Don't Cry For Me [Argentina?]

I promise (I think) that this is the last Semana Santa blog post (from me). I just have to share images from the final procession to pass by our house. I took most of these from a different point of view. I really had no intention of observing this procession, which went out up the street from us from the Church of San Lorenzo and the plaza of the same name. It shares the plaza with the Basilica of Jesus del Gran Poder.

I LOVE THE SMELL (AND VISUAL EFFECT) OF THE INCENSE.

Jerry and I were watching "Charlie Varrick," the 1968 movie with Walter Matthau, on TV. Neither of us had ever seen it. We were really enjoying it and, since it wouldn't end before the procession was scheduled to arrive, I decided to forego the procession. But perhaps a higher power wanted us to witness this procession (and, no, I don't really believe that). The film ended. We opened a balcony door. And there were the lights of the penitents' candles approaching the plaza.

KIND ENOUGH TO LET ME JOIN... MOMENTARILY

Jerry (San Geraldo) stayed upstairs and watched all from our corner balcony. Below him, the lawyers' office was filled with guests. I didn't realize you could fit so many people (eight) on one balcony. The building is solid, but we still won't try this one at home (you can see them in the next-to-last photo below).

TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT.

One of the traditions of Semana Santa is "spontaneous" singing. As a procession passes, a devout observer may suddenly break into a mournful song (called a saeta) dedicated to the paso. I put double-quotes around spontaneous, because what I've heard (and from what we've seen this Semana Santa), these songs are quite often now pre-arranged to coincide with a convenient stopping point. An ideal time seems to be when the guys carrying the float (the costaleros) need to do a shift-change. 

LA SOLEDAD (THE LONELINESS OR SOLITUDE). TASTEFULLY UNDERSTATED.

The Church of San Lorenzo has only one paso (float). It is of the Virgin Mary and is called "La Soledad" (Loneliness or Solitude). Just before the paso reached our building, a woman on the balcony below Jerry broke into song. The float stopped and was carefully settled on the ground. Sweaty and sore costaleros crawled out from beneath it. The next group, fresh and ready, stepped in. The changing of the guard took 3 minutes. The song lasted 3 minutes and 15 seconds. The singer genuflected and watched them pass.

THE NEXT SHIFT OF COSTALEROS.

There is one final procession today, Easter Sunday. The main difference between this procession and the earlier ones is that it signifies the Resurrection. There's music. And the penitents walk unhooded. They were supposed to pass within two blocks of us around 7 a.m. I decided I didn't need to leave our plaza or even our house to see another procession. I would just sleep in. But at 7:20, Jerry woke me calling out, "Mitchell, quick, there's a procession right outside!" 

"THE TRUTH IS I NEVER LEFT YOU"
SAN GERALDO ON THE BALCONY DOING HIS EVITA IMPERSONATION.

I flew out of bed, threw my clothes on, grabbed my camera, and opened my balcony door. I looked and saw two people walking quietly on the street below. I looked toward the plaza and saw not a soul. I could hear a marching band. Jerry walked in and said, "Sorry. From the sound, I thought they were passing by here. They're a few blocks over."

I groaned. I laughed. I stripped. I left a trail of clothes on the floor as I made my way back to bed. I was asleep within a few minutes and I slept for another two hours.

SAN GERALDO SHARING HIS BALCONY.

Purple People Eaters

I don't know what we were thinking. I take that back. I know precisely what we were thinking. We were thinking of churros y chocolate. What we were forgetting was that there are 2 million people in Sevilla this week. And 61 processions — some with thousands of participants — filling the streets 24 hours a day. Given the relative calm of our own plaza, we were lulled into a false sense of serenity.

GIVE ME MY CHURROS Y CHOCOLATE. I'LL REPENT LATER.

We decided to go out for a healthy walk in the evening, to culminate in an unhealthy dose of churros and hot chocolate. As we began to near Calle Reyes de Los Catolicos, the street that leads to Valor, the café with exceptional churros and chocolate (and also to our old churros stand), the streets grew more crowded. We reached our turn only to find ourselves stuck in the middle of another procession. Except for the corps of Roman soldiers and the thousands of purple-clad penitents, this was nothing new. We've seen two processions walk right by our house. No need to linger long on the float that had just passed bearing Jesus or the one near the end with Mary. Just give us our churros and chocolate.

