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.

The night’s musical performances brought high-tech set design to a roughly 2,000-year-old amphitheater.

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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.

Hunter Wonders parades with other members of Team USA at the closing ceremony at the Verona Arena in Verona, Italy, on Sunday.

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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.

Gloria Campaner plays the piano, surrounded by candelabras, at Sunday’s closing ceremony.

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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.

Major Lazer got the crowd moving with a medley of their hits, joined by collaborators including Jamaican singer Nyla.

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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.

Colorful confetti — seen during Major Lazer’s set — beams of light and glitter cannons illuminated the night sky at various points.

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Jennifer Lopez
My Babies Are 18!!!😭

Published
February 22, 2026
5:30 PM PST

Homo Mobilis is not just a photography book about cool cars.

The phrase is Latin for “mobile human.” This project by Dutch photographer Martin Roemers depicts all kinds of vehicles: cars the likes of which you’ve probably never seen before, including one with a garden sprouting from its roof, along with animal-drawn transport and bicycles.

And Roemers is not just looking for visual details. He uses vehicles as a vehicle for philosophical questions: How do our methods of transportation represent our identities, reflect global inequalities and illustrate the changing nature of mobility as we drive forward in the 21st century.

Roemers spent nearly five years on this project, visiting eight countries in four continents and photographing around 200 cars and other vehicles. 160 of these found their way into the book. He identifies the owners by first name only.

In an interview over a zoom call from his home in the Netherlands, he shares his thoughts on the project with NPR — his ninth book of photography. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Tell us about the car you chose for the cover of the book.

In 2019, on a trip to Mumbai, India, my wife and I passed by a carpet shop as we made our way from our hotel to a café for breakfast. In front of this shop was an old black car. We often forget how cars aren’t just to get us from point A to point B. In many countries like India and China, they’re precious real-estate space. This particular car was riveting, because it was more than a car. It was a statement, like a billboard. It had “Afghan Carpets” emblazoned on it, advertising the store. It made me think about the many ingenious ways in which people used their vehicles.

I strongly believe that the spirit of the car reflects that of its owner or its driver. It says something about the culture they come from, their world view, identity and even about society itself.

Suresh, a climate activist, believes all cars should have rooftop gardens to counteract pollution. He lives in Bengaluru, India.

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Can you give us an example of what you mean?

In Bangalore [now called Bengaluru], I saw a car parked on the street. It had a little garden on its roof. It was filled with sprouting grass and wild plants. When we located the owner, we learnt that he was a lawyer, but he was also a climate activist, who believed that people should reduce their carbon footprint. So he wanted to convey that message through his car. He told me you can grow plants on any kind of vehicle and that he waters his “garden” everyday!

What inspired the idea?  

This particular project explores the relationship between vehicles and their owners.

The idea for the book came to me in 2015, when I was working on a project called Metropolis — documenting life in the world’s largest cities. My aim was to capture the energy and life in bustling urban environments.

I saw cars everywhere, including some truly unusual vehicles I’d never seen before. They were an integral part of an urban environment, but I wondered, if I isolated them, plucked them off of the roads so that you could focus solely on the vehicle as an object, what stories would that tell?

That must have required extensive preparation.

There was a lot to organize. I needed permission from the car owners to be able to photograph their vehicles in a studio-like setting. We asked the owners to bring their cars to the spot we picked, and [we] rented [a] van to lug around the 12-meter-long steel poles over which we could hang the white backdrop. And we needed people to help set this all up.

Why was this style of photography important to you? 

In its natural setting — on a road with traffic — the background can be chaotic. When you place the car against a white backdrop, there are no distractions. You can focus solely on the vehicle and the people who own it.

Which countries did the project cover?

I included Germany, because it’s the biggest car producer in Europe. The Netherlands, because that’s home for me. I chose Senegal, because like other West African countries, they import a lot of old cars from Europe — cars that wouldn’t pass inspection there anymore but are now on the streets. Senegal has a growing middle-class as well, and that is represented in the sheer diversity of cars you see on the roads.

Mor drives this minibus in Séguel Thioune, Senegal.

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I loved the shot of the newspaper vendor [and the bicycle he uses to sell papers] in Senegal. What’s his story?

He’s really amazing! He’s an artist and you can tell, because he’s really making a fashion statement. He also has to make a living — and so that’s where the newspaper cart hitched to a bicycle comes in. In Senegal, especially in urban areas like Dakar, newspapers are often sold by street vendors who may use small, mobile kiosks, stands, or simply carry them by hand to offer to drivers and pedestrians.

Mbaye, standing by his bicycle, is an artist and newspaper vendor in Ngaparou, Senegal.

