10 Best Carnivals In The World
From Rio's samba spectacle to Venice's masked elegance, explore 10 unique festivals that showcase human creativity, cultural diversity, and the universal spirit of celebration. Uncover…
Venice is a city of water and stone, fashioned from a cluster of 118 islands adrift in a shallow Adriatic lagoon. As UNESCO notes, it was “founded in the 5th century” on this archipelago and by the 10th century had become “a major maritime power.” In medieval times, seaworthy Venetian galleys secured trade routes across the Mediterranean: silk, spices, metals and even salt from the East passed through Venice on their way to Europe. Approaching Venice from the open sea, a visitor is struck by the sight of gleaming domes and spires rising from the water – a reminder that this entire city once ruled a maritime empire of “unequalled power.” Over the centuries the Republic of Venice built fortified outposts and economic enclaves from Crete to Corfu, its wealth visible in the richly appointed churches and palaces that line the canals.
The very bones of Venice reflect its watery birthplace. Long rows of slender timber pilings were driven into the alluvial mud, supporting brick buildings faced with pale Istrian limestone and colored stones. In winter, high tides occasionally flood low streets, and raised wooden walkways (passerelle) are placed through St. Mark’s Square.
Otherwise, life on the lagoon unfolds by boat and on foot. Gondolas, traghetti ferries and vaporetti (public water buses) ply the canals from dawn to dusk, while residents and shopkeepers traverse the city by network of narrow calle (lanes) and bridges. By law no cars enter the historic centre, making Venice one of the world’s great pedestrian cities.
At the heart of Venice lies Piazza San Marco, the city’s ceremonial square. Here medieval and Renaissance splendor meet the sea breeze. Dominating one side of the piazza is Saint Mark’s Basilica, a Byzantine-flavoured cathedral of five domes and countless mosaics. Its facade is festooned with marble and gold, and even the famed gilded bronze horses atop the basilica were looted from Constantinople during the Crusades.
The piazza’s other side is graced by the Doge’s Palace (Palazzo Ducale), a vast pink-and-white marble palace in Venetian Gothic style. Once the seat of the Doge (Venice’s elected chief magistrate) and the nucleus of government, the palace is fronted by an elegant arcade of pointed arches and open loggias. Its silhouette – multicolored stone walls beneath an arcade of tracery – exemplifies the hybrid East-West Gothic that flourished here.
Behind the Doge’s Palace, at the water’s edge, the Porta della Carta and Bridge of Sighs recall Venice’s former glory and penitence. In the evening light, the palace’s south facade – shimmering pink-and-white – faces the waters of the lagoon, a tableau Venetian painters from Canaletto to Turner immortalized on canvas. It was this “extraordinary architectural masterpiece,” as UNESCO calls it, that inspired generations of artists such as Bellini, Titian and Tintoretto. Indeed, Venice’s built heritage is unrivalled: from the smallest palazzo along the canal to the grandest basilica, “even the smallest building contains works by some of the world’s greatest artists.”
East-west commerce still pulses under Venice’s bridges. The Grand Canal snakes through the city in an S-shape, lined with two centuries’ worth of palaces. Gondolas, delivery boats and vaporetto buses ply this “main street” on water, under the watchful eye of the Rialto Bridge. The Rialto is the oldest stone bridge across the canal, built in the late 16th century to replace a series of wooden crossings. Designed by Antonio da Ponte, it rises in a single span of white Istrian stone.
Today its broad stone deck supports two rows of small shops flanking three pedestrian lanes, a scene little changed since the Renaissance. For centuries it was Venice’s only fixed crossing of the Grand Canal, linking the bustling Rialto market to the civic and mercantile quarter around San Marco. Even now, vendors hawk fruits and fished-in-salting by San Giacomo di Rialto, keeping alive the canal’s tradition as a center of daily commerce.
Beyond these landmarks, Venice is divided into six sestieri or districts, each with its own character. South of San Marco lies Dorsoduro, art-lined and scholarly, home to the grand Baroque church of Santa Maria della Salute (built after a 17th-century plague) and the Accademia galleries. Northward is Cannaregio, a quieter district of canalside cafés and the historic Venetian Ghetto – Europe’s first Jewish quarter, dating to 1516. West of San Marco is San Polo, anchored by the Rialto markets and dotted with lesser-known churches.
