After I got home from London, which was weeks ago now, oops, I spent about a day catching up on my rest and trying to keep cool in one of our first heat waves of the spring. Thursday my choir sang at a service in La Iglesia de San Alberto, where we practice. I left home early, knowing it could take forever to get through the center, and my timing, just before the Center’s Thursday paso started, was quite ideal.
I went into the sanctuary part of the church for the first time, and I was blown away by now beautiful it was. We were positioned in the back, making it easy for me to see everything the Spanish people were doing, without seeming like a total creep. I could follow the service for the most part, though a bulletin would have been nice, and the sermon completely lost me. I loved being with my choir and looking like part of the group, even if it had meant speed walking an hour there in my black dress pants, long black sleeves, and heels in 95 degree sunny weather. One of the older ladies who always talks to me let me use her fan, too. A decent amount of people were in attendance, but there was really no need for us to be so cramped in the back. For that reason, I was quite glad once the service ended.
We went to the front for a group photo, and I passed by and said hello to my speaking module professor, who was dressed in a Mantilla, a black lacy veil to be worn with a black dress by women ONLY this day of the year. She was beautiful, as were all of the others who were dressed up. Luckily, I had thought ahead enough to pack shorts, a t-shirt, and shoes to walk home. I may have looked like just another tourist, but during Semana Santa, you’re pretty hip if you have half a clue where you’re going.
On my way home, I experienced my very first Semana Santa paso. Now, what this is is that each big church has an hermandad (brotherhood), and they seek permission to have a sort of parade to the cathedral during Holy Week. They start at the church with interminable lines of Nazarenos, which are religious people dressed in cloaks with the pointy hats that slightly resemble Death Eaters or the KKK. The Nazareno march is a form of penitence, but with as much Harry Potter as I’ve seen, the black ones still have a tendency to freak me out a bit.
After them comes the main attraction – the Paso. A paso is like a big float with an image of the Virgin Mary or Jesus on it, and they tend to be overwhelmingly ornate with silver & gold decorations, big dripping candles, and hand-carved wax flowers. The Virgin Marys even have elaborate hand-made outfits into which they are changed, just for the occasion. The big deal is that rather than a truck pulling the float, men from the hermandad carry it. There are dozens of them hidden beneath the float skirt, and they practice all year to be in step with their precious heavy cargo, all the way to the Cathedral and back. WHY would you want to do that? Tradition is tradition, I suppose.
So as I was walking home, this Paso, always accompanied by wonderful brass music, I should add, was moving through the Plaza Nueva. I thought I was in the clear to get by, but the hundreds of white and purple Nazarenos were blocking up the streets everywhere. As if the stampede of wide-eyed tourists wasn’t enough, the Nazarenos were sluggishly creeping through all of my exit options. It probably took me a good 40 minutes to elbow my way out of there. The Paso was cool, but I had seen certain ones practicing before and the big Macarena museum, so I didn’t have much desire to join the crowds of onlookers.
I wasn’t home for long before Caitlin wanted to meet up to talk about our trips before she took off on her next one to Amsterdam the following day. We met at the Triana Bridge and settled at a bar on San Jacinto. I had tortillitas de gambas, (Fried shrimp tortilla type things), and she had croquetas. The food was superb and it was so nice to sit and chat with her in the cooler evening air.
Over the next few days, we didn’t do much. I procrastinated doing my reading for class, spent a lot of time on Facebook and sleeping. It was just so hot everywhere, most places were closed for Holy Week, and I didn’t feel like braving the heat to get Nazareno-trapped again. Not like the heat outside is much worse than inside, since we have no air conditioning, but the houses are designed to try to stay cooler. We did, however, got ot eh Madrugada dawn Paso for the Esperanza de Triana church at 3 in the morning on Friday.
Brittany and I walked to join the probably 5-10,000 people waiting near the Triana Bridge, which is a lot for 3 am in a city of less than a million people. We elbowed our way in and waited for about 40 minutes until the Paso came through. The music was incredible, and the Paso showed a horse followed by Jesus carrying the cross. Also, rich people will hire professional vocalists to sing ‘Saetas,’ which are long, complex orations to the Virgins on the Pasos as they go by. As soon as someone starts to sing, the whole crowd gets quiet to try to hear. It’s a really cool experience. I think we heard parts of 3 different Saetas that morning. We took lots of pictures and then the crowd dissipated as some followed the march and the rest of us retreated towards home and sleep.
The next day Brittany got extremely bored, so eventually we went out for ice cream and then for a walk in the park. It was a beautiful evening and we walked around and reminisced on a bench with our sodapop about the things we’d done and how quickly the time went. We were finally to that point of loving Sevilla enough to not want to go home, and we had just under a month left to enjoy it.
Easter day was a bit difficult, as Semana Santa is a big gallant build up to Boring Sunday in Spain. Everything is closed, but nobody does anything. We watched Freaky Friday again and tried to have fun, not dwelling on the fact that our family traditions were being carried on at home without us. It certainly was nobody’s fault. The world does not, in fact, stop turning just because you’re on the other side of it. Those are the toughest days, though, when you feel like you’re missing out here and there at the same time. As a study abroad student, you only half count as a real person, so when there are only real people things going on, you sit in a room on Facebook, trying to find your other half and figure out where you’re actually supposed to be right now. Usually by the next day, it’s better. And if I remember correctly, for me, it was.
