The Andalucían Processions of Semana Santa: Málaga and Granada

First you hear the drums, a marching beat, but slower.  Then the woodwinds, the brass, the trumpets shrilly scraping the upper registers.  But this isn’t Sousa.  It’s not your standard major key yay rah siss koom bah.  There are darker notes, older notes, the sorts of notes you could hear coming out of a cave, where guitar, voice, and claps rush and spin forward.

You catch a whiff of a pine-ier Nag Champa, a light haze.  And then you see the figures, cloaked and hooded, white and red, white and purple, black, royal blue faces invisible, and eyes black holes.  The conical hat that we as Americans have only ever associated with one thing, although you are in the presence of something that predates that hate and intimidation by hundreds of years.

And this sense of time-travel predominates.  Even as the processions go by Vodafone stores and Starbucks, the spell of being transported is hard to break.  You feel as if you’re watching something unfold as ancient as the scenes that are depicted on the floats, the entrance of Jesus to Jerusalem, his crucifixion, the resurrection, the solemnness of Mary. 

Semana Santa or Holy Week is one of the biggest and unique festivals in Spain, taking place the week leading up to Easter.  But unlike some other festivals like Las Fallas, Semana Santa is a devout and sober affair.  While people, from kids to grandparents, will be in the streets until three AM or later, observing or taking part in the processions, there is not general merriment and festivity during this time.  But the sheer volume of people, many of them relatives of people participating in the processions, others tourists, Spanish and non-Spanish alike, creates a one of a kind experience.

While the most famous Semana Santa processions take place in Sevilla, they are widely held in many of the cities in Spain, but those in Andalucía are some of the most spectacular.  We were in Granada and for the first Sunday and then moved on to Málaga for two days.  Both cities didn’t disappoint in the pageantry and the power of the processions. 

Even as a foreigner twice over (non-Catholic and non-Spaniard), I was moved by the solemnity, the tradition, and the power of the processions.  One of the first ones I saw was in Granada, where we waited for at least half an hour in a shoulder to shoulder crowd outside one of the main cathedrals of the city. 

I was a bit dehydrated after walking around a lot in the heat (and maybe a bit of a tapa-heavy lunch) and so was trying to hold it together and not pass out in the crowd.  After slipping out briefly to sit down for a second and gathering myself, I made it back just in time to watch an enormous Jesus float emerge from the doors of the cathedral, carried on the shoulders of at least 60 men.

As they moved down the steps and finally hoisted the float up, it was as if the physical effort of lifting such a heavy object, constructed of earthly materials but depicting the spiritual, was simultaneously a spiritual “lifting” or ascension, powered by faith, accomplished by the individual submitting himself to the greatness and strength of the whole, making the apparently impossible possible. 

I was also struck by the familial nature of the whole process.  The otherworldly spell of the hooded procession marchers was broken, or better, transfigured, when a human face appeared from behind the hood, greeting, hugging, dos beso-ing, his or her family members who were there to support their efforts in this most traditional of Spanish traditions. 

All this being said, unless one is very invested in the procession, in their Catholic import, after a few days, you get the idea of the processions and can probably move on.  The density of the crowds makes exploring a city hard.  Also, as I said earlier, the processions are very sober and important affairs for the vast majority of the people, and they don’t take kindly to cutting across processions (which becomes inevitable if you want to get anywhere) or otherwise behaving in “dumb foreigner” type ways.  Also, accommodations tend to be harder to come by the further into Semana Santa you are. 

In short, Semana Santa is a must see for anyone who is in Spain during that particular March or April week (especially auxiliares who get that nice fat vacation), but don’t feel obligated to spend the entire week because the processions take priority over whatever else you might want to see in a city or cities.

Valencia y Las Fallas

My trip to Valencia included neither of the two main draws of the city for tourists:  the beaches (it was too cold) or the Ciudad de las Artes y las Ciencias, Valencia’s space age architectural wunderkid museum/aquarium.  But, it did include one of Spain’s most bombastic festivals.  Las Fallas is celebrated in honor of St. Joseph every March for 5 days, culminating on March 19^th.  I got to go to Valencia with the family of one of the students I teach, and we arrived Friday evening before the festival had started in earnest and while many of the finishing touches were being put onto the fallas.  I was there for the weekend leading up to las fallas, and so while I didn’t experience the fiery conclusion of the festival, I got my fair share of explosions and revelry.  Once the festival gets rolling it doesn’t stop until the end, with parades, people dressed up in traditional costumes, dancing, partying, and drinking going all night and all day.

