The Rico Petersons in Spain

Saturday, May 31, 2014

La Vida Española: Everyone’s invited!

One of the things I love most about Spain, besides the exquisite beauty of its countryside and the crumbling palaces and cobblestone streets, is the powerful sense of community and exuberance that permeates our town. The celebrations during Semana Santa, “Sainted Week,” are full of life and a crosscut of the entire community, from the very young to the very old and everyone in between.

My aunts Heide and Traute blended right in!

In Spain, as opposed to other places I’ve lived, people don’t segregate according to age. Go to the Gaslamp district in San Diego on a Friday night, and you will see the 21-to-30-year-old crowd almost exclusively. Not here. Hit downtown Puerto at midnight on Friday, and you will see infants in strollers, parents watching their toddlers play, teenagers partying in botellones (street drinking, while not exactly legal, is tolerated, and a plastic bag with a bottle of gin and 2 liters of tonic is common). Older people hang out with their grown children at the outdoor cafes, and it’s not uncommon to see grandmas in wheelchairs being pushed through the streets by their kids or grandkids.

Watching the processions

During Semana Santa, this mixed community is even more obvious. Semana Santa is the week-long celebration of processions leading up to Easter, and probably the most religious time in Spain, at least in Andalucia. My aunts Traute and Heide were in town for a visit; this was particularly fortuitous for Traute, a long-time Catholic. That didn’t mean she wasn’t shocked by the hoods and eyeslits worn by the pentitentes during the processions; these Ku-Klux-Klan-lookalike costumes are startling to just about everyone the first time you see hundreds of cloaked figures come down a darkening street.

Click here to see what I'm talking about

Here they come...intimidating at first

Menancing?

But there’s the community: Everyone comes out to see the processions. Or so it seems. There are all ages, from babies to the oldest senior citizen, watching and clapping as the tortuously heavy floats, borne by dozens of men known as cargadores, are revolved around corners and under electrical wiring in Puerto’s narrow streets.

Click here to see a procession

Semana Santa is a whole-sensory experience, with the visuals of the stunning floats bearing suffering Christ and a radiantly sorrowful and exquisitely beautiful Maria. These icons, or statues, or whatever you’d like to call them, have taken on much more meaning for me; seeing them in their alters at the church, I found them beautiful but mildly amusing, dressed in splendor that Jesus and Maria would never had seen. Now that these figures have passed right past the front door of my house, they have taken on a life of their own, becoming familiar and dear to me.

A visit by an old friend...or so it seems

Click here to see another procession!

The visual is accented by the odor of incense and the mournful laments of the bands. All ages participate in the bands as well, and I continue to be amazed at the quality of music achieved by these multi-age marchers. Primarily made up of trumpets and other brass instruments and supplemented by drums, you can see all ages, men, women, boys, girls, teenagers, and everyone in between, playing and marching together in unison.

Looking for wax

And these processions include the onlookers, including our American, very-much-not-Catholic kids. The penitentes carry large, long candles to light their way through these 4-to-5 hour-long processions, and as they stop to rest and switch out cargadores—the onlookers clapping appreciatively every time the float is hoisted successfully—children of all ages dart out with balls to collect the wax. Tia and Sasha have accumulated an impressive bola; Griffin and Ado keep losing theirs and have had to start over several times. But the interaction delights our kids, and we watch them slipping from one candle-bearer to the other, intent on their part of the celebration, while the ever-tolerant Spaniards watch and even help them with their task.

Not so scary after all

And the Spanish are nothing if not tolerant, on all sides. During the morning procession, which begins at the church at 5 am, the silent penitentes wind their way through the narrow streets to the riverfront, passing by the Resbaladero, home to no fewer than 4 discos. As the procession stopped before its turn up the street right around 7 am, the partygoers spilled out of the dance halls, loud and drunk. The contrast was fascinating, and I waited to see what would happen, as the discos usually are open until 8 or 9 in the morning. But after watching for a few minutes, the nightlife crowd dispersed into the onlookers, joining the crowds and clapping for the cargadores. Or maybe they just went home, I’m not sure. Whatever it was, the discos turned off their pumping club music, closed their doors; it was peaceful and friendly, and as the sun rose, the procession band gathered at the corner fell into step and began to play.

Santa Maria's float

Click here to see Santa Maria pass by

Monday, March 31, 2014

Carnaval en El Puerto de Santa Maria

Cádiz is king of carnaval here in Spain; the chirigotas illegales on every streetcorner continue to charm and enchant me (click here to see my first carnaval post). (A chirigota is a singing group, like the guys below, who wander the streets in outlandish costumes and, well, sing.)

A chirigota rollercoaster that sings

Click here to see this chirigota in action!

Unfettered from its catholic origins (carnaval is originally, like Mardi Gras, the last big blowout before the six somber weeks of Lent), carnaval extends beyond Ash Wednesday and into the weekends on either side. A combination of singing, music, political satire, street party, and Halloween, the Andalusians don’t just dress up in any old costume to hit the streets. Instead, groups of friends get together and dress up around some sort of theme. Puerto has its own carnaval, lower-key but right down the street. Perfect!

Creative and irreverent: A hilarious version of the flying nuns

When I got the message from my friend Angeline that we were supposed to wear white with a red bandana and be from San Fermín, I could sort of imagine it, but I had to do some research on Google first. San Fermín is the patron saint of the July festival in Pamplona, that crazy place where locos run with the bulls; this famous and dangerous free-for-all event included, one year, my cousin Dean, and usually involves some 200 injuries each year and even the occasional death as runners/revelers (usually alcohol-fueled) get trampled at some point, either by the bull or other runners.

Watch out for that bull!

What a great idea! How hilarious! Suzi and I got out our whites, our friend Montse provided us with red bandanas, and we found red sashes to match. Now…what to do with Todd and Ethan?

Pamplona, here we come

Neither husband had white pants or anything red. “I’m going in my gorilla suit,” Todd announced. “Oh, what a shame we don’t have anything to make Ethan into a matador,” Suzi sighed. But wait! I had the perfect matador jacket in my closet, just a little too big for me! And kulats! And pink tights from Tia! And a pink apron that could double as a cape! Our friend Asun came through with a matador hat, we stole Griffin’s new toy sword, and a matador was born.

Olé toro!

Now..what about that gorilla? How about…horns? In a flash, horns were sewed to the gorilla’s head, and the first Bullrilla ever came into existence.

Just as scary as the real thing...maybe more so

Fueling up to run

Why can't we be friends?

Ten runners dressed in white with red neckerchiefs hit the streets of Puerto that night, highly amused by the bull-and-torero combination. Just to ensure that no one got hurt, four good sports dressed up as beautiful nurses and volunteered to follow us with the hospital (aka beer) cart down the street.