April 29, 2012

Fabulous Feria

It’s like a week-long wedding celebration, only better, because you can swap venues at will – as soon as you tire of one crowd, you can move on to another.  And everyone gets to wear the beautiful dress, not just the bride!

It’s extraordinary how Seville society throws itself into this annual event – the Feria de Abril – with unrestrained excitement and glee.  The venues are hundreds of individual stripy tents called casetas, laid out in streets which are each named after a Sevillian bullfighter.  The casetas, owned by families or groups of friends, are decorated as a home from home; with net curtains, paintings and mirrors on the walls and traditional wooden furniture painted with flowers and wildlife.  At the back, through a doorway, you find a less adorned space with a full-length bar serving drinks and tapas – here the men tend to hang out, away from all the frills.

Inside a caseta

During the day, horses and carriages share the streets with promenaders on foot.  Feria originated as a gypsy horse and cattle fair in the 19th century and although it’s morphed into a week-long party, with the only trade in food and drink, people still come on horseback in traditional costume.  The horses ‘park’ in rows facing the casetas, while their riders receive drinks from friends and relatives.  The dress of the horsemen and women is a sober grey with black or grey hats, a stark contrast with the flamenco dresses in every colour imaginable, which surround them in the streets – copied from the original gypsy women who came to the fair

Everyone is dressed up, from the tiniest tots, and the little girls look wonderful in their miniature flamenco dresses – but I wasn’t sure about it for myself.  I thought I’d feel a bit foolish and out of place in the Spanish costume: as a pale-faced blonde I’m an obvious ‘guiri’ – a foreigner who stands out like a sore thumb.  I spent one day in normal clothes and the second day dared to wear a beautiful red flamenco dress.  It felt fabulous!  And the Sevillians were very kind and pleased I was joining in, rather than scornful as I’d feared.

We were very lucky to have been invited to a friend’s caseta and that was our passport to several others.  The very generous, warm Sevillian people we met there insisted we accompany them to their own casetas and we ended up doing the caseta equivalent of a pub crawl around the Feria.  We were plied with drink – mainly rebujitos, a mix of Manzanilla sherry and lemonade, but also beer, mojitos or wine – and food in the form of a wide variety of delicious tapas.  Embarrassingly, no one would let us pay.

Dancing Sevillanas - the little girls were far better than me!

Feeling the part in my dress, I was persuaded to try the Sevillana traditional dance – a kind of flamenco with very complicated arm and foot movements, at which I was laughably hopeless, but we had great fun attempting it.  While a live band plays the sevillanas and women and girls take turns to dance in the small crowded space of the caseta (very few men attempt it), the older people sit around the edges watching and judging.  As a guiri I was excused, but they are unforgiving of natives who don’t get it right, and muttered criticisms could be heard during a lull in the music, much to my amusement and my friends’ ire.  Sevillian women seem to have the dance in their blood though, and even the smallest children move instinctively to the beat – while I couldn’t even understand the complicated clapping at the beginning…

Leave it to the experts...

People complain that Feria isn’t a place for outsiders and it’s true that the main action takes place in the hundreds of little private parties where locals meet their friends and families and exchange hospitality.  Although the fronts of the casetas are open, so you can get a tantalising glimpse of what’s going on inside (heaven for nosey parkers), there’s usually a security guard standing at the entrance so you need to be able to mention the name of someone who invited you.  I have been known to blag my way in, but you do need quite a bit of chutzpah to run the gauntlet.  There are large public casetas run by the municipality and political parties, which are open to everyone, but to be honest they are pretty soulless, huge tents with catering tables and plastic chairs and not a very attractive place to hang out. 

Even as a tourist though, it’s well worth going to see, especially during the day with all of the horses and carriages and beautiful dresses in the streets.  The horses have to leave the Feria grounds by 8pm and then a clean-up operation takes place, with giant hose-pipes, so that the streets are waterlogged with liquidised horse manure!  You have to tiptoe around for a while, lifting the heavy skirts of your flamenco dress above the ordure, reminding us of the roots of this extraordinary event.