Las fallas are very elaborate paper-mâché monuments that are constructed throughout the year by neighborhood groups leading up to the festival.  They are frequently scenes depicting either fictitious or real figures, frequently political, and satire and lampooning is extremely common and is a means of speaking out against a political climate that has long been mired by corruption and cronyism.  More or less every block will have their own falla, some less intricate and maybe 15 feet tall, others extremely detailed and reaching as high as the 5 or 6 story buildings surrounding them. 

After seeing a lot of the fallas on Friday night, we went on Saturday morning to go check out the Mercat Central, Valencia’s modernista masterpiece of a market, and which is one of the oldest still operational markets in Europe.  Everything from ruby red strawberries to legs of jamón to monkfish to craft beer is obtainable, and the central dome of the market is a beautiful combination of tiles and steel framing.

Practically next door is La Lonja de la Seda, which is a building dating back to the 15^th century that used to serve as the main area of silk commerce in Valencia.  Its outer façade is almost castle-like, and the interior courtyard is filled with orange trees and fountains.  

The main room features thick, cork-screw like pillars and a domed ceiling, made possible by the riches gained through the silk trade that passed through Valencia from Asia to the rest of continental Europe. 

After exploring the mercat and La Lonja, we made our way towards the Ajuntament, following the crowd of people.  Each day of the festival at 2 PM in the afternoon is la mascletà, a minutely composed firecracker performance that lasts a good 7 minutes or so.  

I use the word “composed” deliberately; the mascletà is made up of different timbres of firecrackers ranging from short shrill stacatto pops, to deeper bass booms, flim flams, timpani tams, schreeches, and whines, all organized in a cohesive and rhythmic fashion.  It sounds like an enormous drum line performing, and billows of smoke from the explosions waft down the streets and obscure the Ajuntament where the mascletà takes place. Listen and watch below.

And once las fallas starts, the mascletà only represents the most artfully arranged noise amidst a constant barrage of pops and pips and other explosions.  Everyone, and I mean everyone, from little 2 or 3 year olds to 80 year old grandmas and grandpas, are lighting and throwing firecrackers or petardos all over the place, inside, outside, off of balconies, wherever. 

It’s the epitome of the no pasa nada ethos, and kids of all ages are handling fire and little explosives.  Perhaps the most Spanish thing I’ve ever seen is when a mother took a petardo from the box, held the fuse up to her lit cigarette, and handed it to her son who couldn’t have been more than 5 years old, and who promptly threw it 10 or so feet away and watched it pop before reaching for another one to throw.  If I had a euro for every time a Spaniard said “Sabemos que se dicen no jugar con fuego, pero….” (We know that they say not to play with fire, but…), I would’ve been a rich man. 

And yet, nobody seems to get hurt, at least not too badly.  I watched one kid have a firecracker blow up right behind him, and besides crying out “ay mi culo,” he was back to throwing firecrackers a few minutes later and even offered me a few to throw.  All of my American safety first conditioning was going off like a fire alarm inside my head, but it eventually kind of short circuited because you just get used to it.  At first, it sounds like a war zone going on, but it just becomes normal after a bit.

If rampant and near omnipresent detonations seem like a recipe for disaster, las fallas comes to a close on March 19^th with la cremà, where all of the fallas (and there are hundreds throughout the city) are burned to the ground.  The final falla to be burned is the largest one that is in the main city square in front of the Ajuntament, which this year was a giant lion, and which you can watch below.

I wasn’t present for la cremà, but even what I experienced was something completely unique.  Basically imagine America’s Fourth of July celebrations, but 10 times more intense, that goes for 5 straight days without ceasing and then which involves massive and very artfully done monuments being burned to the ground in the middle of major city streets all over the place.  Although las fallas is celebrated in other cities in la Comunitat Valenciana, the celebration is most intense and wide-spread in the city of Valencia itself, and has been occurring for hundreds of years.