A Relaxed Farewell: Inside the Winter Olympics Closing Ceremony in Verona

VERONA, Italy — The Winter Olympics are officially over. We were among the thousands of people who helped bid them goodbye in a Roman amphitheater in Verona, Italy, on Sunday, with a ceremony that was mostly sentimental but punctuated by rousing bursts of lights, confetti and electropop music.

The closing ceremony echoed some of the pomp and circumstance of its opening counterpart 16 days earlier: the athletes' Parade of Nations, the raising of flags, the respective lighting and extinguishing of the two Olympic cauldrons (in Milan and Cortina).

But after two-and-a-half weeks of fierce competition, storied traditions and emotional ups and downs, this celebration had a noticeably more relaxed feel — at least among athletes and spectators.

For one, the Verona Arena — which was built around 30 AD for gladiator battles — holds a considerably smaller crowd than Milan's San Siro stadium (some 15,000 vs. 75,000 people). It's an open-air venue with stone seats, which made for a fair bit of shuffling around (and occasional phone calls) among spectators. Each seat held a tote bag with a slim seat cushion in it, to make the two-and-a-half hour event a little cozier.

The closing ceremony's Parade of Nations was essentially just a parade of flag-bearers, but unlike the opening ceremony, it went without an announcer. This time, the snow queens in puffer-coat-gowns from the opening ceremony were replaced with volunteers wearing loose-fitting tunics, the ceremony equivalent of putting on sweatpants after a hard day's work.

Even the athletes were dressed more for comfort this time around. Team USA, outfitted by Ralph Lauren for the 10th straight Games, traded their opening ceremony pleated trousers and wool coats for streetwear-inspired baggy pants and puffer jackets.

The event was a little shorter than the opening, but there was still a ton to take in. There were the requisite speeches from International Olympic Committee President Kirsty Coventry and the head of the Italian organizing committee, with many, many thanks given to the regional hosts and the 80,000 volunteers who staffed the Games (some of whom were watching next to us in the stands).

There was also the customary passing of the metaphorical torch to the next Winter Olympics host: France, whose Alps will be the site of the 2030 Games. And there was a shoutout to the Paralympics, which kick off — at the same Verona venue — on March 6.

At times, people in the crowd stood up to clap for medalists — and got quickly shouted down by the journalists wielding telephoto lenses behind them.

And there were so many candelabras, a recurring motif in this "night at the opera"-themed event. At one point, there were performers dressed as candelabras, moving candelabra floor lamps, while attached to a large dangling candelabra chandelier.

Speaking as spectators in the media nosebleed seats, this ceremony was more fun to watch than the opening, which was still a total blast. But this one came with a tangible sense of relief and a lot more crowd participation: beams of light shone all around us, confetti floated down on top of us and Diplo (the legendary DJ) commanded us all to dance.

You read that right. The sober dousing of the Olympic flame was immediately followed by a seat-shaking DJ set from electronic music supergroup Major Lazer, which got much of the arena on their frozen feet.

The rave — and the ceremony — ended a few minutes later. But like all good parties, there was still fun to be had on the way out.

Afterward, as we navigated the crowds and street closures, we stopped to let an international stream of athletes cross the road.

Some of the uniform-clad Olympians hopped on buses that took them back to Milan; others had the same idea as us and ducked into McDonald's. Inside we spotted Union Jack sweaters, Team Latvia coats and the Winter Olympic GOAT, Johannes Høsflot Klæbo, with his fellow Norwegian cross-country medalists, putting in several orders of chicken wings.