After the clean-up - tiptoeing through the liquid manure...

I’ve written about night time Feria for The Guardian newspaper: you can read my article here if interested – http://bit.ly/GuardianFeria]

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April 8, 2012

Hey Macarena! La Madrugá

Sevillian men don’t wolf whistle – they shout ‘guapa’ (pronounced gwapa) instead, meaning ‘good looking’.  It’s regularly bandied about as a greeting between women friends, as well as a sign of appreciation by a man for a woman, and offends no one here.  I was somewhat taken aback however, to hear it being shouted at the Virgin Mary.  Or, to be more specific, the Virgin Esperanza Macarena, reputedly the most beautiful of all of the effigies of the Madonna paraded through the streets of Seville during Holy Week.  Joselito, a famous Sevillian bullfighter in the early 20thcentury, was so enamoured of her, that he bought 5 emerald brooches to adorn her robes, which she still wears today.  When Joselito was gored to death in the bullring in 1920 aged just 25, they dressed the Virgin in black mourning dress for a month.

Crowds and Nazarenos wait for Macarena to come out of the church

This starts to give you an idea of how the Spanish mix their religion with folklore and sentimentality.  Make no mistake, however, their devotion, whether to religion or tradition, is deep and serious, even if some of its manifestations seem strange or trivial to the uninitiated.  As the Virgin Esperanza Macarana passed among the crowds of thousands in the early hours of the morning on Good Friday, (known here as La Madrugá) held aloft on a float decorated with church silver, candles and flowers, no one spoke.  I’m serious, no one spoke! Normally, even a handful of Spaniards will be so noisy you can’t hear yourself think, but there was silent reverence from the enormous crowd as she passed.  Some wept, held hands, crossed themselves or kissed their partners, but all were rapt – from young men with Mohican hair styles to elderly men and women and their young grandchildren. Then, someone in the crowd shouts ‘Macareeena!’ and a nearby group responds loudly ‘Guapaaa!’ – repeated three times, in a bizarre, yet endearing adaptation of three cheers.

Here she comes - Guapa!

There are six processions during the night of La Madrugá.  Macarena starts first, at midnight, and doesn’t finish until 2.30pm.  That’s 14 hours walking through the streets wearing a hood that covers your face and long robes; some in bare feet, carrying crosses and candles – and it’s not just a handful of people, there were nearly 3000 in the Macarena procession.  Pity too the costaleros taking shifts lifting the punishingly heavy float, precariously balancing the precious Madonna, several hundredweight of silver, and lit candles several feet tall.

Jesus del Gran Poder is a 17th century statue, as is Macarena

Another much-loved statue paraded the same night is Jesús del Gran Poder – Jesus of the Great Power, from the church of the same name in Plaza San Lorenzo.  Macarena and Gran Poder have a bit of history.  In the first years of the 20thcentury the two brotherhoods had a row.  The processions are carefully timed because all have to take the same route on the approach to the Cathedral, which every procession passes through.  Macarena, a bit of a party girl, kept being late every year, so that the Jesús del Gran Poder procession had to wait an hour or two in one spot until she passed.  Tired of this, one year the Gran Poder just went ahead of Macarena and a great dispute followed.  In the end, the Macarena brotherhood conceded that Gran Poder could go first – but ever since, they send a band of men dressed as centurions on the day of the processions to the church of Jesús del Gran Poder, to confirm that they can go first.  Another astonishing sight in this week of astonishing sights.

Macarena's centurions returning from their mission at Gran Poder

The contrast of all this with our focus on Easter bunnies and egg hunts is stark.  I haven’t seen one chocolate egg here in Seville – though I’m told mini eggs can be found at Lidl if I get desperate.  When I told my parents that Maundy Thursday is a holiday here, because of its particular significance to Spanish people, they responded that it’s important in Britain too, and mentioned a service in the local church which involved washing of feet.  Yes, Maundy Thursday is quietly important to church-goers in the UK, but here in Seville it’s a city-wide ‘happening’, not entirely religious in nature.  The whole of Seville is out on the streets during the day dressed for the occasion.  Women of all ages wear the famous large mantilla hair combs, with black lace veils and fitted black mourning dresses, to remember the imminent death of Christ.

