Thinner and fitter men would not have collapsed in a heap of embarrassed exhaustion or patched the reality of having to catch their breath with lame excuses about the wind. And to be fair, to them rather than to me, while I carried nothing more than a notepad and a fine pen, the thinner and fitter men in question lugged large bits and pieces of their coloured carnival floats up a gravelly ramp with an unkind angle. Over and over again.
In the weeks before carnival, the lower part of Fort St Elmo and the abandoned barrack rooms and offices are a buzzing, groaning hive of activity. Men, women and children heave-ho parts of their carnival floats from their workshop cum barracks four floors down to street level, where they proceed to assemble them. Heavier weights are left for the wheezing cranes and chugging tractors. It is a kind of Sisyphus toil; men bursting into piles of sweat in the majestic, quasi biblical surroundings of what was once the Fort's parade ground. The wind whips around their chunky sweaters and makes clapping noises against the plastic with which the floats are covered as a cautionary measure against the rain, the arrival of which would ruin a year's work.
Beyond Freedom Square; beyond the cosmetic perfection of carnival floats which we only see as a finished product, the carnival in Valletta is the story of people who work against all odds. The carnival backstage of lower St Elmo, Pinto Wharf and all the other workshops which carnival companies use, are cold, damp, dark, almost primitive in their set-up. Yet the enthusiasts work with a passionate intensity, sucking like hungry babies on their cigarettes while directing operations and answering the crackly voices coming over their walkie-talkies. They only go home to shower and eat. For those who work all night, sleep in the stores and rarely go home, there is a fizzling kiosk parked outside St Elmo selling burgers and fries.
Jackie Armeni started helping out in carnival when he was nine years old. "I worked with Oscar Curmi and Paul Curmi, better known as il-Pampalun," he says as we move around his workshop at Fort St Elmo. "Then at 21 I started building maskaruni and moved on to the karri trijonfali. Now I have my own company. I have won about four times with my maskaruni. Last year I took second place for the maskaruni, second place in Category B for floats and third place for the dance routine in Category C.
"Carnival preparations start from eight months before. I first do the sketches with my son, who is still young but has the family's enthusiasm for carnival. For the float, we make a model out of triply which we then mount on iron strips, eight feet wide and 25 feet long. This goes on the trailer. We then build the figures using papier-mâché, which is also used for the maskaruni. This makes the maskaruni very light, and they can thus be worn over the body with straps and held on the knees. For this year, I built five maskaruni, each representing a different continent.
"The guys on the Carnival Commission do their utmost, but we still have to work very hard and make huge sacrifices. It is a family affair: My wife Doris helps out a lot, as does her cousin, Elvin Vella and people like Johnny Demicoli, with whose grandfather I used to work. We also fork out a lot of money out of our pockets - just last week I spent Lm50 on t-shirts for the dancers. The prize money we win is certainly not enough, and if we win, we have to give the government subsidy back. And we put up with a lot of things, including the mice here. Last year, one nibbled right through the nose of one maskarun.
"But all the hard work is forgotten once we are in Freedom Square. Especially for the people of Valletta, carnival is our passion. We have fun and give people some happiness."
Next door to Jackie Armeni's warehouse, ta' Bondin are preparing their dance routine. Jonathan Bondin, 24, has been involved for the past six years. "Before that," he says, "I used to help other companies build floats and maskarun. But my father, who has been into dancing all his life, wanted to form a company and needed someone to take care of the choreography. So we formed a company together - together with his friends, he sketches and sews the costumes and makes the papier-mâché masks while I take care of the actual dancing.
"We start preparing from five months before. Before starting on the costumes and choreography, we first choose the story - this year, it is called Smajna d-daqq tac-cirimella u maghhom nizfnu kellna (We heard the bagpipe players and had to join in the dance). It involves Scottish bagpipe players and Russian dancers.
"The dance involves 40 children, aged 12 years and over. The majority hail from Valletta and we normally have the same dancers from one year to the next. However, there are always new children wanting to join. Dancers pay for their own costume but obviously there are limits - we help them out and find sponsors, which is never easy. To rehearse the six-minute dance, we also have to find our own space. We usually arrange with a school but have to rehearse outside, weather permitting."
"Carnival is our passion," says Jonathan. "For us, carnival is not five days a year. It is the whole year round."
