Just before we left our hotel to catch a train to Seville a military procession came by right below our balcony. All uniformed personel of the city and government is allowed to participate in Semana Santa, they don’t see this as a threat against the secular state. There was a constitutional challenge in 2011, but it did not succeed: “when a religious tradition is integrated into the social fabric of a particular group, it cannot be argued that public authorities intend to convey support for or adherence to religious tenets through it.”
I don’t know if rudeness and feeling entitled always go together, but sadly here, it turns out frequently originates from American tourists. You know Krisztina, she always pays attention to make sure we don’t block anyone’s views when we pick our spot to watch the processions. We were just trying to find a place to stand, a family in the front row told us to keep moving to somewhere else, saying “what are you thinking, we came two hours early to secure this spot!” I guess for them all this is just a spectacle. No doubt they were right, but conflict so often rises from what is right and just, even when you could easily make space for others. As it happened two days later a Spanish family with three children, baby carriage, a grandma sitting on a small stool, pointed us to a little space behind them allowing us to stand there.
On our last day we decided to go down to the marina and beach, beautiful sunny day. We took a short catamaran cruise to enjoy the sea. I was sitting on a net just above the water, a playground for adults, I guess. This unplanned excursion turned out to be one of the highlights of our stay here in Malaga.
When you travel your experiences are so intense that there is not much place left for things you used to get daily dose of. Like news. It’s not that I am now indifferent or no longer care for what is going in the world, but this natural isolation suddenly feels right, works like a cleansing of some sort. Me and my daily troubles are getting separated. In a strange way I became an outsider in my own life.
Above the obvious religious significance there is something else in these events. The way those huge gates and doors open up one after other in different point of the city to the heartbeat of loud drums and how the processions slowly making their way using different routes to the city center, there is something deeply moving and unique in that. You would think that this week is just another way to draw tourists to this city, but I heard more spanish than German, English or French around me. The entire city participates, and it is not just for show. Isn’t this a perfect proof that communities need customs, traditions not just to survive, but to thrive? Traditions are participatory, alive when practiced together. Symbolic acts that are performed regularly are connection points not just to their past but to each other, extremely important that links generations, revitalize shared understanding, replenishes memories you can hold on to during difficult times. This is awesome, what an unforgettable experience. You know me, I would do anything to avoid crowds, but this is different. I never thought that just standing there with so many people, witnessing together something to unfold can be so peaceful. Reverence that I thought completely disappeared from this world.
On our way back from Ronda we stopped at another special place, Setenil. The old town here was completely build under a cave, right beside the river. Honestly I thought we don’t have enough time to sit down for a meal, knowing how slow service can be in Spanish restaurants. I have to admit I had some serious anxiety to get back on time to catch our bus. I got the look and Krisztina sat down at one of the tables. We ordered a local Andalusian speciality, pork knuckle. I am not kidding, a tall guy walking by our table leaned close to get a smell, and asked us which food is this on the menu, saying that he tried similar looking item in Germany and other countries before. The taste was amazing, and not just because we had too many sandwiches in the last couple days.
After spending a week in the city, we wanted to get a taste for the Andalusian countryside. The hosanna of yesterday continued today with, nature, flowers, birds in the small towns of Ronda. This was one of Hemingway’s favorite places in Spain. After about two hours of bus ride we arrived to a city that was exactly how I always imagined Spain to be, the streets, the architecture, the incredible view to the valley below. And most importantly here we experienced what we came for after climbing up to a church tower. We were sitting up there on a terrace and it was like getting immersed in peace, we felt it so much, tranquility and harmony.
Each neighborhood of the city has its own brotherhood, men and sometimes women have the job to carry these extremely heavy thrones around the city. The route takes about 6 hours to complete with several stops along the way, including the cathedral. Big crowds are waiting for them at the end, at their local church to return. Here is a video that probably shows how difficult this is.
We wanted to see how these large thrones are getting out of their churches, we stood at the entrance of St. John, that is right beside our hotel. What an incredible sight when they appear from the dark and slowly in swinging motion moving forward to an unbelievably narrow street.
They have to manage a ramp carrying about 9000 lbs weight
People lining up the streets on the procession route. First you hear the drums, then the marching band, then the thrones are slowly getting closer and closer, carried by hundreds of man. The atmosphere must of been something similar in Jerusalem on that particular day. Well, let’s talk about the hood or mask, here they call it capirote, it has nothing to do with kkk, the customs they are related to are older than 300 years. They represent anonymous repentance before God. We also saw little children with small piece of aluminum foil in their hand asking the Nazarenos (people wearing the mask) to drip vax on the foil. Every day they accumulate more and more vax, growing their ball to represent their participation in holy week.