Maundy Thursday - beer and prawns beside Macarena church

Some of them will have been to church, for others it’s just a tradition nowadays, but all of them were crowded into tapas bars and restaurants, drinking and eating in large noisy groups of family and friends, enjoying the holiday.  As one Sevillian friend said to me “Here we can mourn Jesus’ death and celebrate his resurrection all at the same time”.

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April 1, 2012

Semana Santa Pasos

For the past week the fabulous Semana Santa Pasos have been on display in churches all over Seville, waiting for their outing during processions which start today and last for a week.   Sadly, after waiting months for much-needed rain, it has arrived at the worst time, and is forecast to continue.  So much work goes into preparations for Semana Santa for months in advance, but if there is any chance of rain the pasos and penitents stay indoors.

The Virgin's robe on a paso in Iglesia del Salvador

You can see why.  The pasos are covered in expensive fabrics and gold leaf and the effigies of Christ and the Virgin Mary are often valuable antiques in their own right.  I’m staggered by how huge and heavy the pasos look up close, and pity and admire the men (costaleros, see them practising uncovered in previous blog) who are hidden beneath, carrying them for hours through the streets.  The gold is just gold leaf on wood, or it would surely be impossible, but the silver is genuine.

Silver detail

Before being placed on the pasos, the Virgin Mary’s everyday clothes are changed for her spectacular Semana Santa robes.  This is done privately, and only women may change her dress.  In addition to all the silver polishing, it’s a special task for some to melt the ends of the huge candles to ensure they all reach the right height for the display and stay in their holders.  Gorgeous flower displays are often added too for the big day.

Paso in Iglesia de San Juan Bautista

In my neighbourhood of Alameda today, I saw the occasional Nazarene (penitient), walking through the rain to their church, hoping that their parade would still take place.

Barefoot Nazareno & Guardia Civil

I’m pleased to say that early this evening, the rain stopped and some of the postponed processions were able to take place – fingers crossed for the rest of the week.

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March 25, 2012

Preparing for Easter Madness

Children help prepare the paso at Hermandad de Los Estudiantes

Just one week to go and everywhere in Seville preparations are being made for the biggest religious festival of the year, Semana Santa.  Next Sunday – Palm Sunday (Domingo de Ramos) – kicks off a week of highly theatrical parades through the streets, in a mixture of devotion and partying that only the Spaniards can pull off.

Seville is renowned for having the most spectacular Holy Week celebrations anywhere in the world.  Each church in Seville has its own brotherhood (hermandad) of laymen, who take part in processions wearing hooded robes reminiscent of the Ku Klux Klan, and carrying floats bearing life-size effigies of Christ on the cross and the Virgin Mary grieving.  Between Palm Sunday and Good Friday, 58 processions of up to 2800 penitents each, take place night and day, watched by crowds of close to a million people.

Costaleros in training for Semana Santa

The staggeringly heavy floats (or pasos), laden with church silver, statues, flowers and candles, are carried above the heads of dozens of heavily sweating men, the ‘costaleros’.  During Semana Santa, the costaleros will be hidden beneath the rich fabric that skirts the base of the float like an altar cloth, but during the weeks beforehand, they can be seen practising, unadorned in the streets.  The biggest guys get this job, and it is not a pretty sight!  Bellies hanging out of vests, trouser legs rolled up and protective fabric wrapped around their heads like turbans, they are packed closely together to maximise the lifting power.

Church silver coming out to be polished

For weeks, young people have been sitting in church doorways, polishing the huge and intricate silver pieces that form part of pasos, and last weekend the brotherhoods began to assemble the huge floats.  I was lucky enough to see this happening at the chapel of the ‘Estudiantes’ (students) brotherhood, allied to the University of Seville.  They make a lovely family occasion of it, inviting the youngest child in the families of brotherhood members along to help, followed by an afternoon tea.  It’s all pretty chaotic inside the small chapel.  As adults construct the float, which reaches almost to the roof, dozens of small children stand underneath in place of the costaleros, enclosed like battery hens in a cage.  The float is temporarily held up on supermarket trolley type wheels and is regularly moved to aid assembly in the small space, which results in all the little kids stumbling around underneath – quite alarming to watch for a health and safety conscious Brit..!

