I had been waiting for the
Semana Santa procession for hours. Tired, cold, and with any desire to see the procession waning, I could finally hear it coming. The sound of the snare drum was unmistakable. The people crowded in the street started to organize themselves. I squeezed myself into an open space near a flowerbed and held my ground. Judging by the proximity of the snare drum, I decided the procession would arrive in a few minutes, Jesus would meander by on a pedestal along with some people in pointy white hats, and the whole ordeal would be over within half an hour. I didn't know very much about
Semana Santa processions.
It was my fault I had been waiting for so long. I left my apartment early, just to make sure I didn't miss anything, but going anywhere early is a bad idea in Spain. Thus, realizing the procession wouldn't arrive, let alone begin at all for at least 3 hours, I resigned to reading my novel under the setting sun, and then getting coffee and reading my novel some more. That killed 2 hours, so I decided to spend the last hour chatting with friends at a known hang-out spot. Perfect, I had passed my 3 hours with ease, and set off to find my Wednesday evening Holy Week procession around 10:30pm.
But, parting with my Spanish friends was difficult because, being male, they were hesitant to let me wander off alone into the night to track down the parade of white pointy hats. But, they were also completely uninterested in seeing the procession themselves, having been inundated with it enough times as children. They seemed to think that I should skip the procession and any religious celebration of
Semana Santa, and continue hanging out with them. I told them I wasn't coming to Spain and missing a bunch of people carrying Jesus down the street on their shoulders, so we settled with them accompanying me halfway to the procession, and then agreeing to meet up later.
Eventually, the procession arrived. The policeman told me it would arrive at 10:30, but it didn't reach me until 11:15. That was to be expected. I watched intently as the rows of white hats paraded down the street.
Being American, I attach an entirely different meaning to those white hats, with their eerie faceless masks, uniform robes, and tiny eye slits. But, after the initial shock, I tried to push that image out of my thoughts.
The procession continued, with clumps of children in between the rows of pointy hats, adding comic relief and amusement. Being children, the pushed each other, dropped the 'important' religious objects they were carrying, and were generally merry. The merriment was apparent because they didn't have masks - the masked adults may have been merry, but who could tell behind the menacing pointy hats? (Clearly, I couldn't completely banish the KKK image from my mind.)
Next, and to my surprise, came women in all black, with painfully high heels and lace draped over their hair. I'm still not sure of their purpose, but the black seemed like mourning.
And finally! Jesus arrived! Carried on the shoulders of penitent Catholics, he moved by at a snail's pace, and everyone around me stood and clapped. The standing, I surmise, was in respect for Jesus, and the clapping was for the faithful carriers. (
Click here to see a video.)
Jesus was followed by a band. It was now midnight, and thus, I decided that the procession must be over. I was blocked in by people, so I waited for them to part to make my exit. They didn't part. They didn't move at all, in fact. To my dismay, the procession was not over. Not even close. Still to come was the Virgin Mary, surrounded by many more pointy hats, women in black, children, and another band. I only stayed long enough to catch a glimpse of the mourning Mary and then escaped through cracks in the crowd.
Now half past midnight, I ventured off to join the non-religious
Semana Santa celebrations, much like Spring Break celebrations in the States.