Even farther west stands Santa Croce, the most modern-feeling quarter, where Piazzale Roma marks the city’s only car terminus and urban bustle gives way to cobbled alleys. To the east, Castello sprawls – the city’s largest district – from the Arsenale shipyards (once the republic’s dockyards employing thousands) to the quiet lanes of the Venice Biennale gardens. Each sestiere is stitched together by dozens of canal-side bridges, from ornate stone spans to simple wooden footbridges, linking Venice’s winding “streets” of water into a seamless whole.
Venice’s architecture itself is a testament to its history. Its style is a fusion of East and West. Venetian Gothic – best seen at the Doge’s Palace and the so-called Ca’ d’Oro – blends pointed arches with Byzantine and even Islamic patterns. Intricate ogee arches, quatrefoil tracery and colored-stone ropework recall the city’s trade contacts with the Byzantines and Saracens. Behind the grand facades, rooms are often simple: flat wooden-beamed ceilings atop brick walls, since vaults can crack as Venice settles on its piles.
Yet outdoors Venice lavishes ornament on balconies, windows and portals – everywhere seeking to make the most of its dense setting. Even relatively austere Renaissance palazzi retain a memory of the Gothic in their arched windows and patterned marble. In the 19th century, this cosmopolitan legacy inspired a Gothic Revival back home in Britain (famously championed by John Ruskin), after whom Venetian style enjoyed a brief renaissance of its own.
Beyond style, the city’s physical infrastructure is unique. No road vehicles intrude into the canals: deliveries come by barge, and rubbish barges ply the inner waterways. Once every summer the town still heaves “acqua alta” (exceptionally high tide) along the Riva degli Schiavoni and in St. Mark’s Square. In those moments, Venetians pull on knee-high rubber boots and raise their footbridges again.
In winter, hearty seafood stews simmer on wood fires in kitchens opened on narrow canals; in summer, striped gondoliers escort couples down tree-shaded calli. Venetian life remains rooted in its watery terrain. Even the municipal health office has a boat instead of an ambulance, and a boat lifts the hearse to mourners across a canal at funerals. In a city “that seems to float on the waters of the lagoon,” as UNESCO observes, day-to-day life is an intricate dance between earth and sea.
Venice’s calendar reflects its history: every season brings a cultural spectacle. In winter, Carnevale di Venezia awakens the city in a whirl of masks and costumes. Dating back to at least the Renaissance, Carnival was banned during Napoleonic rule and revived only in 1979. Today it is “famous throughout the world for its elaborate costumes and masks.” For weeks leading up to Shrove Tuesday, masked revelers fill St. Mark’s Square and secret soirées take place in palaces and corti; Baroque balls see candles glint off gilded rooms. Children skate safely on the narrow canals under watchful faces of Venetian pietas; confetti flurries drift over Ponte dei Pugni and footfall echoes off polished cobbles as even the tourists join in the merriment.
In spring and summer, waterways themselves become ceremonial stages. Each year on Ascension Day the city commemorates its symbolic Sposalizio del Mare or “Marriage of the Sea.” This medieval ritual honors Venice’s bond with the sea: a replica of the old state galley (the Bucintoro) sails out into the lagoon with the mayor aboard. At the moment of high tide, a priest blesses the doge’s (now mayor’s) golden ring and he throws it into the water, “establishing Venice’s dominion over the sea” in a gesture unchanged since the 12th century. The festival is as much pageant as prayer, with dozens of traditional barges and gondolas in full regalia escorting the procession.
Late July brings the Festa del Redentore on the island of Giudecca, a celebration born of gratitude for a plague’s end. In 1577, after a devastating epidemic, the Venetian Senate vowed to build the Church of the Redeemer (Il Redentore) if the disease abated. Each year on the third weekend of July, thousands of Venetians cross the temporary pontoon bridge laid to Giudecca. Families picnic by candlelight under the church’s Baroque dome, and at 11:30 p.m. a magnificent fireworks display bursts over the Bacino di San Marco. As one modern account notes, the Redentore is “steeped in tradition”: a “religious and popular festival” that mixes solemn mass and lantern-lit vigils with community dinners along the dock walls. Even today, Venetians pause for a midnight mass or offer thanks for deliverance from calamity, keeping alive a bond between faith and civic life.