Children 'helping' in the construction...

I do admire the way Spanish people involve their children in everything though – all of the families’ youngest had been invited by personally-addressed letter to help with the preparations, and they clearly love being involved.  It may also help explain why the tradition has carried on unchanged over centuries, as each new generation takes ownership from an early age and children even play at Semana Santa, looking forward to being old enough to join the grown-up parades.

Children play 'pretend' Semana Santa

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January 5, 2012

The 3 Kings Cometh

3 Kings

Tonight’s the big night when the 3 Kings deliver presents to homes all over Spain.  Children have sent their letters via the Kings’ pages, telling them they’ve been good, listing the presents they hope to receive – and now wait excitedly for the big day.  Today, the eve of  ’Reyes Magos’, the 3 Kings arrived in town in a parade called the Cabalgata.  Loud bands herald large floats from which people in fancy dress hurl sweets at the crowd.

The boiled sweets are thrown with such force that they are in danger of  ’having someone’s eye out’ as my mother would say… but the crowds love it, screaming for the sweets to be thrown their way and scrabbling for them as though they were made of solid gold.  The really keen ones bring carrier bags and even bin bags to collect them in!

The great sweet grab!

The floats vary from the classical (ancient Egypt) to modern children’s classics such as Narnia, Charlie & the Chocolate Factory and Dora the Explorer!  It was hilarious hearing adults shouting ‘Dora, Dora’ to encourage children on the float to throw something their way.

Dora

It’s a fantastic atmosphere, everyone completely uncynical and enthusiastic about the tradition, and although the route is long and lasts about 4 hours, the crowds are huge everywhere.  Having watched the whole thing once from a vantage point in the north of the city centre, I walked back towards my flat via the supermarket to stock up.  This delay was a big mistake – I found myself trapped on the wrong side of the parade, which had progressed to my neighbourhood, and I was treated to watching the whole thing again!  This time in the dark and the floats looked even prettier with their lights on.  

At last it ends and I can make my way home, past the clean-up operation in hot pursuit… 

Que buen dia! Great fun had by all.  I wonder if the 3 Kings know where I live….

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December 16, 2011

Wot No Santa?

We Three Kings

[Click on any photo to enlarge] 

Santa is of little consequence in Spain – even for kids.  ‘Papa Noel’ as he’s known here, doesn’t bring any presents at all to many households and maybe just the token one or two to others.  For here it is the three kings or ‘wise men’ who take the starring role, bringing the main haul of presents to the children – and they don’t deliver until 6th January: the day of ‘Los Reyes Magos’.

One of the many market stalls selling nativity figures

This tradition keeps Catholic Spain and some Latin American countries closer to the real meaning of Christmas – yet, just as in the UK and elsewhere, it has also become a commercial opportunity, albeit on a smaller scale.

Part of an extensive 'Belén' nativity scene at a friend's home

Every family constructs its own nativity scene at home, with as much excitement as we select and decorate our Christmas trees.  To cater for this demand, the Belén (Bethlehem) market sets up next to the cathedral weeks in advance – 18 stalls all selling models for the nativity scenes.  This may seem excessive to the uninitiated, given the limited nature of our own modest nativity scenes.

Here, however, the familiar figures of Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus, the three kings, shepherds, angels, donkey, stable and manger are supplemented by more unusual and exotic characters…

Bull fights in Bethlehem?

Ranging from beautiful hand painted representations to frankly tacky doll-like figures, you can buy anything you may want to include in your wider Bethlehem scene, from conventional camels to the less likely bull ring complete with bullfighter and toro!

Another stable birth...