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You also photographed in North America.

I spent a lot of time in the U.S., especially in Los Angeles. There are people from the unhoused [homeless] community for whom the car doubles up as a home. These are people from all walks of life. I met an artist who lives in a camper van, an immigrant from Mexico, a retired construction worker who was living in his car for three years.

Juan, an immigrant from Mexico, lives in a camper in Santa Monica, Calif.

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There are a couple of unusual images that you took in China of men on motorized cargo bikes — they look like tricycles that are hitched to carriers and piled high with stuff. Can you tell me about those vehicles and their owners?

Qinfang and grandson in a Fuju electric vehicle, Shanghai, China.

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Those are electrical vehicles by the way. China is much more advanced in terms of EVs and much further along in electrification than any other part of the world. And these were vehicles I’d never seen before. They’re both the same type of vehicle, but I was struck by how they were used for very different purposes. In one, we see a guy selling children’s toys on a street in a park. It looked lovely — so full of color and life. And in a stark contrast, in the second image, another man uses the same kind of vehicle, but this time, it’s piled high with all kinds of recycling junk.

It reminds me of how vehicles can often be ingenuously repurposed — like Sunny, a chicken vendor in the city of Nashik, Maharashtra [a western Indian state], who transformed his auto into a cage-holding mobile market stand. If someone wants a chicken, he will slaughter it afresh right there.

Sunny’s vehicle enables him to earn money as a chicken vendor. He lives in Bajaj Nashik, Maharashtra, India.

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In China, you’ve taken images of electric autos and their drivers.  

Yes, I found them interesting. These taxi drivers cannot afford big cars. They use these inexpensive vehicles that were originally designed for people with disabilities and for wheelchair users, but today, anyone can hop on. It’s interesting how vehicles adapt to social and economic needs.

You mention how cars are often associated with new beginnings and spirituality in some parts of the world.

It struck me how cars are tied to sentiment and spirituality, especially in India.

I spent some time at a BMW dealership in Bengaluru. The car salesman told me that some clients hire a priest to do pujas [Hindu prayers that involve chanting] right in the showroom, when the client comes to pick up a new car. It’s not something I’ve seen anywhere else in the world. In China, when you pick up a new car, it can be decked out in flowers. To celebrate a new car is like a rite of passage.

The priest Nagabushna chants prayers to protect a new car from misfortune and accidents in Bengaluru, India.

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You have pictures of big families lining up in front of their cars in India.

Yes, I like to portray the human element in car portraits. I’ve photographed a family of four, and another with six members along with their cars. In one picture, there are 12 people. To me, I definitely felt that cars in this context represented a sense of community, of family bonding. Sometimes, it’s about friendship too. When I was taking a picture of a truck and its driver in Malegoan in the western Indian state of Maharashtra, I spotted some kids laughing and returning home from school on bicycles. They agreed to be photographed alongside the truck — I invited them to join because they add another layer of mobility to the portrait.

You have photographed the hand-pulled carts, many of which are banned in some Indian cities.

Dinu pulls a rickshaw in Kolkata, India

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I noticed it the last time I was in Kolkata in 2008. There were many more of these hand-pulled rickshaws and now there are less. The city wanted to get rid of it, it was controversial, a relic from colonial times. It also represented India’s caste system — the people who pulled these carts to make a living were from a lower caste, but the people they ferried around were from a higher caste. It made me think about how these systems resist change. And that says something about society. That’s why I focused on these vehicles. To me, it represented a unique part of the city’s heritage and a livelihood for many, though they are gradually being phased out for modern alternatives like auto-rickshaws and e-rickshaws.

And there are plenty of modern cars, too.

I photographed students at a university in the Netherlands who had developed a hydrogen car. We may have invented the wheel, but I wanted my book to show how transport is constantly evolving — it’s rich, layered with culture and meaning — an entire spectrum.

The book concludes with images of scrapped vehicles — why was it important to depict the end of life of a car?

Shredded cars in the Netherlands.

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A car can be a big deal for some people. It can play a huge role in their lives, it can mean a lot to them personally and culturally, but at the end of the day, in spite of its significance, I wanted to show how it’s just a hunk of metal.

Kamala Thiagarajan is a freelance journalist based in Madurai, Southern India. She reports on global health, science and development and has been published in The New York Times, The British Medical Journal, the BBC, The Guardian and other outlets. You can find her on X @kamal_t

Your turn: Readers! Is there a vehicle in your life, present or past, with a meaningful connection to your place in the world, to your identity? Send a photo and your story to globalhealth@npr.org and we may use it in a follow-up post.