As a born and bred Nicosian, my relationship with the Limassol carnival growing up was limited to a mad dash to see the Sunday parade; a last-minute costume and the search to find parking near Makarios Ave to watch the parade. After joining the marching percussion band that leads Limassol’s parade I got a taste of what the carnival feels like from the inside. The good, bad and the ugly.
Joining Batukinio, Cyprus’ only Afro-Brazilian percussion band, and one of the parade’s headlining groups, the carnival experience changed completely. It was no longer just a day to dress up and watch the fun from afar but a period of tireless rehearsals for moments of real joy.
In Limassol, the carnival is ten days of madness, and its best moments aren’t even the Sunday parade.
The season, and my own experience started on Tsiknopempti (stinky Thursday), effectively a public holiday for the people of Limassol. Driving down Ayias Zonis street, I stopped at the traffic lights. Music was blasting from several bars, filled with masqueraded party-goers. A woman dressed in a cow costume stopped traffic, taking the dance party onto the street, urging me to get out of the car and join her. A stranger, wanting to spread the love.
It instantly put me in a good mood, but I had no time to waste. I had to get to Anexartisias Street to meet my fellow percussionists and get ready for a performance we had been preparing for, for months perfecting every step and beat. Being selected for the official carnival programme by Limassol Municipality is an honour, and a responsibility that Limassolians take seriously. Batukinio maestro Rodos Panayiotou, whose team has led the carnival parade since 2010, knows this well.
As we wait to perform at Grigoris Afxentiou Square to kick off the activities, crowds gather around us. All eyes are on our maestro. “Stay focused and most of all,” he tells us, “enjoy it!”
It is exhilarating playing those samba sounds, and especially being so close to the audience. The party continues into the night as dressed-up party goers pour into the streets, merrily dancing. The evening might well be the highlight of the Limassol carnival.
Another highlight is the Podarati parade, where performers lead crowds dancing through the old town to Castle Square where they are greeted by spectators in costume, many entering the Crazy Mask Competition.
Many of these costumes are a satire on Cypriot society and politics, a cultural phenomenon worth witnessing when for one week of the year, the carnival allows us to find humour in life’s absurdities and corruption.
When the Sunday parade arrives, adrenaline is high. For participating groups, it is a long day. For the performers, it is an endurance marathon. Thrilling and exhausting.
“Participating in the carnival is a core life moment,” says fellow Batukinio percussionist Aimilia. “Every time I beat my drum, I feel like I leave behind whatever troubles me. In that moment, I become part of the rhythm. The music, especially the Afro-Brazilian rhythm, is powerful. It sweeps you away.”
Looming large in the parade’s contagious energy is every carnival performer’s enemy – spray foam. For some reason, they have become associated with carnival fun in Cyprus, yet there is no bigger danger when you are performing than to have chemicals sprayed directly into the eyes, ears or mouth, or get tangled up in the instruments.
“This is the other side of the carnival,” says Aimilia. “Mixed with the heat and exhaustion are the sprays that fall everywhere. Trying to play when there is mayhem around you is something else. They don’t show that on TV!”
Confetti is everywhere too. That’s to be expected though but it is still hard to believe that Limassol Municipality, with the help of City Friends Club, gathered 35 tonnes of paper waste in its speedy clean-up this year.
The situation with the spray is so dire that Batukinio and the Majorettes Girl Guides Association Limassol had to hire private security to stop people from spraying performers, often having to explain to angry crowds why sprays are not part of carnival etiquette.
“The foam sprays were never actually a tradition related to the Limassol carnival,” says Rafaella Karalli, the leader of the Majorettes, who’s been participating in the carnival since she was two. “The wax eggs filled with paper confetti were one of our age-old traditions. I remember when we would make our own paper confetti with old newspapers and magazines. The foams came later, with no real reason or meaning. Initially, they were created to be used by professional clowns and magicians – not by everyday people. They are one of the biggest problems we face.”
Rafaella has been on a mission for the last two years to restrict spray sales. She took the issue to Parliament, working alongside Limassol Municipality and the department of the environment.
Official announcements this year discouraged people from buying or selling spray bottles, both for environmental and safety reasons. “They can cause skin and vision problems, and contain carcinogenic and flammable ingredients,” explains Rafaella, “they destroy costumes and make dancers slip and fall.”
The Limassol carnival has become a cultural, historical landmark for Cyprus. Yet its flippancy often faces criticism when the state has more important issues to focus on, while money could be better spent elsewhere, not to mention the growing amount of waste.
“My wish,” Rafaella concludes, “is that people respect the artists and carnival lovers a bit more because for us in Limassol, this tradition is in our veins. The colour and hope it offers might make this world slightly better one day.”
From the inside, Limassol’s carnival is a celebration of life, creativity and dedication and a reminder of how powerful collective joy can be.
