Travelling Trunks

At 2.00 am in the morning, as the scent of incense permeated through the street, the sounds of the now-ever-so-familiar music cut through the chatter and the glow of the cirio or large candles carried by the nazarenos (members of the brotherhood) cast their shadows all around, the front door of my historic Airbnb was thrown open by my host. Out came a chair for me (I had been sitting on the steps), a can of beer, delicious slices of cold chicken, and potato wafers. This was life! Where else could I be sitting out in the early hours of the morning, in peace and comfort (and safety) to watch one of the most revered Semana Santa processions? This was La Madrugá (the period between midnight and sunrise) in Seville, an emotionally intense night when processions start from brotherhood churches on Maundy Thursday night and return on Good Friday. And this was the Hermandad (Brotherhood) de la Macarena, the largest of them all with over 5000 people in procession. It would take three hours for them to just pass me by.

Soon, passing nazarenos and band members would stop by and step into my Airbnb to use the restroom and freshen up, their magnificent, decorative headgear perched almost as props on the bric-a-brac of this heritage home. That’s when it struck me – what a wonderful example of community participation and celebration Semana Santa in Seville was. One where homes were thrown open to accommodate the bio breaks of passing processionists; where singers rendered impromptu, soulful saetas (songs of lamentation or penitence) from the balconies of their homes in tribute to Jesus Christ and Virgin Mary as their floats passed by; where buckets of floral petals rained down in blessing and gratitude from terraces of homes onto Virgin Mary’s float; where little children and nazarenos in processions handed out candy and religious pictures to the watching crowds (I myself had a fair collection of both after eight days); where other little children in the crowds would run up to the passing nazarenos to make balls of wax from the dripping ‘holy’ candles, their balls growing in size with each passing procession; where stores/bars/Airbnb homes freely handed out Semana Santa programmes to the public; and where residents came from across the city dressed in their Sunday best to be a part of the magnificence that was Semana Santa. When it rained one evening, the street cleaners distributed their plastic bags as headcovers to the public.

I asked a group of young boys that night (who also sat through all three hours) what drew them to Semana Santa. It was a spiritual attraction that just could not be described they said, one that been woven into their lives since childhood and which meant so much more than attending mass in church. Today they had come to see Our Lady of Hope or La Virgen de La Esperanza de Macarena “because she was the oldest and richest”. Some would say she was also the grandest and most magnificent in Seville, although the Triana neighbourhood would perhaps dispute that and hand the title over to Virgen de la Esperanza de Triana or Our Lady of Hope of Triana.

My second trip to Andalucia was a voyage of discovery to experience Semana Santa or Holy Week that a cousin had told me so much about. The celebrations which begin on Palm Sunday and conclude on Easter Sunday are a demonstration of pomp and pageantry, a story of the passion and death of Christ in many stories, but also a celebration with and of the people.

All through Holy Week, several processions a day set out from the parish church of the brotherhoods and make their way through the town via pre-designated routes and through the cathedral before returning to their church. The processions include nazarenos, penitentes, marching bands, sometimes clergy, sometimes public servants and several others determined by the brotherhood. The manner in which they emerge from the church is a well-practised art of precision and manoeuvre, leaving the crowds responding with bated breath, gasps, and finally much joy and clapping. The highlights of each procession are the ornately decorated pasos (floats) which include one of El Cristo (Christ) usually in gold and one of La Virgen (The Virgin) usually in silver. Depicting scenes from the Passion and like a moving art show, the intricate décor of the pasos and the splendour in which La Virgen is dressed tell of the wealth and lineage of the brotherhood. I was told that, much like how our Bollywood movies set fashion trends, the locals take fashion tips from the attire of La Virgen every year.

Through my time in Andalucia, as I wound my way through little and big towns, I was able to capture the magic of Semana Santa in various stages of preparation and readiness. In the beautiful white town of Frigiliana where homes had recently been brushed sandy brown by a Sahara sandstorm, the mayor was out on the streets along with key local officials supervising the cleaning of the buildings. Semana Santa in this town starts the Friday before Palm Sunday as el Viernes de Dolores (Friday of the Sorrows). In Jerez, the world capital of sherry, viewing galleries for VIPs and paying members of the public were being set up in the heart of the old town. In the enchanting little town of Arcos de la Frontera, I hopped out of my accommodation in the week preceding Holy Week and walked straight into a brotherhood of practising costaleros.

The costaleros who carry the heavy pasos are so named because of the white protective garment or el costal they wear on their heads to take the weight of the pasos. I watched in amazement as they made their way through the narrow, winding streets and up the steps of Iglesia San Pedro, their view completely covered under the canopy of the paso. If the pasos were all about grandeur and pageantry, their movements were all about timing, precision, trust and amazing coordination between each team member. When carrying El Cristo, the steps are normal but when carrying Le Virgen, the swaying movement of the costaleros gave her a lovely swing and swag.

I reached Malaga in time for the start of the Semana Santa processions on Palm Sunday, completely awestruck by what I witnessed, a feeling that would continue right through the processions I saw in Granada and later in Seville, in all around 55 of them that I could manage.

Although Semana Santa is rooted in Christian beliefs and Andalusian folklore and is a tradition that is several hundreds of years old, its magnificence and appeal are as strong even to this day. With several processions during the week – in  Seville alone, around 60 processions with more than 50,000 participating – guides and schedules come in handy to help one decide where to be when, and what to watch where. Should it be on Puente de Isabel II, a famous bridge connecting Seville and Triana; or should it be at the entrance of the ornate Catedral de Santa María de la Sede; or should it be at Basílica de la Macarena Seville when the Virgin de la Macarena returns amidst much singing and cheer; or should it be El Silencio, the stunning silent procession at night. I remember going to bed at 530 am after watching the Hermandad de la Macarena and getting up at 8 am to catch the solemnity of La Esparanza de Triana making its way over the Triana Bridge.

In between the processions, there are other attractions like Maundy Thursday in Seville when the town is dotted black with women beautifully dressed in La Mantillas, as a symbol of mourning, striking a beautiful contrast against the brownstone facades of the churches. In between are the sangrias and wines to be enjoyed or the torrijas, a local French toast of sorts and fritter-like pestiños,  considered to be Semana Santa specialties.

On Easter Sunday, after a glorious week, Seville sees a very low-key public celebration with festivity moving from the streets to one’s homes and families. I woke up in time to watch pasos of the risen Le Cristo and La Virgen emerge from the church doors of Iglaesia de Santa Marina and slowly made my way back to my Airbnb, soaking in what had been an absolutely fabulous week. As I arrived back at my Airbnb, I found that the procession had reached my street, and the now familiar “Al cielo con ella” (life her to the sky/heavens – La Virgen) cut through the air as the costaleros once again lifted up La Virgen, allowing me one last glimpse of her manto and the magnificence I had experienced all through Holy Week. It was almost like she had come by for one final goodbye!