themselves, a brief window in the city’s long, waterlogged existence.
The whole place gets swallowed up by it – every sestiere, every narrow alley and damp campo, even the outer islands like Murano and Lido get their share of the glitter.
They lay it on thick, a relentless barrage of distractions. Magic tricks for the bored children, the kind that lose their appeal after the first reveal. Music that bleeds from every doorway, dances performed for the benefit of the clicking cameras, theatre that feels as staged as the city itself.
Cooking contests, best gelato, food fairs – the usual frenzy of consumption. And then there are the costumes, the masks. Ah, the masks. Beautiful, yes, in a brittle, carefully constructed way. Elaborate fantasies clinging to faces, a tradition stretching back to the Renaissance, they say.
But a mask is still a mask, a way to hide, to become someone else, or perhaps, to reveal something you’d rather keep hidden. I’ve seen enough masked balls in my time to know that what lies beneath is rarely as elegant as the façade.
When: Late January – Fat Tuesday (usually February)
Main Events:
o Opening ceremony with water parade
o Flight of the Angel in St. Mark’s Square
o Costume contests at St. Mark’s Square
Tickets:
o Free street events
o Masked balls: €200-500+
o Private parties: €150-1000
Where to Stay:
o San Marco (central but expensive)
o Dorsoduro (quieter, good value)
o Book 6+ months ahead
Tips:
o Reserve restaurants in advance
o Get costume early if participating
Thoughts
So, there you have it. A whirlwind tour of pre-Lenten frenzy across a boot-shaped country. From the sugar-fueled chaos to the ancient, bell-clanging rituals, each carnival offers its own peculiar flavor of temporary madness.
Whether you chase the spectacle or something a bit more…raw, remember it’s all just a fleeting release before the quiet descends. Choose your chaos wisely.
