Tucked into a valley in the Montemuro mountains, Lazarim feels more remote than it is. That isolation, paired with the stubbornness of those who call it home, helped preserve a Carnival unlike most — one shaped by alder wood masks, anonymity, and echoes of old fertility rites.
Once frowned upon by the Church and banned during the dictatorship, the masked figures of Lazarim have outlasted police crackdowns and court summons. Today, they walk freely again, especially on Shrove Tuesday, when the village comes alive with fire, costume, and a quiet sense of defiance. The masks have evolved, but the spirit — mischievous, raw, and deeply rooted — remains.
