Maribor. A fierce rival of our city, Ljubljana. Situated in Styria in the northeastern part of Slovenia it is – or it is trying to be – simultaneously completely different and as similar as possible as the capital.
Being slightly smaller, having a different history and different socioeconomic landscape (Maribor had way more basic industry than Ljubljana), and the fact that Ljubljana became the capital of Slovenia while Maribor, well, didn’t, the post-socialist development of the largest city in Slovenian Styria was somewhat hindered. That brought about a lot of resentment, a lot of one-sided rivalry, but also a lot of pride.
But there are things where Maribor easily bests Ljubljana, sometimes by a margin. Among these is one of the best festivals in Slovenia, Festival Lent – a festival of music, theatre, opera and ballet, creativity, and culture in general; a festival Maribor lives with and for to the max – a festival Maribor is deservedly proud of.
So when the organizers of a creative offshoot of Festival Lent, Art kamp, called and asked if we would be willing to do a couple of kite workshops there, we responded in a second.
Yes!
And we got to stay in a 16th century mansion!
A kite workshop for kids is a tricky business even when everything is strictly under control. On a festival where kids are dropping in randomly, a workshop can quickly descend into chaos. But we were well prepared, and we had all the advice and warnings of our good friends and master kite workshoppers Žuža and Žare in the back of our heads.
Our kite workshops were scheduled for Saturday and Sunday; three workshops before noon, four in the afternoon. With twelve kids per workshop (we didn’t have more tables available) and fourteen workshops altogether we were looking at some 170-200 kites to be made in two days. And a 50 kite safety margin, because you never know.
So we got enough of the 60 g flipchart paper for 250 kites. A bag of crayons for decorating the kites. Chinese paper for tails, 5 tails per kite. 250 rolls of string for the bridles and for the kite lines. Twelve large sticky tape rolls for strengthening the edges and attaching the spars. And a bamboo roll-up window blind for spars, 4 spars per kite.
And then it is all about order and discipline. We shall wait for those twelve kids to assemble and sit down, we tell the other kids to come back in an hour, and we begin the workshop. It should be easy, nice and smooth.
It wasn’t.
“Can I make a kite, mister?”
“Of course!”
A little girl sat down, and we handed her a piece of paper, told her to make a square of it, and colour it as she liked. She was already halfway through her artwork when two sisters came in with a friend. And then a little boy, and two more, and five more, and …
We were ten minutes into the workshop and were already lost.
To make this type of kite one has to follow ten simple steps. Make a square piece of paper. Strengthen the edges with tape. Colour the kite with crayons. Attach the spine with tape. Attach the bent cross-spar. Fix three tails on the bottom corner and two tails on both the left and the right corner of the kite. Make two holes in the paper close to the point where the spars cross. Pull a piece of string through the holes, around both spars, and tie it. Attach the kite line to the string. Go and fly your kite.
The absolutely crucial point of a kite workshop is that all the kids finish one step before they begin the next one. Otherwise you get chaos with some of the kids still colouring while the others are making the bridle and others still are selecting the right colour of the tails for their kite – and you simply lose control, jumping around from one kid to another trying to solve a myriad of problems simultaneously.
And despite all the warnings Žuža and Žare gave us, against all advice and against our firm determination not to screw up, this was exactly what happened in the first ten minutes of our first workshop.
Because we just couldn’t say no to a little girl asking if she could make a kite.
The problem with losing control of one workshop is that it spills to the next one. We had a couple of kids colouring, a couple taping the spars, a couple making the bridle – and the moment one of the kids went running with a finished kite, a new kid sat down and began making their own.
There was no break between workshops; there was just one, giant, rolling, never-ending workshop with a stream of kids – and their parents! – coming in and another stream running off to the meadow flying kites.
At one o’clock we had a scheduled break. With a huge help of Eva we managed to cut off the incoming stream at half past one, and the last kid ran into the distance at two.
The kids made 150 kites in four hours.
It was fantastic, of course, and beautiful, and fun, and touching – but we were already completely exhausted, and another huge problem was looming: we had enough stuff for 250 kites that were to be made during the two days, and we squandered 60 % of it in the first session. Three more were planned.
Now what.
For the Saturday afternoon session we swore we wouldn’t repeat the mistake; we’d wait for the kids to sit down, tell the late-comers to wait for the next workshop, and we’d wait for all the kids to finish one step before they begin the next one.