Cicco & Company compete in Category A, and build their float in a warehouse down in Pinto Wharf. "It is certainly more comfortable to work here than in St Elmo," says Jason Busuttil. "But the place is still small for our float. We cannot, for instance, rehearse the float's movements." I look at the huge float towering above us. Everything about it is massive: The concept, the figures and the sound system which, as the volume is raised, makes my legs whimper and my morning coffee boil in my stomach. "There is still half of it to be assembled," Jason smiles. "Eventually, we will take the float out and park it under the tent outside, in case of rain, before driving it up on Sunday to Freedom Square."
"I first started out decorating old carriages," Jason continues. "These are no longer used. Then in 1994 I built my own float and went on to win. Still, I decided to join Norman Hill. I had always admired his work. It is the best, and it shows. In the past 20 years, we have won 18 times. The other two times, we were beaten when other companies joined up together," he smiles. "It's like what happens in football. A winning team gets used to victories, and needs the jolt of a defeat to get back on track.
"We start working on the float from months before. At first, a core team bounce ideas on the concept and design. In the last few months, however, a team of about 40 people work around the clock. The float is a team effort, which is why we put all our trophies here, in the warehouse. Hard work and success belong to every member of our team.
"This year, the theme of our float is pirates, and will feature a giant swordfish and lobster. The whole float is made out of iron, triply and papier-mâché. For the movements, we use hydraulic systems. We also built a robot to control the movements of the lobster's tail. We are using it on a trial and if all goes well, we will use it for more movements next year. We also have plans to use remote control, but that is all in the hands of one section of our team, which includes two engineers and three welders.
"On the float, safety comes first. There are fire extinguishers and medicine cabinets inside the float. All the 22 dancers have rails to hold on to and we test all parts of the float for strength. During the six minutes of the show, everyone is tense and we cannot be too careful. Moreover, most of the dancers are wives and girlfriends of members of the team. Mind you, we would still take all safety measures if they weren't, but with family, you know, you are always a bit more careful.
"We get help from sponsors but the expenses are still huge, as are the drawbacks. We need bigger spaces to work in. On an individual level, however, we can compete with carnivals abroad. I have twice been to Viareggio and, admittedly, their floats are much bigger. But you can still see people making the float movements by pulling a string, something which you do not see in Malta. On a technical level, we can beat the Viareggio carnival hands down. Which is why the carnival deserves more promotion."
In the weeks before carnival, the lower part of Fort St Elmo and the abandoned barrack rooms and offices are a buzzing, groaning hive of activity. Men, women and children heave-ho parts of their carnival floats from their workshop cum barracks four floors down to street level, where they proceed to assemble them. Heavier weights are left for the wheezing cranes and chugging tractors. It is a kind of Sisyphus toil; men bursting into piles of sweat in the majestic, quasi biblical surroundings of what was once the Fort's parade ground. The wind whips around their chunky sweaters and makes clapping noises against the plastic with which the floats are covered as a cautionary measure against the rain, the arrival of which would ruin a year's work.
Beyond Freedom Square; beyond the cosmetic perfection of carnival floats which we only see as a finished product, the carnival in Valletta is the story of people who work against all odds. The carnival backstage of lower St Elmo, Pinto Wharf and all the other workshops which carnival companies use, are cold, damp, dark, almost primitive in their set-up. Yet the enthusiasts work with a passionate intensity, sucking like hungry babies on their cigarettes while directing operations and answering the crackly voices coming over their walkie-talkies. They only go home to shower and eat. For those who work all night, sleep in the stores and rarely go home, there is a fizzling kiosk parked outside St Elmo selling burgers and fries.
Jackie Armeni started helping out in carnival when he was nine years old. "I worked with Oscar Curmi and Paul Curmi, better known as il-Pampalun," he says as we move around his workshop at Fort St Elmo. "Then at 21 I started building maskaruni and moved on to the karri trijonfali. Now I have my own company. I have won about four times with my maskaruni. Last year I took second place for the maskaruni, second place in Category B for floats and third place for the dance routine in Category C.
"Carnival preparations start from eight months before. I first do the sketches with my son, who is still young but has the family's enthusiasm for carnival. For the float, we make a model out of triply which we then mount on iron strips, eight feet wide and 25 feet long. This goes on the trailer. We then build the figures using papier-mâché, which is also used for the maskaruni. This makes the maskaruni very light, and they can thus be worn over the body with straps and held on the knees. For this year, I built five maskaruni, each representing a different continent.
