Semana Santa

Note before you start reading: the internet connection in our appartemet is sporadic. This little story was written over the course of a few days and already outdate by a couple of days since semana santa ended last Sunday. In a meanwhile Emily and I have had a few interesting nights out, including a night out with the English troommates mentioned in the end. Due to privacy reasons I will report on these outings to you guys personally ;). Anyways, enjoy!

Ever heard of Semana Santa? Neither had I. But man, is it a spectacle! For 8 days traffic in the streets is regulated to a minimum and the streets fill up with people. And they’re not there just to push the buggy with sleepy toddler and grab a cerveca, no, they are there to see the processions. A procession? Must be some sort of group of people that walk around the city, probably dressed up or something, I thought. But it had to be quite special since a week ago the tribunes to watch these ‘procession’ had already been placed on several locations in the city centre. Esther, the teacher that lectures us on Spanish culture each week had mentioned something about it but since I am not that fond of carnaval or other dress up activities I didn’t pay that much attention. So Emily and I were in for a surprise when we came down from the Albacin (I will explain what that is later) on Sunday evening, hearing what sounded like drums from below in the main streets. It didn’t take long for us to bump into one of these famous processions, and it was quite different from my vague expectations. What confused us first of all was that the people walking the procession are dressed up as if they came straight from a KluKlux Clan gathering: completely covered in white cloth with a tall pointy hat, while carrying a huge candle. We later learned that these suits come in many colors and that there are in fact around 32 different processions alone in Granada. Take that. Thirty-two is a hell of a lot processions! And because this year is the 100-est (?) year Semana Santa is being celebrated, there will be not less than 22 (!!) processions this Saturday. This might sound even more impressive if I tell you a procession takes a minimum of 6 hours till a maximum of 12 (!!) hours. This mainly is due to the fact that as part of a procession two huge statues, one of Jesus Christ followed by one of Maria, that weigh between the 1000 and 3000 kilograms (!!) are being dragged along the way. By men, on their shoulders. The statues are placed upon huge rectangular structures made of wood, and for the heavier variations, partly marble. This whole décor is decorated in detail with flowers, candles, cloth, and the Jesus statue often comes with some disciples or other biblical figures. The men that carry this heavy burden are in fact standing under the whole thing and can’t see a thing. Bystanders can only see rows of feet shuffling forward on the sound of the beat, creating the effect Jesus and Maria are ‘bailando’ (dancing) as Esther pointed out. Ha ha, if you are aware of it, J & M do seem to have a good feeling for rhythm! Anyway, since the poor buggers underneath are unable to see, the whole thing is coordinated by couple of men neatly dressed in official suits that shout orders like ‘Stop. Two steps to the right. That’s right. Now forward!’ and by tapping on the wooden structure. The skills of these ‘commanders’ are really put to the test when the procession emerges or enters the church. Sometimes it can only just fit through the church doors and in some cases the porters need to get on their knees and sort of crawl out of the church or Jesus would bump his head against the church doors. We actually saw this happen once (the crawling) and it is truly an amazing thing to see. The whole crowd holds its breath as Jesus wobbles through the doors and sometimes scarily falls a bit too much to the one or the other side. While we were viewing the spectacle amongst a practically silent crowd one man amidst the spectators started chanting some sort of religious song on the top of his longs, which made it even more amazing. It took a whole hour for the whole procession to emerge from the church. It is made up out of different groups, amongst which are the KluKluxClan like fellas, which in fact are called los petentios. The ghostlike hat, which only leaves the eyes uncovered, is copied from the hat people had to wear during the inquisition after they were convicted. They are meant to symbolize penance, which is actually the main point of the whole procession. But these petentois are only part of the gang; there are also people carrying holy books, crosses, ladies in black dresses and little kids running around to relight all the candles. But the most amazing about the whole thing I find the music band, dressed in impressive suits of course. A few days before Santa Semana officially started we had already seen some of these guys walking through the city carrying a trumpet, drum or trombone, or some other instrument that I am usually not to fond of and immediately makes me think of terrible music on which you are expected to put the hands on the shoulders of the one in front of you and shout along drunkenly. But again, was I in for a surprise! I had no clue trumpets could actually sound beautiful. Nah, I’m not kidding; they can! All the flutes, drums and various trumpets together created some beautiful sound that had some Arabic, Hebrew taste to it. Not your standard church sound at all. The music is quite famous actually and I understand why. It also fits very well with the Granadian entourage.
Alright, before this story becomes a complete novel on the beauty of Semana Santa, let me leave the undescrided to your imagination on skip to the annoyances of the whole thing. Because it is now a couple of days later that I am finishing this exciting piece and I just came home from the city centre. And well, it was almost IMPOSSIBLE to get home. Today is actually the Saturday I mentioned above with 22 processions in the planning. When I got out of the Zara and wanted to walk back home one way was blocked with people so I walked the other way, only to be blocked again by yet another solid wall of bystanders. The only option was to go into an alleyway. It didn’t take long before my way was blocked again. I turned into another street and…another wall of grandma’s, parents and young kids with hip and uncomfortably looking haircuts obstructed my way. I started to feel like a rat trapped in some sort of laboratory experiment setting. Slightly desperate and frustrated I found a small street that looked to small for any procession to ever get through. Yes, you’d already guessed; I bumped into a crowd all standing with one hand in their side and the other waving their finger and shaking their heads. Damn! I guess I will just have to force my way through the crowd, using elbow thrusts and karate kicks if necessary, I thought. Using physical violence brought me about two meters closer to the street but damn, the bastards were clever; they had placed a row of chairs solidly held into place by overweight seniors. Putting my arms up to heaven amidst my prison guards I let out a beastly, frustrated cry. In the end it took me another 20 minutes of detours before I finally saw a hole in the defense wall of the enemy and quickly took off to the safe heaven that is our apartment.