People make their nativity scene from scratch, so you can buy basic materials such as cork and sand, unbelievably expensive ‘stables’, inns (at which there is no room) and even bars and shops with hanging hams and sausages.  Included in your scene may be working ‘water features’, moving characters and just about any vegetable, plant or animal which fires your imagination – including mice just a few millimetres in size, which would set you back 2 euros apiece!

King Herod's men massacring the first born

Some of the most outlandish figures I saw included Herod’s soldiers massacring babies, a horse giving birth (to a foal of a similar size to its mother) and a human character squatting to defecate….

Check out the little guy on the left...

Good taste is maintained however in the many large-scale nativity scenes on display in public squares and buildings and almost every church (and there are many).  These are lovely to see and, like those lovingly made in people’s homes, are a moving reminder of what Christmas is all about.  Many of the ecclesiastic versions are splendid and vary to reflect the affiliations of the church – one that I saw, linked to El Rocio, (see earlier blog) included gypsy caravans and representations of the church, buildings, lake and wildlife of that amazing town.

Public Belén at the town hall

Christmas is altogether more low-key, a lot less brash, and more religious here.  I found it difficult, for example, to find much of a selection of Christmas cards – they haven’t fallen for that widespread money-making racket on the scale that we have – so far (but I dooo still like to receive them….).  The most important day of the Christmas season in Spain is Christmas eve, when families get together to share an evening meal and go to Mass.

The 3 Kings' camels have arrived in Seville already

Back to the important subject of present-giving though…. Like our Santa tradition, the children write to the three kings telling them what they would like to receive and post their letters in special boxes.  Real camels arrive in the city centre to give rides, next to ‘live’ nativity scenes – not a reindeer in sight.  The kings deliver the presents during the night of the 5thJanuary, and this being a rather warmer climate that ours, chimneys down which to climb are in short supply – so the kings climb up the balconies instead!  Children leave out “mantecados” (traditional Christmas biscuits) and a drink of Anis for the kings (ironic that we leave Spanish sherry for Santa..) and a bowl of water for their camels, who are rumoured to eat plants from the balconies…

Detail from a home made Belén enjoyed by children

As our British Christmas will be well and truly over by January 5th (the 12th night, time to take down your tree!), I look forward to being back in Seville to continue festivities and enjoy the best of both worlds…  though I’m not sure the three kings will have much time for an Inglesa…

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October 4, 2011

La Corrida

“I don’t think you’ll like it, it’s not for inglesas” protests my Spanish friend nervously.  But I’m determined to experience for myself the divisive drama engrained in Spanish culture.  On the day the last bull fight was taking place in Catalonia, I was attending my first, in the unrepentant heartland of bullfighting, Andalucia.

The sun was scorching and as I joined the excited crowds pressing their way into Seville’s bullring, I was glad we had the ‘sombra’ (shade) tickets instead of being on the cheaper ‘sol’ side of the stadium.  Built like a Roman amphitheatre, the parallels with ancient gladiatorial spectacles are immediately evident.  The ‘Emperor’ presiding here is a less flamboyant figure in a suit: the President of the corrida.  Like an Emperor, he takes his place high up on a balcony, the crowds watching him expectantly, awaiting his judgement.

The great and the good are here. TV cameras and photographers press around a little old lady as she pushes through the crowds.  This, I’m told, is the Duquesa de Alba, a descendent of the Stuarts and a big fan of the corrida.  Everyone is dressed to the nines: the audience a strange cross between passionate opera-goers and a football crowd.

It’s said the only thing that starts on time in Spain is the corrida – and sure enough, dead on 6pm, two men dressed in medieval-looking black costumes emerge on horseback to make a circuit of the ring. They’re ensuring it’s empty – a purely ceremonial rendering of a once practical check, made slightly farcical now when the horsemen have to diverge on their dignified procession to avoid a group of photographers.  When they’ve completed their inspection of the ring, the President throws down the key to the door from which the bulls will emerge.