I went into the sanctuary part of the church for the first time, and I was blown away by now beautiful it was. We were positioned in the back, making it easy for me to see everything the Spanish people were doing, without seeming like a total creep. I could follow the service for the most part, though a bulletin would have been nice, and the sermon completely lost me. I loved being with my choir and looking like part of the group, even if it had meant speed walking an hour there in my black dress pants, long black sleeves, and heels in 95 degree sunny weather. One of the older ladies who always talks to me let me use her fan, too. A decent amount of people were in attendance, but there was really no need for us to be so cramped in the back. For that reason, I was quite glad once the service ended.
We went to the front for a group photo, and I passed by and said hello to my speaking module professor, who was dressed in a Mantilla, a black lacy veil to be worn with a black dress by women ONLY this day of the year. She was beautiful, as were all of the others who were dressed up. Luckily, I had thought ahead enough to pack shorts, a t-shirt, and shoes to walk home. I may have looked like just another tourist, but during Semana Santa, you’re pretty hip if you have half a clue where you’re going.
On my way home, I experienced my very first Semana Santa paso. Now, what this is is that each big church has an hermandad (brotherhood), and they seek permission to have a sort of parade to the cathedral during Holy Week. They start at the church with interminable lines of Nazarenos, which are religious people dressed in cloaks with the pointy hats that slightly resemble Death Eaters or the KKK. The Nazareno march is a form of penitence, but with as much Harry Potter as I’ve seen, the black ones still have a tendency to freak me out a bit.
After them comes the main attraction – the Paso. A paso is like a big float with an image of the Virgin Mary or Jesus on it, and they tend to be overwhelmingly ornate with silver & gold decorations, big dripping candles, and hand-carved wax flowers. The Virgin Marys even have elaborate hand-made outfits into which they are changed, just for the occasion. The big deal is that rather than a truck pulling the float, men from the hermandad carry it. There are dozens of them hidden beneath the float skirt, and they practice all year to be in step with their precious heavy cargo, all the way to the Cathedral and back. WHY would you want to do that? Tradition is tradition, I suppose.
So as I was walking home, this Paso, always accompanied by wonderful brass music, I should add, was moving through the Plaza Nueva. I thought I was in the clear to get by, but the hundreds of white and purple Nazarenos were blocking up the streets everywhere. As if the stampede of wide-eyed tourists wasn’t enough, the Nazarenos were sluggishly creeping through all of my exit options. It probably took me a good 40 minutes to elbow my way out of there. The Paso was cool, but I had seen certain ones practicing before and the big Macarena museum, so I didn’t have much desire to join the crowds of onlookers.
I wasn’t home for long before Caitlin wanted to meet up to talk about our trips before she took off on her next one to Amsterdam the following day. We met at the Triana Bridge and settled at a bar on San Jacinto. I had tortillitas de gambas, (Fried shrimp tortilla type things), and she had croquetas. The food was superb and it was so nice to sit and chat with her in the cooler evening air.
Over the next few days, we didn’t do much. I procrastinated doing my reading for class, spent a lot of time on Facebook and sleeping. It was just so hot everywhere, most places were closed for Holy Week, and I didn’t feel like braving the heat to get Nazareno-trapped again. Not like the heat outside is much worse than inside, since we have no air conditioning, but the houses are designed to try to stay cooler. We did, however, got ot eh Madrugada dawn Paso for the Esperanza de Triana church at 3 in the morning on Friday.
Brittany and I walked to join the probably 5-10,000 people waiting near the Triana Bridge, which is a lot for 3 am in a city of less than a million people. We elbowed our way in and waited for about 40 minutes until the Paso came through. The music was incredible, and the Paso showed a horse followed by Jesus carrying the cross. Also, rich people will hire professional vocalists to sing ‘Saetas,’ which are long, complex orations to the Virgins on the Pasos as they go by. As soon as someone starts to sing, the whole crowd gets quiet to try to hear. It’s a really cool experience. I think we heard parts of 3 different Saetas that morning. We took lots of pictures and then the crowd dissipated as some followed the march and the rest of us retreated towards home and sleep.
The next day Brittany got extremely bored, so eventually we went out for ice cream and then for a walk in the park. It was a beautiful evening and we walked around and reminisced on a bench with our sodapop about the things we’d done and how quickly the time went. We were finally to that point of loving Sevilla enough to not want to go home, and we had just under a month left to enjoy it.
Easter day was a bit difficult, as Semana Santa is a big gallant build up to Boring Sunday in Spain. Everything is closed, but nobody does anything. We watched Freaky Friday again and tried to have fun, not dwelling on the fact that our family traditions were being carried on at home without us. It certainly was nobody’s fault. The world does not, in fact, stop turning just because you’re on the other side of it. Those are the toughest days, though, when you feel like you’re missing out here and there at the same time. As a study abroad student, you only half count as a real person, so when there are only real people things going on, you sit in a room on Facebook, trying to find your other half and figure out where you’re actually supposed to be right now. Usually by the next day, it’s better. And if I remember correctly, for me, it was.