The sweet smell of citrus hangs heavy in the air, and while that might bring memories of warmth and sunshine to mind for many, for Ivreans, it conjures up visions of mayhem, soaring oranges, and the camaraderie of friends.

Every Carnival season, the charming Italian village of Ivrea, tucked in the foothills of the Alps, becomes a battleground. The city’s population swells by the thousands, comprised of visitors and the infamous aranceri (orange-throwers) who are here for one thing—to wage war with flying fruit. 

Eager crowds gather to witness the action as hundreds of citrus projectiles cloud the sky. The Carnevale di Ivrea is a multi-layered blend of history and legend that plays out over four days. Taking place in either February or March, depending on when Lent falls, the festivities are an unforgettable mix of parades, ceremonial fires, regional cuisine, and plenty of vin brulé to fuel the fun. 

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The origins of the Carnevale di Ivrea are a murky mixture of legend and history. Orange throwers battle in the name of Violetta, a medieval miller’s daughter and folkloric protagonist. According to organizers at the Fondazione dello Storico Carnevale di Ivrea, local lore states that a notorious tyrant issued a prima nocta, the right to a bride’s bed, on Violetta’s wedding night. Rather than succumb to his evil ways, she proceeded to get the feudal lord drunk, severed his head while he slept, and presented it triumphantly to the townspeople, inciting a revolt. 

Whether the rebellion against the tyrant and the medieval heroine was fact or fiction, Ivreans celebrate it all the same—even electing a modern-day Violetta each year. Presented to the town on Carnival Saturday, she’ll make appearances throughout the festivities, throwing candy in parades and watching over the celebrations. However, customs have evolved over the centuries, with most of the festival’s historic elements and traditions added later, including lobbing oranges, which didn’t begin until after WWII.

“Generally speaking, the medieval origins claimed for such festivals as this are legendary and lack medieval documentation; many are later inventions…” says Professor Daniel Bornstein, who specializes in the religious culture of medieval Italy at the Washington University of Saint Louis. 

While the tale of Violetta might be a myth, Bornstein does add that Ivrea’s historic brawls could be rooted in fact. “There were certainly occasional riots and factional street fighting in medieval cities, with whatever lay at hand used as a weapon.”

For three days, from Carnival Sunday to Shrove Tuesday, the aranceri will fight to the last peel, starting at 2 p.m. each day. Known formally as the Battle of the Oranges, or Battaglio delle Arance in Italian, these friendly conflicts occur in designated piazzas and streets throughout the city.

Nine groups of aranceri on foot, distinguished by their colorful uniforms and unique emblems, fling oranges one by one at horse-drawn carriages full of armored men who represent the tyrant and his guardsmen. Sourced from Sicily and other regions of Southern Italy, it’s estimated that over 900 tons of oranges will be thrown throughout the festival.

Unlike La Tomatina and its soft and squishy tomatoes, the oranges at Carnevale di Ivrea pack a meaner punch. Revelers will undoubtedly walk away with bloody noses, sometimes worse, but it’s all a part of the fun. “As painful as it is (and it really hurts), I am aware of what I’m doing and how to protect myself in unpleasant situations,” says local photographer Alessio Ferreri, who has been attending the Carnevale di Ivrea since he was just three years old.

But he digresses, “There are also many places to stay safe and fully enjoy the show.” Spectators watch from balconies, behind nets, and anywhere else that provides a safe haven to witness the scene unfold—and keep them protected from a rogue orange. Donning a crimson Phrygian cap, representing Ivrea’s freedom from tyranny, will help the aranceri know you aren’t a target.

By the end of the third day of battle, a thick, ochre paste of orange peel and pulp carpeted Ivrea’s medieval squares and cobblestoned lanes. Like the city itself, the aranceri will smell like citrus for days, if not weeks, something that Milanese photojournalist Vittorio Sciosia remembers well “The smell of oranges that spreads through the city’s air, lingers for days even after the event ends. But not only that, the scent stays on you for days, even after taking a shower,” he says. 

But the Carnevale di Ivrea isn’t just a booze-fueled, slightly masochistic homage to a medieval heroine—it’s become a part of Ivrean identity. “While the orange throwing is visually stunning, especially when the light filters through the squares…the intensity in some of the gazes I’ve captured, across all ages, is unforgettable,” says Ferreri. “People truly care about the Carnevale, about experiencing it fully, and passing down this passion.” 

(Related: 6 of the best Italian Carnivals beyond Venice, from north to south.)

Recognized as an “Italian event of international importance” by the Prime Minister of Italy, the Carnevale di Ivrea is nothing without its steadfast traditions and symbolic celebrations. While all eyes are on the Battle of the Oranges, multiple other events are taking place over the festival’s four main days, from the Calzata del Beretto on Fat Thursday, when visitors are formally asked to don their Phrygian caps (beretto phrygio), to noshing on cod and polenta in Piazza Lamarmora on Ash Wednesday. 

As the carnival comes to a close, festival-goers and aranceri alike gather in Ivrea’s medieval squares for the burning of the scarli, a towering pole covered in heather and juniper and crowned with an Italian flag. Children who represent Ivrea's parishes (known as the Abba) set fire to individual scarlo (singular scarli) in three separate piazzas, beckoning everyone to lay down their oranges and come together in peace. 

“People gather around. There’s a sense of community in the air, and in the coolness of the night, the fire warms us all together,” says Ferreri, describing the burning of the scarli as the festival’s most important tradition. 

“Depending on how the scarlo burns and falls, it’s seen as a sign of good or bad luck for the coming year. It’s a beautiful moment to be together, warmed by a living flame in the middle of Ivrea’s squares on a cold night.”

 Even the festival's final words tell how deeply these annual traditions are felt. “Arvedse a giobia a ’n bot,” a local dialect which translates to “We’ll see each other on Thursday at one,” is murmured by all as they take the final steps of the Funerary March, the Carnevale di Ivrea’s closing ceremony, already anticipating next year’s fun.

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