"The guys on the Carnival Commission do their utmost, but we still have to work very hard and make huge sacrifices. It is a family affair: My wife Doris helps out a lot, as does her cousin, Elvin Vella and people like Johnny Demicoli, with whose grandfather I used to work. We also fork out a lot of money out of our pockets - just last week I spent Lm50 on t-shirts for the dancers. The prize money we win is certainly not enough, and if we win, we have to give the government subsidy back. And we put up with a lot of things, including the mice here. Last year, one nibbled right through the nose of one maskarun.
"But all the hard work is forgotten once we are in Freedom Square. Especially for the people of Valletta, carnival is our passion. We have fun and give people some happiness."
Next door to Jackie Armeni's warehouse, ta' Bondin are preparing their dance routine. Jonathan Bondin, 24, has been involved for the past six years. "Before that," he says, "I used to help other companies build floats and maskarun. But my father, who has been into dancing all his life, wanted to form a company and needed someone to take care of the choreography. So we formed a company together - together with his friends, he sketches and sews the costumes and makes the papier-mâché masks while I take care of the actual dancing.
"We start preparing from five months before. Before starting on the costumes and choreography, we first choose the story - this year, it is called Smajna d-daqq tac-cirimella u maghhom nizfnu kellna (We heard the bagpipe players and had to join in the dance). It involves Scottish bagpipe players and Russian dancers.
"The dance involves 40 children, aged 12 years and over. The majority hail from Valletta and we normally have the same dancers from one year to the next. However, there are always new children wanting to join. Dancers pay for their own costume but obviously there are limits - we help them out and find sponsors, which is never easy. To rehearse the six-minute dance, we also have to find our own space. We usually arrange with a school but have to rehearse outside, weather permitting."
"Carnival is our passion," says Jonathan. "For us, carnival is not five days a year. It is the whole year round."
Cicco & Company compete in Category A, and build their float in a warehouse down in Pinto Wharf. "It is certainly more comfortable to work here than in St Elmo," says Jason Busuttil. "But the place is still small for our float. We cannot, for instance, rehearse the float's movements." I look at the huge float towering above us. Everything about it is massive: The concept, the figures and the sound system which, as the volume is raised, makes my legs whimper and my morning coffee boil in my stomach. "There is still half of it to be assembled," Jason smiles. "Eventually, we will take the float out and park it under the tent outside, in case of rain, before driving it up on Sunday to Freedom Square."
"I first started out decorating old carriages," Jason continues. "These are no longer used. Then in 1994 I built my own float and went on to win. Still, I decided to join Norman Hill. I had always admired his work. It is the best, and it shows. In the past 20 years, we have won 18 times. The other two times, we were beaten when other companies joined up together," he smiles. "It's like what happens in football. A winning team gets used to victories, and needs the jolt of a defeat to get back on track.
"We start working on the float from months before. At first, a core team bounce ideas on the concept and design. In the last few months, however, a team of about 40 people work around the clock. The float is a team effort, which is why we put all our trophies here, in the warehouse. Hard work and success belong to every member of our team.
"This year, the theme of our float is pirates, and will feature a giant swordfish and lobster. The whole float is made out of iron, triply and papier-mâché. For the movements, we use hydraulic systems. We also built a robot to control the movements of the lobster's tail. We are using it on a trial and if all goes well, we will use it for more movements next year. We also have plans to use remote control, but that is all in the hands of one section of our team, which includes two engineers and three welders.
"On the float, safety comes first. There are fire extinguishers and medicine cabinets inside the float. All the 22 dancers have rails to hold on to and we test all parts of the float for strength. During the six minutes of the show, everyone is tense and we cannot be too careful. Moreover, most of the dancers are wives and girlfriends of members of the team. Mind you, we would still take all safety measures if they weren't, but with family, you know, you are always a bit more careful.
"We get help from sponsors but the expenses are still huge, as are the drawbacks. We need bigger spaces to work in. On an individual level, however, we can compete with carnivals abroad. I have twice been to Viareggio and, admittedly, their floats are much bigger. But you can still see people making the float movements by pulling a string, something which you do not see in Malta. On a technical level, we can beat the Viareggio carnival hands down. Which is why the carnival deserves more promotion."