The crowd quietens, expectant – it’s important to see how the bull behaves – will it be ‘brave’, rushing out full of rage, or timid?  A jet black bull trots out into the empty arena.  It looks almost comically startled as it senses the huge crowd surrounding it: like an unwilling actor thrust suddenly onto a stage without knowing his lines.

From behind one of the protective boards placed around the inside of the arena’s fence, a man in the tight glittery costume of the bullfighting fraternity steps out, waving a magenta and gold shiny cape at the bull.  Only the matador uses the red cape – this is just one of his support team.  There are three of them hiding behind the boards, taking turns to provoke the bull to run at them, before dashing back to the protection of their cubby hole as the bull tries to impale them.  This gives the matador a chance to assess the bull’s characteristics – how fast, how strong, which side it favours.

A trumpet sounds, signalling the first of the three main stages of the bullfight – the first ‘tercio’.  Two men on horseback emerge, their steeds blindfolded and wearing protective skirts resembling medieval armour, to prevent disembowelment by the bull (a common occurrence before the protection was mandated in the late 1920s).  The men carry long lances, which they attempt to press once into the muscles of the bull’s neck to weaken it, while the bull, horns lowered, pushes the horse and rider with the power of a JCB.  A horse staggers and falls onto its side, a heart-stopping moment while the support team dashes out to save the horse and its rider: one man pulls the bull’s tail, tug-of-war style, until it finally turns away from its prey.

A trumpet sounds the second stage.  Three more men in glittery suits, the ‘banderilleros’ now appear in the ring.  Standing stock still, posing with rosette-covered short spikes held above his head, each banderillero waits for the bull to fix him in its sights, then runs forward to meet the charging bull, jumping high and to one side at the last moment to place the two barbs in the back of the bulls neck.  It takes amazing nerve to stick spikes behind the horns of a 600 kilo charging bull – watching it is exciting, breath-holding stuff.

Finally, the part recognisable worldwide: the matador, with his red cape, alone against the bull.  His close-fitting outfit, distinguished by its gold embroidery, glitters with sequins in the evening light as the ritual dance begins.  He approaches in balletic fashion, front foot pointing towards the bull and satin cape fluttering around his legs like a flamenco skirt.  Shouts of ‘Ole!’ fill the arena as the bull waltzes around and around its partner, horns perilously close to his slight body.  When the time comes, the matador stands with his sword above his head, angled towards the bull, lining himself up for an accurate kill, before plunging his sword between the animal’s shoulder blades and into its heart.  Instant death.

A team of decorated horses is brought out and harnessed to drag the dead bull from the ring.  If the bull has been brave, the crowd cheers its departure – if it hasn’t, the dead animal gets boos and whistles!  One bull is rejected before the fight begins: it’s too nervous and the crowd loudly whistles its displeasure.  The president drapes a green handkerchief over the balustrade to indicate that the toro should be replaced.

A comic scene ensues, in which a herd of ordinary bulls, wearing large bells around their necks, is sent into the ring.  They mill around a bit, then head back to the door, with the toro placidly joining them – an ingenious non-confrontational way to have the bull sent off  – I’m picturing a gang of 5-a-side dads being sent onto Man Utd’s pitch to round up Rio Ferdinand after a red card!

On the whole, the matadors are not at their best today – but one of them puts in a particularly impressive performance and the crowd noisily demands that he be rewarded – shouting and waving their white handkerchiefs like a snowstorm, clamouring for the award of an ear of the bull.    The president drapes his own white handkerchief over the balcony to indicate his assent and the crowd roars with approval as the matador waves the ear above his head.

Did I feel sorry for the bulls?  Of course.   But I was impressed by the respect shown to the animals and the emphasis placed on minimising suffering and a quick kill.  They have thousands of critical witnesses to ensure the conventions are maintained, and each bull is in the ring little over 15 minutes.  The bullfighters and their supporting team are clearly very brave and highly skilled: everything is beautifully choreographed and graceful, while physically very demanding – like a (rather gruesome) ballet.  And although the contest is evidently one-sided, always ending with the death of the bull, the matadors too risk death and injury for their art.  Such passion will not easily be vanquished by the protesters in the north.

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