Olympics Closing Ceremony Turns Ancient Verona Into Living Theater

How different the energy feels from the start is the first thing that comes to mind when you think of the Olympics Closing Ceremony. The athletes stand rigidly behind flags as the opening ceremonies arrive with anxious anticipation. The closing is looser, though. softer. People move as if they have shared a common experience.

There was a strange mixture of relief and exhaustion in the air inside the Verona Arena’s old stone curves. In an attempt to capture a moment that was already passing, some athletes leaned on one another’s shoulders while others recorded everything on their phones. Perhaps this is the only occasion during the Games when they are merely participants in something greater rather than competitors.

The arena itself seemed alive. Its stone steps, which were constructed almost 2,000 years ago, held the night air in a unique way, absorbing sound and releasing it gradually. There was a feeling that the ceremony was not only concluding the Games but also contributing to the building’s extensive memory as the music started to play and reverberated against the old walls.

Perhaps the most truthful aspect of the ceremony was the athletes’ procession, which is typically one of its most basic components. They walked in asymmetrical groups, laughing, waving, and occasionally limping a little in the absence of a rigid national order. It seems as though victory and defeat have already merged into something else as you watch them move into the middle of the arena.

Something more subdued.

The spotlight was long gone for many. Baggage containing medals. written headlines. The aftermath was all that was left. Sitting cross-legged on the ground, a skier from a small delegation gazed up at the lights. Although it’s still unclear, the silence was sufficient to convey whether she was thinking about success or disappointment.

Opera and electronic sound were combined in ways that felt both conventional and avant-garde as the ceremony’s theme, “Beauty in Action,” came to life through music and performance. Italian athletes brought energy to the arena, serving as a reminder that the Olympics are about more than just athletics. Additionally, even if only briefly, they are about the host nation sharing its narrative. This time, though, there was something different. No fireworks.

Instead, light, which was thoughtfully crafted to preserve the environment, moved silently across the sky. It seemed purposeful, almost symbolic, that there were no explosions. It implied moderation. Perhaps maturity. Or perhaps it’s a matter of necessity in a society that is becoming more wary of spectacle.

The handover of the flag came almost without warning. Italy held it for a moment. The French Alps owned it the next. The conversation was brief and effective, but emotionally taxing. It signaled not just a conclusion but also a handoff of accountability. The future is already in the works.

The athletes kept a close eye on it.

However, the most delicate part of the ceremony was still when the flame was extinguished. In the shadows, two flames, symbolizing Milan and Cortina, flickered. Then they vanished together. Not a dramatic pause. Just not there.

There’s always a hint of unease as you watch this play out. For weeks, the flame burns, growing accustomed to it and nearly permanent. Its disappearance is strange. It’s difficult to ignore how swiftly a symbolic object can disappear.

Nevertheless, no one appeared startled.

Before the ceremony was over, people started moving toward the exits around the arena. Volunteers gave each other hugs. Operators of the cameras lowered their gear. Already, after weeks of nonstop operation, the Games’ machinery was slowing down.

The city went on as usual outside. Restaurants have reopened. The streetlights flickered. Passing tourists were either uninformed or uninterested. This contrast might be the silent truth of the ceremony. The Olympics seem so big while they are happening. After that, they vanish, leaving only a memory.