We purposely scheduled our trip to coincide with the Semana Santa (Holy Week). Because we traveled throughout that week, we were able to see a variety of celebrations. Each place has its own traditions and each day represents something specific. This post will cover all of the processions we witnessed, although the spirit of the week pervades everything. Specialty foods are displayed in all the markets. Families enjoy time together in the park. Trains are full as people return home.
Many Americans react negatively to images of the nazarenos, or penitents, who walk in the processions. So I want to take a moment to explain what you are seeing. The hooded robes they wear come from mideval times when people wanted to demonstrate their penance to God without reavealing their identity. The colors and symbols vary for each group based on the religious brotherhood and church that the members belong to. Some nazarenos walk barefoot, often for miles. Others wear chains or carry heavy crosses.
Some women will wear mantillas, which is a raised veil, that have been worn by Catholic women for centuries. These days, it is generally reserved for special ceremonies.
Segovia
On our way to Segovia I noticed that the snow line was not much higher than the city. And, after the sun went down we ventured into the cold air only because we could hear snatches of drumming and horns from our hotel window. The music grew louder and the procession came right up to our hotel.
It was a small procession, for a small town. A single drummer seemed to be in charge of the music - his sticks white while all others were black. He would lead with a fancy drum roll and the others would follow. Drumsbeats and wailing horns echoed off the stone walls, sounding mournful in the night.
The marchers wore purple hoods over white robes and carried a small float of Jesus Christ nailed to the cross. Behind the float, four more people carried crosses of their own, barefoot despite the cold. A small, hooded nazareno held the hand of a parent as he solemnly navigated the dark. The townspeople, hoodless and bundled in warm clothing escorted the crucifix to the church. Ryan followed them in, where they took off their hoods and cheered. He was surprised at this sudden unveiling as they changed from an identity-less group back into the individual men and women of a community.
Madrid
Our room at Pension Arcos opened up to a small patio with a view over the Plaza. At around 10pm, we could hear the now familiar sounds of a procession starting up. Looking out, we saw the floats leaving from Iglesia San Carmen just half a block from our hotel. A small crowd was forming along the route and we joined them, finding places about two rows back. Children were pushed to the front as the crowd grew. Everyone kept an eye on them but no one seemed worried.
The procession moved very slowly and stopped frequently so it took a long time for them to reach us. By then, the street was filled from storefront to storefront. Once again, a band led, this time dressed in uniforms. Hooded marchers followed carrying candles, most of which were unlit due to the wind. At the entrance to Puerta del Sol the procession stopped. People adjusted their hoods and shifted from leg to leg on the hard stone. Eventually one person tapped a staff against the ground and the procession began to move again.
The float came into view, lit with candles and burning incense which filled the night air with smoke, light, and smells. It was ornate and each time it moved the lanterns and decorations shook violently. The bearers put it down directly in front of us after some more staff tapping. A woman in a gray parka jumped out from the crowd and burst into a soulful, melancholy song. Her voice was hauting as it carried above the hushed crowd and I could pick out words like Jesús and compasión. When the woman finished the crowd applauded. And then applauded again as the float bearers lifted the float with a whomp and more shaking of the intricate filigree.
The float moved on across the now packed plaza. Behind it nazarenos walked between the marchers adjusting hoods, tapping out the movement and attempting to light candles. They handed out lollipops to all the kids that had been pushed forward. Extracting ourselves from the crowd turned out to be the hard part as we fought our way upstream toward the hotel with many repetitions of perdón. At about 2 am, we awoke to the sounds snares and trumpets - less melancholy and more triumphant - as the procession returned to the church on our square.
Santiago de Compostela
There were about six Easter processions scheduled for the day, starting at 11am, and ending at 11pm. (We found horarios for each city on the internet. Like this one.) As we were heading back to the Cathedral, we ran into the 11am procession. A small band led and was followed by the main procession of nazarenos, this time in green. Again, four men followed carrying crosses and wearing chains on their ankles. After the crosses passed, children dressed in period clothing carried religious objects like nails and a crown of thorns. Some women dressed in black, wearing mantillas followed them. Behind them were the rest of the church members carrying umbrellas as they made their way toward the cathedral.
Later that day, we tracked down the sound of trumpets to Praza Cervantes. The brethren in this procession wore green or white hoods. The band, crosses and children were followed by a pieta float. The city is small and the processions move slowly, so we followed it around the block, and watched it a second time. After dinner, we heardthe 11pm procession starting, so we tracked it down to a street corner to watch. The procession wassimilar to the other ones we had seen; however this time they carried lanterns. And for this final procession they had two floats, the first a pieta float and the second brightly lit and featuring the Virgin Mary.
San Sebastian - the aftermath
We arrived in San Sebastian at around 6:30 am on Easter day. Since we had spent the night traveling we walked around the deserted city looking for breakfast. The street was filled with paper and bottles. The rain hadn't managed to wash away the pungent smell of beer. A well-dressed young man staggered towards us. He asked me for a light in slurred Spanish and then wandered off when I didn't have one. Other party-goers supported each other as they swayed down the streets. Street sweepers were out in force, and it was like a game of pac-man as they tried to avoid those still up after what must have been a huge party, and we tried to avoid the street sweepers.
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