On the first Sunday of September, the Regata Storica turns the Grand Canal into a medieval racecourse. Long ago, Venice’s navy built rowing prowess as a matter of state, and today competitive rowing remains a source of pride. The Regata Storica is “undoubtedly one of Venice’s most popular annual events,” according to the city’s tourism guides. In the afternoon, the historic parade sails from Saint Mark’s Basin toward Rialto: ornate flat-bottomed boats carry costumed flag-wavers and musicians, echoing Venice’s war-galleys and trading barques of yore. Behind them come sleek racing gondolas, mascarete and pupparini (traditional Venetian boats), with athletes in brightly striped shirts alternating bursts of sprinting strokes. Cheers echo from the banks and bridges; for Venetians the regatta is a living link to their martial past. (Coincidentally, the very word regata is Venetian, later adopted into French and English, originating from the Italian “riga,” a line of boats.)
By late autumn the frenetic tourist season has passed, and Venice turns to quiet cultural pursuits. The Venice Biennale – the world’s premier contemporary art exhibition – fills the Giardini and Arsenale complexes with cutting-edge installations every two years from April to November. Founded in 1895, the Biennale now attracts over half a million visitors from around the globe. Alongside the art show runs the Biennale Architettura (odd years) and the Venice Film Festival on the Lido. These events remind us that Venice today is not just a relic: it remains a font of creativity and experimentation. International artists vie to exhibit in the palazzo pavilions, while experimental dance and music fill churches and squero (shipyard) spaces. Many of the most significant contemporary cultural conversations pass through Venice in these years, continuing the city’s millennia-old role as a bridge between worlds.
Perhaps the greatest expression of Venetian culture is found in the simplest pleasures of daily life: its food and drink. With its lagoon teeming with crab, cuttlefish and branzino, Venetian cuisine is famously seafood-based. Crisp risotto al nero di seppia (cuttlefish ink risotto) or baccalà mantecato (creamed dried cod) can be found on almost any menu. Venice has its own twist on pasta too – bigoli, thick whole-wheat spaghetti often served with sardines and onions. Above all, locals love their cicchetti – pint-sized snacks served in the ubiquitous bacari (wine bars). As a recent article in Vogue notes, Venice’s “foodie traditions” include “tiny prawns fresh from the lagoon” and cicchetti… found in Venetian bacari… [Venice’s] centuries-old answer to tapas. These colorful finger foods – fritters of rice or polenta, marinated sardines on crusty bread, briny olives and deep-fried meatballs – are often eaten standing at the counter with a small glass of local wine. At sunset, Venetians spill into calli and canal-side tables, swapping ombre (glasses of wine) and biting into cicchetti as if it were the city’s very lifeblood. Visiting one of the city’s oldest bacari – places where tradesmen, gondoliers and artists mingle – is to taste Venice itself: insular yet open to the world through taste.
Venice’s religious life is as rich as its secular festivals. In addition to the Redentore, the city venerates the Madonna della Salute each November 21. On that day, throngs cross the floating bridge of boats to the domed Salute church in prayerful procession, honoring the Virgin who, legend holds, ended the plague of 1630. Outside the city center, ancient chapels on Burano and Murano continue to host local feasts on saints’ days, complete with fireworks and processions. Every spring, the houseboats and fishing boats of the lagoon join maritime processions during Festa del Santissimo Redentore (the day after Pentecost) in Castello, re-enacting pilgrims of centuries past. In such ceremonies Venice’s Christian heritage is inextricably woven with civic identity – as when the Doge and patriarch once walked in concert through San Marco on Easter, or when votive doves launched above the campanile marked another tempest quelled.
As day turns to night, Venice’s piazze and canals gather their own quiet life. The city’s inhabitants, fewer than 60,000 by day, give way at dusk to 20 times as many ghosts – but real voices still echo along the water. Cafés in Campo San Polo hum with conversation as trams from the mainland silence and stellate lamps reflect in puddled stone. A lone gondolier brings home crates of tomatoes for tomorrow’s salad; fishermen sweep down the docks checking their nets. In June, the outdoor music of a Vivaldi concert drifts from an island basilica; in October, the rustle of gilded Biennale invitations is heard on vaporetto landings.