THE CROWD COULD HAVE EASILY OVERWHELMED THE ROMAN SOLDIERS.

We couldn't turn left to get to Valor; that would carry us in the same direction as the procession and the thousands of onlookers. So we turned right, fighting the tide, to reach the churros stand by the river. By the time we got there, the procession had passed and we made it to the crowded counter to place our order. We stood at a tall table and enjoyed our well-earned treat as the skies again threatened rain.

WE FELT LIKE A COUPLE OF SALMON TRYING TO SWIM UPSTREAM.

Afterward, we got off the main thoroughfare as quickly as we could and we wound our way home through the backstreets, sheltering under an awning during a brief downpour. Ten minutes later we were relieved to lock our door to the outside world — especially to the Roman soldiers and Purple Penitents.

Before the Parade Passes By

The procession of Jesús del Gran Poder (Jesus of the Great Power) marched through the night and reached our plaza at 6:15 this morning. It was supposed to be here at 7:31. I set my alarm for 6:45. Fortunately, San Geraldo (aka Jerry) had been up since 5:30.  At 6:10, he peaked outside to see approaching a long, snaking line of hooded candle-lit figures, and he woke me up. I threw on clothes, grabbed my camera and ran out on a balcony.

THIS LITTLE PIGGY...
WALKED FOR MORE THAN EIGHT HOURS ON COLD COBBLESTONES.

The sun had not yet risen, and I was disappointed to realize I was going to have more shots in the dark. I took a couple of quick photos of the unbelievably long line of penitents and then decided to head downstairs (the streets hadn't yet filled) to get a different point of view.

6:30 A.M.  SO MUCH FOR MY BEAUTY SLEEP.

Down on the street, I could get some close-up shots and use my flash. As news spread, the neighborhood again filled with people. The café, El Sanedrín, had stayed open all night and closed after the procession passed. I saw two men drinking large "gin-tonics" at 6:30 a.m. (and, boy, did they look good — the drinks, not the men).

AT FIRST, EXTREMELY EERIE AT STREET LEVEL.

Once I was on the side street, I was within inches of the black-hooded "penitents." It was very unsettling; like being surrounded by executioners. The procession was silent and solemn. When passersby spoke above a whisper, you would hear gentle "shhhhhs" from all directions. The lines of penitents, again two-by-two, stretched as far as the eye could see, with rarely a break for acolytes who carried some special item — a gold crucifix, a sterling silver bible, an embroidered banner.

JUST A LITTLE SPLASH OF COLOR.

I've learned that the men who carry the floats are called costaleros. Since it's such back-breaking work, they have multiple shifts. Our plaza is a good place for the teams to switch. Unfortunately, I wasn't on the plaza — where I might have gotten some great shots of each float as it sat motionless for the few minutes it took to accomplish the well-practiced shift change. I was further up the street awaiting their arrival. The new team had an awful lot of energy and passed me at breakneck speed before adjusting their pace.

JESÚS AND THE CHERUBS. ALL A BLUR AS THE COSTALEROS VERY NEARLY TROT BY.

After the float carrying Jesus passed, there were yet more penitents. Jerry (who watched from upstairs) and I guessed there were somewhere in the neighborhood of 3,000 participants in this particular procession.

STILL MOVING AT QUITE A CLIP.

It took more than an hour for the entire procession to pass my position. The float carrying Jesus required 35 costaleros. Further along came the canopied float carrying María Santísima del Mayor Dolor (Holy Mary of the Great Sorrow), which used 30 costaleros.

HOLY MARY OF THE GREAT SORROW, ACCOMPANIED BY ST. JOHN.

THEY REFUSED TO STOP FOR ME TO TAKE PICTURES.