And it worked. But …
Yet again we couldn’t say no firmly enough, and instead of four scheduled workshops with twelve kids for the afternoon session, it looked like we’d have seven of them with twenty kids per workshop.
“The bamboo roll-up is coming to an end.”
“God dammit! The roll-up? How could that happen?”
“Oh, and we are also running out of tails …”
“Bloody hell…”
“And rolls of thread …”
“…”
The patang-type kite the kids were making is very … spar-intensive. With four spars per kite the kids went through the bamboo blind like fire. We needed to change the type of kite, because we’d run out of spars before the end of the first day.
Luckily, we had a lot of that ultra-light “Chinese” paper, so we switched patangs for sleds – hexagonal kites made from a sheet of coloured paper with only two shorter spars (one stick of bamboo is good for two of them), and only two tails.
“What colour do you want your kite to be?”
This is an important question, because Maribor is violet, and Ljubljana is green. The rivalry goes right down to the colours.
“Green.”
“Excellent choice, sir!”
One small win for the capital …
We lost count, but at eight o’clock when the last workshop of the day was completed, we had just enough stuff for maybe five workshops left, and we were so tired we couldn’t move or think straight.
The kids made 250 kites that day.
Yet despite the exhaustion, despite the depletion of our kite making supplies, despite all the chaos – we were witnessing something totally beautiful, something very touching.
When kids are making a kite, they go through a couple of phases. At first it’s exciting, “I’m gonna make a kite!”. Then it’s total concentration when they are decorating their kites with crayons (some of the kids made true masterpieces!).
Then the whole affair becomes more and more boring with all the cutting and taping and attaching the strings … and just before they lose interest, the kite is finished. They go to the meadow and let the string out and start running – and the kite flies up into the sky.
And their eyes light up.
“Look! I made this! All by myself! And it flies! It works!”
And they were running and running and running in the hot sun for hours, and the sky was full of kites.
The organizers came to us lying completely exhausted around the tables still covered in pieces of paper, crayons, broken spars, scissors, tape, and loose threads.
“Guys, that was fantastic!”
A sincere praise can do wonders, and we stood up. It was the next thing they said that really made us going again.
“It’s time for a beer.”
It was. Not only that, we were led to the secret VIP backstage, where they had a large keg of beer and a tap.
“You are the kiters? Wow! All this beer is for you! Enjoy!”
Our kite workshop was a total success, beyond all the expectations – both ours and the organizers’.
The night went on; we had dinner, we went to a former monastery for a techno DJ after party, and then to a one man band concert in the courtyard of the mansion we were staying at.
The night endeth with the sun coming out.
The plan for Sunday was simple: we shall make sled kites until we run out of the supplies. We would try to limit the number of kids at the workshop, but we shouldn’t really bother much. Whatever happens, happens.
At twelve o’clock we ran out of tails. At one the we were out of thread. At half past two the last piece of the bamboo roll-up blind was used.
The workshops were over.
All in all, the kids made 350 kites in two early and one afternoon sessions.
Three hundred and fifty.
Maribor became a kite city.
But we weren’t finished yet.
We still had an afternoon session, and while we were out of supplies for kite workshops, we had our giant kites with us. There was no wind (the city park is full of giant trees so even if there were, the turbulence would make serious kite flying but impossible) but when did lack of wind stop a bunch of intrepid kiters?
We rolled our trilobite out, pulled some 30 meters of line, and we ran.
The giant monster rose up.
And the kids lost it.
Screaming. Running, Trying to catch the giant kite. More screaming. More running.
“Can I try, mister?”
“Of course!”
The kids were pulling the line, they carried the kite back to the launching point, they helped prepare the kite for take off … and they were running and screaming, screaming and running. The air was filled with pure, unmitigated joy.
Did the trilobite end up in a tree? Of course it did …
At six we couldn’t do it no more. Even the trilobite was tired.
And with that, the most amazing kite weekend was over.
We are still tired, our bodies are heavy, but our heads are light and content. We introduced Maribor to kites, and Maribor gave us so much more than we bargained for.
We owe many many thanks to the Art kamp team, to Eva especially, to Mišel and Teja and Vladimir and Dejan and everyone else all who made this fantastic event possible.
But the biggest thanks go to all the kids who were making kites, running with kites, running after kites and brought us all so much joy and so much fun our happy reservoirs are completely full.
To tell the truth – they are overflowing.
Brilliant. In every respect.
Thank you, Trevor … 🙂