Venice lives in layers of time. It is a city where the next generation of artists and chefs lives alongside traditions that date to antiquity. It has been built, rebuilt and constantly reimagined on the very water that once threatened to consume it – yet it endures, as much by ingenuity (the MOSE flood barriers and continual plank replacement on its foundations) as by sheer will. The lure of Venice is its juxtaposition: memory and modernity, decay and grandeur. In its grand churches and humble bacari, in its watery streets thronged by tourists and its silent back canals known only to locals, one senses the full sweep of centuries. “In the waters of Venice, history and memory meet,” writes one recent guide – and after a stroll at sunset along the lagoon’s edge, it is impossible to disagree.
A short vaporetto ride from the city takes one to the famed outer isles of the Venetian lagoon. Murano is synonymous with Venetian glass. An edict of 1291 confined Venice’s glassblowers to Murano – partly to protect Venice from fires – and the craft still flourishes there. Today the island hosts dozens of glass workshops and studios, and the Museo del Vetro (Glass Museum) in the 15th-century Palazzo Giustinian displays the long history of Murano glassmaking, from antiquity to the present.
Murano’s own medieval church, the Basilica of Santa Maria e San Donato, is a pilgrimage of architecture – a 7th-century foundation rebuilt in the 12th century – noted for its expansive Byzantine mosaic floor and graceful apse. Local artisans still produce hand-blown chandeliers, beads and decorative glassware, sustaining Murano’s age-old traditions in the same workshops where the craft has evolved for centuries.
Murano’s Basilica of Santa Maria e San Donato (10th–12th century) – with its celebrated mosaic pavement – stands near the island’s waterways. Murano remains the heart of Venice’s glassmaking heritage. Just east lies Burano, instantly recognizable by its candy-colored fishermen’s houses lining narrow canals. This tranquil island is famous for its delicate lace: Burano lacemaking dates back to the Renaissance and was revived by an official lace school in the 19th century.
The Museo del Merletto (Lace Museum) – housed in the former palace of the Podestà at Piazza Galuppi – showcases intricate antique lace and historic documents, tracing the craft from its origins to today. Even today, local lace-makers continue to handcraft buratti and punto in aria lace in hidden workshops behind pastel facades. (Visitors can compare modern pieces and shop for handmade lace alongside souvenirs in the museum’s well-curated shop.)
Between Murano and Burano, the island of Torcello recalls Venice’s earliest days. In Late Antiquity Torcello was once far more populous than Venice, but the population dwindled over the Middle Ages until it numbered only a few dozen by the 20th century. Its most important monument is the Basilica of Santa Maria Assunta (founded 639), one of the oldest churches in the Veneto.
The basilica’s austere brick exterior leads to a dim, columnar interior covered with medieval mosaics. (In the apse, a stunning 11th-century mosaic of the Virgin Mary gives a sense of byzantine splendor against gold grounds.) Torcello’s cathedral, with its huge well in the forecourt, remains a powerful symbol of Venice’s lost roots: even today it feels almost solitary, surrounded by marsh and trees.
Venice has long been a magnet for artists and writers. In painting, the city’s light and architecture proved irresistible. Eighteenth-century vedutisti like Canaletto (Giovanni Antonio Canal, 1697–1768) immortalized Venice’s canals and palaces in extraordinarily precise panoramic views; his canvases of the Grand Canal and Piazza San Marco set a standard for cityscape art.
A century later, J. M. W. Turner (1775–1851) captured Venice’s atmospheric glow in romantic watercolors and oils. He made three trips (1819, 1833, 1840), attracted by its “shimmering light, ethereal beauty, and faded splendour”; Turner’s Sunset views of San Giorgio Maggiore and the lagoon are especially celebrated.
Even the Impressionists succumbed to Venice: Claude Monet visited in 1908 and produced 37 canvases of its monuments, repeatedly painting the Doge’s Palace, Santa Maria della Salute and San Giorgio Maggiore under changing light.
Venice was also home to the Venetian School of the Renaissance: great masters Titian (1488/90–1576) and Tintoretto (1518–1594) worked here. Titian, often called “the greatest painter of 16th-century Venice,” produced masterpieces for the Doge’s Palace and churches.