Anyways, have I mentioned the hippie sub-culture they have here in Granada? There’re hippies everywhere man! The dreadlock, juggling kind of hippies. It’s like a plague or something. A pretty harmless plague though. They just play a bit of guitar, do minor acrobatic stuff, but most of all hang around on the pavement selling self made hippie bracelets and other crap. Usually some well fed dog by their side. Which brings me to another point; the dogs. Or rather, guinea pigs, mice, rats, small sheep, or some Chinese dish that escaped the pan; the dogs come in all sorts of shapes but only one size: tiny. Poor buggers, I pity them mostly, if there would be plastic surgery for dogs, they’d sure all want some implant or a make-over all together. That last phrase is actually inspired by the series Emily and I are watching on my laptop-baby; Nip Tuck, which is about plastic surgeons. Pretty good series. Our apartment is pretty homely now. We bought some plants and some candles and I changed rooms. I collected all the best furniture and the biggest mattress from all over the house and stuffed it in my small but cozy, and meanwhile perfect, bedroom. In our apartment there is room for 7 people but so far we have only been here with a max of 4. Our latest roommates are 2 English girls whom are nice enough but stay in their room for a bizarrely long amount of time. Honestly, al they do is hang around in their double bedroom while there is a perfectly fine living room in place, not to mention the outside world of this lovely city Granada. During the week Emily found it increasingly bizar how much time they spent in their room and we started developing crazy theories of what the hell they were up to. They don’t seem gay at all so that isn’t it. Anyway, they are leaving today, and the most probably reason for their self imprisonment is they have exams soon. Actually, you won’t believe it but at this very moment they just came home to tell us they are staying one more night. Alrighty, fine with us, we probably won’t notice they are there anyway. So far we haven’t met that many people yet, except for some guapo’s we met while going out, but no friends fit for daylight I meant. Our only buddy that we have spent almost every day with the past two weeks, Barshka, left yesterday. A shame, she was nice and fun to go out with. Oh well, plenty of undiscovered souls out there I would say. We got our hands on a booklet that lists all the cultural events going on in Granada and there seems to be plenty of stuff going on.

Next time I will tell you more about the Albacin, the old Muslim quarter of the city, placed on a hill opposite the Alhambra. It is most beautiful city quarter in the world (to get a bit soppy). Honestly, every little street could be in a travel magazine. Little balconies with flowers, cute squares with churches and well…sigh….you should see it. We have been walking our foot soles to shreds.

In short; Spain is great, the Spanish really know how to handle life. Get lost with that 9-5 regime and make it one of 9 AM to 9 Am. Honestly, we went out on Thursday and the club opened at…3. Yes, so that was another arrival home at 7 in the morning. They really like funk and breakdance stuff here, and man, can they dance. In that particular club at least. Spinning around on one arm, eating a sandwich with the other, pretty spectacular. The Spanish way of flirting is also a bit different from the tactic the Dutch men handle, if you can call lurking at you with a drunken eye from over your beer from across the room a tactic at all. Spanish guys just come up to you and start jabbering in your ear or show some pretty eloquent dance moves. Much more fun I will say.

The Spanish know how to make life worth living and I am digging it!
Righto, so much stuff is left out now but I have to draw the line somewhere.
Time to stick on some make-up and hoist myself in that new Zara shirt I bought today. Fiesta baby!
And just FYI: learning Spanish is great to, I love it!!

xx