We stopped a couple of locals walking past and asked what it was all about. We expected it to be a celebration of the life of some wonderfully important local hero. Maybe the world knitting champion came from round these parts.
No one damages them.
No one cuts them off and steals them.
It has been going on for quite a while.
Eventually they lose their colour and wear away. Then another batch appears.
We were lucky to see them at their newest. Each one was clean and crisp and beautifully in shape. They ran on down the railings for 200 meters I guess. I could have photographed each one. They were glorious.
Our guides insist than no one knows anything about it. The newspaper has reported on it and still there is no claim of ownership.
We stood and took pictures and grinned at them all till a family walked by, little boy with them. He was looking at them like we were. Suddenly he burst into laughter.
“Dad, Dad, a house with hands!!!”
I loved that - he totally accepted knitting sewn onto the pier, but a house with hands was just too much for him.