Tintoretto (Jacopo Robusti) remained in Venice all his life, painting dynastic portraits and dramatic religious scenes – his muscular figures and bold brushwork earned him the nickname Il Furioso.
Writers in turn have set enduring stories in Venice. Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice (c.1596) paints the city as a bustling 16th-century republic – “one of the only European cities with a sizable Jewish population” at the time, and a hub of East–West trade.
In modern literature, Thomas Mann’s novella Death in Venice (1912) famously tells of an aging writer’s spiritual obsession with a boy while staying in the Adriatic city. Henry James devoted a chapter of Italian Hours (1909) to Venice, acknowledging its “decayed” palaces and heavy taxes but still evoking its compensatory beauty.
More recently, Venice has been the year-round backdrop for Commissario Brunetti mysteries by Donna Leon: these crime novels (originally in English) follow a Venetian police detective solving cases across the city, each story revealing “another facet of Venetian life” hidden behind the gilded facades.
In each of these works, Venice itself is almost a character – offering imagery of palaces and canals, reflections and decay – that has inspired generations of creators.
The city’s photogenic charm makes it a favorite location for film and TV. James Bond films famously use Venice as a glamorous stage: in Casino Royale (2006) the hero glides with his love interest along the Grand Canal past San Giorgio Maggiore, the Salute and the Rialto, and later sprints through Piazza San Marco in pursuit of a double‑crossing spy.
By contrast, Nicolas Roeg’s thriller Don’t Look Now (1973) embraces the city’s misty winter mood. The film explicitly sought Venice out of season, and it “explores in detail [its] moody canals and alleys, foggy with out-of-season winter melancholy.”
Other films and series – from Hitchcock’s Pane e cioccolata to the Italian detective shows set in Venice’s labyrinthine backstreets – reinforce an image of Venice as timeless, romantic, and sometimes eerie. Even television has used Venice’s look; for example, Doctor Who (2006) and Italian dramas occasionally feature gondolas and flooded squares as key backdrops.
In all cases, Venice’s public squares, baroque churches, and timeless canals add instant atmosphere and luxury (or mystery) to the scene.
Venice remains a shopper’s delight – with a special emphasis on food, traditional crafts, and the local bohemian culture. The city’s central markets showcase Venetian produce and life. Behind the Rialto Bridge lies the Rialto Market, held in fruit and fish pavilions since medieval times. Every morning, stalls here bristle with Venetian lagoon fish (caught that day) and colorful vegetables, continuing a tradition almost ten centuries old. Not far away, Campo Santa Margherita buzzes with a small street market most mornings: locals come for fresh fruit, veggies, cheese, and handcrafted goods, then linger over coffee or spritz in the cafes around the square.
Boutiques and shops beyond the main tourist zones sell Venetian specialties of all kinds. In the San Marco and Mercerie quarters are luxury fashion and jewelry stores, but equally iconic are the artisan boutiques and workshops. Murano and Burano again stand out: Murano’s dozens of glass shops display hand-blown vases, beads, and chandeliers (visitors can often see demonstrations through the shop windows). Burano’s lace remains a coveted craft: the island’s Museo del Merletto exhibits rare antique lace, and local ateliers still produce fine needle-lace and sell them in gallery-like shops. Venetian masks are another tradition – many mask-makers (maschereri) in the city still fashion paper-mâché or leather disguises in the old commedia dell’arte styles.
Food souvenirs include baccalà mantecato (salt cod spread) and Venetian biscuits. For daily living, artisanal bakeries, corner delis, and modern Italian boutiques (from Murano glass jewelry to custom gowns) cater to the local crowds. In short, Venice’s shopping culture is not just about souvenirs, but also about encountering a living craft tradition – be it choosing fresh cicchetti at a bacaro near the market, or browsing a gallery of artisanal glassworks away from the tourist crowds.
Behind Venice’s enchantment lie pressing challenges. The city has always combated acqua alta (high-water floods), but in recent decades the events have worsened. Venice suffers some flooding nearly every year, most severely in autumn and winter. In response, the long-delayed MOSE flood barrier project was completed in 2020: a system of mobile gates that rise at the lagoon’s inlets to hold back tides.
In its first four years of use (2020-2023) the MOSE system has already been raised 31 times to stave off unusually high tides. While it has protected the city in emergencies, scientists warn that ever-rising sea levels and storm surges may require the barriers even more often, which could in turn affect the lagoon’s delicate ecology.
