It's All Good Fun Until Someone Looses An Eye

While the main Carnival celebrations take place in Valletta, other towns have their own festivities so today we took a bus to Hamrun, just a couple of kilometres from Valletta to see what a smaller celebration was like. A number of floats and dance troupes from Valletta had made their way to the Hamrun Carnival but they also had a several brass bands. When we did our walking tour the guide told us that since the time of the British, brass bands had become an important part of Maltese society. There are a number of band clubs and on Sunday mornings, men (mostly) resort to these to drink, gossip and occasionally practice. (I'm in the Albany Shantymen and this sounds like our Tuesday evening sessions.) As with the dancers the bands seem to like Sweet Caroline plus Hollywood show tunes and Beatles numbers.

Hamrun brass band drum section

The bands were taking it in turns to play outside Hamrun's central church which was having it's normal Sunday morning service. Perhaps the thick stone walls kept the sound out but when the few parishioners came out at the end, they didn't seem put out. Carnival definitely had the numbers over church so perhaps discretion was the better part of valour.

Trish had noticed a rather attractive white iced cake with glace cherries featuring in cake shops all round Malta so at lunch we thought we'd try a slice. We'd assumed it was a regular traditional favourite but the waitress explained it is Prinjolata, named after and made from pine nuts, and made especially for Carnival. The cafe proudly announced by a sign that their Prionjolata was house made but we weren't overly impressed. The icing was too sweet and the cake somewhat dry so once a year is probably enough. Our lunch was a baked rice, like a savoury rice pudding and that was nice.

One difference between Carnival today and 1855 is that then the only approach to anything like license, consists in a general throwing of sugar plums (sugar coated almonds); every person carries a bag or pocketful of these, and discharges them by handsful at the heads and faces of all whom they feel disposed to notice in this way. The ladies generally expend upon the men all their favours of this sort, while the men of course pelt away at the women. I myself became engaged in one or two such sharp contests of this kind, that when the Carnival was over I was obliged to treat myself to a new hat.  Today a few shops and cafes (such as the elegant Cafe Cordino) have displays of big glass jars of sugar plums but we saw no-one throwing any. Given the consequences for Edward's hat, it is likely that modern OH&S rules have put this practice off the agenda. A plum that destroys a hat, could put an eye out.

Carnival floats lit up for the evening

In the evening we did a bit more rampart strolling and once again watched the floats, lit up for the night making their way up and down the narrow streets. Each float is pulled by a tractor covered in with plywood to make up a moving disco sound desk complete with DJ playing modern music (and the ubiquitous Sweet Caroline) at deafening volume.  Given the size of the floats, each is accompanied by a team of minders checking to make sure it won't catch on overhead power lines, take out overhanging signs or awnings and guide it around some very tight corners.

Once we'd had our fill of Carnival we repaired to a cafe called Cheeky Monkey, run by a garrulous South African, English man who'd found South Africa too chaotic and England too cold. He wasn't worried about Brexit sending him home because he now has Maltese residency as well. Cheeky Monkey's main claim to fame is a table with ceiling mounted swings as seats at one of the tables
so we enjoyed a novel final dinner in Malta as we are taking the ferry to Sicily in the early hours of the morning.