Semana Santa

Americans don't really know how to watch parades.  We cheer marching bands and stand a little straighter when military units snap by.  We cheer when long legged girls in shiny black boots come by tossing batons in the air.  But we don't really know how to have fun at parades the way folks in other countries do.

In Seville, Semana Santa (Holy Week) isn't a parade: it's six parade days, each lasting all day. Floats weave through the wandering streets.  People collect at float storage doors, cheer as each enters the street, run alongside, go ahead to meet them approaching various “singing” stations, and do their watching in family groups with lots of food and cerveza.

At designated places along a route, an assigned person sings to a tearful Mary (Mary's tears are dazzling pearls).  The crowd listens silently during the solo, then nods approvingly.

Floats are deliberately not motorized.  Carrier teams are unionized, toting by strict rules of rests and distances.  Every so many blocks, the float pauses for a respite, during which friends, relatives, and whomever, leave the curb, lift the float drape, and offer soft drinks and/or cerveza.  Folding chairs are shared among families and elderly strangers.

This week boom boxes are taboo.

              

As important as the floats are, they actually rank a few points behind the main goal of Holy Week – picnicking, family picnicking.  If one spots a friend across the street, one walks across through the parade.  Children enjoy darting around the floats.  Nobody minds, not even the float carriers.  There is very little police oversight. I saw two over the whole week.

              

Mary is the feature of several floats.  Each is extravagantly adorned with jewels, especially pearls.  A single float can match the cost of any Pasadena Rose Parade float. 

              

At designated places along the route, a man sings to Mary.  His lyrics describe how awful the Jews were and what terrible things should be done to them. (Apparently, the Inquisition isn't quite over yet).

The parade winds through the city in a leisurely fashion, with no single “launch” spot. And no single assigned route. One can get a program layout with approximate point passing times.  One can see the procession several times from different vantages, by using the map.  You can know a given float's designated route.

Semana Santa is another opportunity for Spaniards to deck out their young daughters in the classic tradition of “Flamenco.” ('Flamenco' translates “Flemish,” which, of course, it is not).  

Typically, they are done up in lots of black and some bright red. Mantillas and fans are a must.  Many wobble along in four inch heels as they beam at everyone. There is lots of whirling and hip flinging to make the multiple skirts radiate. And no outfit is complete without the shiny black spikes.  It is apparently a rule that all little girls be heavily rouged.

When I photographed two of these girls, my conversation with their mother led to my being invited to dinner.  I arrived to find that the mother's sister's family had also been included, as well as four neighbors.  It was a wild evening among sixteen people, not one of whom spoke any English.  They were most patient, laughed at my bloopers, and showed their tolerance by pressing more liquid on me as I struggled.

One morning in a business section of Seville, I photographed four boys, roughly aged twelve, who had created their own "float."  It had been done with colored paper, wire, marking pens, and table decoration streamers.  They had a small guitar (every living Spaniard has at least one guitar), a popcorn can drum, and trinkets probably accumulated from neighbors' trash.

 

One wag at this “mall” brought a beer to the float, holding it under the drape for the imaginary carriers to slake thirst.  Another man stopped the boys so he could sing the “praise to Mary” bit. Bystanders paused until the song was completed.

The boys' little "float" and reception by the mall goers, made its own statement. Pasadena's Tournament of Roses parade is awesome, but the Spanish know a lot more about thoroughly enjoying life.