It’s that time of year again. A time of children, and adults, in costume, and streets paved in small fragments of coloured paper. A time of processions and street fairs. Of cars covered in shaving foam and party string.
Yes, it the, for me, mysterious carnival season.
I don’t know what the appeal of it is, and I’ve never been able to get into to it. I feel no urge to dress up either. I guess you’ve really got to have grown up in Italy to understand and feel what the carnival thing is all about.
It’s all about religion that I do know, and this is possibly why I don’t find carnival much of a curiosity. This is odd, because I’m quite a curious person. My better half is not filled with carnival spirit either.
Stop reading, start speaking
Stop translating in your head and start speaking Italian for real with the only audio course that prompt you to speak.
Indeed, my other half made a rather chilling observation, after having seen a procession which took place in these parts this evening. She said that all those people mindlessly chanting the same thing was frightening. Nope, as you might have gathered, she’s not into religion either, although she rather more direct in its criticism. She believes that it is little more than indoctrination.
Maybe she has a point, but I’m not sure I fully agree, or disagree with her.
I’ve got nothing against those with faith. If it works for them, fine, but please do not try and convert me.
When the time is right, I’ll convert myself. But it’ll take more than confetti covered streets to win me over.
