Capes and San Marco
he sun is shining The sun is shining as we head out on our first day — at two o’clock the afternoon.
The jet lag is tougher in the winter, we decide. We’re masked. We’re proper from the neck up, but from the neck down we might as well be going to the office. I want a cape. ASAP.
We make our way down the broad Via Garibaldi and see no one else masked, and that makes us feel a little self conscious. Did we get the right day? On the other hand, no one pays attention to us, so we bravely carry on. Back on the fondamenta, more are masked reassuring us that we’re in the right place at the right time. We stop by the shops again, and Rose picks up a hand-hold mask on a stick. I don’t want to linger in the tourist shops too long — I want a proper cape (and, to force the point, I have only a light jacket on), so I press to move on.
The crowd gets denser as we get closer to San Marco. Over the last bridge, we’re packed in shoulder to shoulder and inch forward in the dense throngs. But, we can see things are happening, down below. Insanely colorful costumes are standing in strategic spots in the square, surrounded by clouds of photographers. The square is as packed as I’ve ever seen it - not as dense as on the bridge, but there are people, everywhere.
“Oh, look over there!” Rose gasps, but I’m fixated on a costume to my right in gold and green with the impassive gilded mask. He’s spectacular. Then, I look where Rose is pointing, and she’s gazing at another couple in purple and gold, with fantastic head-dresses of embroidered velvet, flowing capes, and ribboned scepters.
I start to move in that direction, but wait! Just emerging into the square is yet another couple in metallic gold and velveteen robes, turbans and crowns, shimmering gilt masks and sharing a gold-dipped rose between them.
We get lost in the spectacle, following the crowd from one incredible display to the next as they emerge from various calles and position themselves around the piazza. Photographers and costumers alike take advantage of the sun, or of the settings. We have forgotten about the capes or our costumes, entirely, caught up in the swirl.
But, eventually the square falls into shadow and a nipping breeze runs through our light coats, reminding us we are incomplete.
We detach ourselves reluctantly from the piazza and dive into the narrow side streets. The goal is to find the costume/masquery shop I had found in the previous visit. But, we don’t have to go far before we find a shop brimming with costumery, masks, and hats. And capes. It will do.
As I had surmised, the selection here is of much higher quality than we had seen at the touristico kiosks on the fondamenta. A trait reflected in the price. Masks are hand-made, set with bits of glass in intricate patterns and laced with gold and silver wire and ribbon filagree.
I pull a cape off the rack and hold it up.
“Quanto?” I ask.
“Two hundred twenty Euros,” is the response from the pretty shop owner.
Oh. Well, I hadn’t expected to spend quite that much. But, I try it on, anyway. The clerk helps me don it, mantling it over my shoulders, just so, and fiddling with the clasp and chain until it’s all together, enclosing me properly. I look in the mirror.
It’s a nice cape. Fine wool. Rose nods approvingly.
Sigh. Well, it is carnevale, and I have plastic reserves on hand, should it come to that. I tell the clerk I’ll think about it.
But she knows. I don’t take it off.
Meanwhile, Rose has found a gorgeous black satin cape, with a black lace overlay. It’s beautiful in and of itself, but what really sets it off is a classic billowing hood that frames her head, exquisitely — like a renaissance fantasy heroine.
“Yes,” we all agree, “it’s the one to have. How much?”
“One hundred fifty Euros,” is the response.
Hmm. Better. We’re still thinking…
Oh. Did she neglect to inform us? Less for cash — one hundred fifty for my cape, one ten for Rose‘s. We could hold out no longer.
“Sold!” we sang. We’re there, now! We head out of the shop back to San Marco, wrapping ourselves in our newly-purchased capes against the shadow-breeze of the late afternoon.
Back in San Marco, more costumes have come out, and there is preparation for the promenade that occurs every day except Monday. Again, we dash from costume to costume, edging our way through the forest of photographers to get shots.
But then, a very interesting thing happens…
As we stop to confer, we notice cameras congregating around us. With the capes, we have suddenly become part of the show. People ask if they can take our pictures, if we wouldn’t mind holding still for them, if they can have their spouse/companion stand beside us for the picture. We have to take occasional breaks for our small clusters of impromptu papparazzi that materialize around us.
Rose says it’s like being an instant rock star. Normally more than a bit camera shy — with the mask and cape, she’s becoming quite the diva.
At the end of the evening, we reflect over dinner. We’re still thinking about our costumes and how to improve them. There’s much more to be done — the capes were the best bang-for-buck procurement beyond the mask and hat, but there’s more to the complete outfit. I realize from other references I need a mantle over my head, under the hat (what we would later come to learn as the bauta.) Then perhaps better gloves than the bicycling versions I had brought. And the lace cuffs and jabot, and badge and ribbons for the tri-corner, knee-high pantalones, silk stockings, garters, and proper shoes, and walking stick, and more ruffles, and…
We draw up a little short. Back to basics. But I did need the mantle, so we fashioned one from a black scarf Rose had purchased earlier. Another dramatic difference. In place of the jabot, Rose suggested we make use of the silk scarf I had packed with my tuxedo (brought for an as-yet-unscheduled formal event) and try to work out a clever knot that would substitute. That sounded good — we retired to the apartment for the evening to make more adjustments.
Day one of Carnevale was behind us, with a lot of great images and our own costumes coming up to par.