Venice also grapples with human impacts. UNESCO and conservationists have long warned of overtourism and environmental strain. In April 2021, UNESCO lauded Italy’s decision to ban mega cruise ships from the historic canal: some of these liners weigh up to 40,000 tonnes and were judged to “undermine the Venice lagoon and its ecological balance.” In fact, cruise tourism and mass tourism were explicitly cited by UNESCO as among the major threats to the city’s fabric.
Those concerns find data: a recent account notes that what was a tolerable 10 million visitors per year in the late 1980s has swelled to 20-30 million annually in the 2010s, while year-round residents have dwindled to about 80,000 (roughly half the number in the 1950s). The pandemic pause offered a glimpse of the other side: without tourists and cruise liners, Venice felt calmer but suffered economically. Today the city faces a delicate balance of preserving its heritage and environment – from subsidence of foundations to pollution of canals – while accommodating the crowds that come to see its wonders.
Visiting Venice carries special responsibilities. The city is small and its historic fabric fragile, and local authorities have strict rules of decorum. For example, feeding the ubiquitous pigeons of Piazza San Marco is now illegal (fines apply). Visitors may also be fined for common breaches of etiquette: stewards patrol the squares against littering, drinking from bottles, picnicking on the piazza steps, or strolling through monuments shirtless.
More broadly, travelers are expected to behave respectfully: dress modestly in churches (shoulders and knees should be covered in St Mark’s Basilica and similar sites), speak softly in residential alleys (to avoid disturbing the quiet), and never scratch or mark the old stone. It is also wise to avoid apparent disrespect: for instance, never climb onto gondolas not meant for hire, or throw coins into random canals.
In restaurants and bars, basic courtesy – queuing at the counter, not tipping aggressively – goes a long way. By observing these norms and leaving no trace (no trash, no tags on walls), visitors help sustain the living city. Above all, treating Venice as a fragile home rather than a backdrop for selfies is the mark of a truly mindful traveler.
The rewards of Venice often lie beyond the guidebook pages. To truly experience local life, one should wander the quiet sestieri away from San Marco and the Grand Canal. As one local guide puts it, the “real beauty of Venice is in the quiet backstreets and hidden courtyards.” For example, the long canal Fondamenta della Misericordia in Cannaregio, lined with orange-painted houses and bacari, is far less touristed than central Venice but frequented by Venetians.
Tiny calle like Calle Varisco (one of the city’s narrowest alleys) or offbeat corners of Castello and Dorsoduro harbor modest shops and everyday life. In these areas one may discover a secluded campo with a well, a friendly bacaro where locals order ombra (a glass of house wine) with cicchetti, or a craftsman’s workshop selling hand-crafted souvenirs.
Popular old wine bars (bacari) like Osteria alla Frasca or Al Timon (both in Cannaregio) are beloved for their informal atmosphere and authentic food. Likewise, small artisan boutiques – a mask-painting studio, a leather bookbindery, or a lace-maker’s atelier – can be found tucked into quiet streets. Even a brief detour down a silent canal or into a secluded campo can reveal the rhythm of daily Venetian life, from laundry hanging over doorways to children playing soccer on a campiello.
These hidden Venice experiences reward patience and curiosity more than any grand sight. Engaging with residents in a neighborhood café, browsing a local greengrocer or bakery, or simply lingering on a stone bench by the water all allow a traveler to feel Venice’s authentic pulse.
Venice rewards thoughtful exploration. It is not a city of quick thrills or broad boulevards, but rather of layered textures – light on water, faded frescoes in a silent church, footsteps echoing in narrow alleys. One may roam its squares and canals many times and yet feel that each visit offers something new: a change of light at dawn, a hidden gondola moored in a shadowed canal, the echo of a church bell over empty streets.
As one gazes upon a peeling facade or sits before a tiny bacaro, it becomes clear that Venice’s appeal lies as much in its intangible character as in its monuments. To travel here is to bear witness to a city both timeless and changing, held in balance between art and nature. It is also to accept a responsibility to tread lightly.
In the end, Venice is best appreciated quietly – by those who let its beauty speak through the hum of daily life, and who depart with both wonder and respect for this singular city of water.
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