THE DOWAGER DUCHESS WOULD, AT MINIMUM, APPRECIATE THE AMAZING NEEDLEWORK.

There was another procession, two blocks away, and that one was less somber; I could hear the band playing. Many people quickly ran in the direction of the music. I, on the other hand, headed upstairs and went back to bed.

And Then Along Comes Mary

The rains held off last night and, a little after midnight, we heard the beating of drums and the blare of trumpets heralding the arrival of the first procession to make it to our plaza this year. It was led by a multitude of "penitents" in brown robes, walking two abreast and carrying large red candles.

PENITENTS IN BROWN LEADING THE WAY.

Following the penitents was a float held aloft by I'd guess about two dozen men. They were hidden from view by the heavy brocade drapery, but we watched the shift change right below our window.

THE GUYS IN RED JACKETS ARE WAITING TO TAKE THEIR PLACES CARRYING JESUS.
(THEY'LL BE TOO OLD TO CARRY SAN GERALDO IN 2016.)

THE CHANGING OF THE BURLY GUARD.

The float carrying Jesus was followed by a large marching band (the source of the drums and horns) and then more penitents, this time carrying white candles.

A LOT OF CHATTING GOING ON DURING THE SHIFT CHANGE.

The penitents were of all ages, some so young that a parent walked along beside them (in non-penitential street clothes). A group of altar boys carrying white candles in stunning silver holders followed this group of penitents. And then along came Mary.

MARY'S CONVEYANCE. TOO HIGH UP TO SEE HER FACE
(AND I DIDN'T FEEL LIKE JOINING THE CROWD DOWNSTAIRS).

A lawyer's office is on the floor below ours and they had invited guests to view the procession from their balconies. As the paso carrying Mary came by, I looked down and saw that their guests had large boxes of flower petals on each balcony that they tossed in handfuls onto the passing float. It was a beautiful sight and the crowd on the street applauded enthusiastically, although the marching band that followed Mary probably didn't appreciate all the flower petals that found their way into the tubas and French horns.

FLOWER PETALS STREAKING FROM THE BALCONIES.

Now, the Madruga ("madrugador" means "early bird") approaches. The Madruga is the most special night of Semana Santa in Sevilla. It takes place between Holy Thursday and Good Friday. Jesús del Gran Poder (Jesus of the Great Power) is carried from his home at 1:00 in the morning heading for the Cathedral. On his return trip, he passes by our plaza 6-1/2 hours later, around 7:30 Friday morning. It's the only other procession I plan to see and I look forward to getting some better photos in daylight.

A BLOCK AWAY FROM HOME FOR BREAKFAST THIS MORNING.

Meanwhile, today, Holy Thursday, gave us a glimpse of another tradition. Women all in black wearing mantillas and veils. It was interesting to contrast the traditional women, looking very elegant and somber, and other women in the same basic costume, looking very fashionable and sexy (which I have a feeling is not what The Church has in mind).

HOLY THURSDAY.

DOWNSTAIRS AFTER BREAKFAST.

HEADING INTO OUR PLAZA ON THEIR WAY TO CHURCH.

I'm Sorry. Now, Give Me Chocolate.

NOTE THE BRILLIANTLY EXECUTED WOOD-CARVING OF JESUS CHRIST
IN THE DEPARTMENT STORE WINDOW.

I still haven't seen a procession. The rains, although welcome and beautiful after so many mostly dry months, have put a damper (yes, a damper) on many of this week's outdoor activities. I took a walk yesterday afternoon and watched for two processions scheduled soon to arrive at the plazas of La Campana and Duque de la Victoria.

TOURISTS, SHOPPERS, PENITENT.

While I waited, I snapped more pictures of penitents, but then the skies again darkened and I could hear thunder in the distance. So I walked the few blocks home and arrived just ahead of a great thunderstorm and downpour. A couple of penitents took shelter in the lobby of the music store across the street. I would have thought walking in the rain could have been part of their penance.

I STILL FIND THE WHITE HOODS UNSETTLING — MATCHING TAN SUEDE BIRKENSTOCKS
AND FLOWER-EMBROIDERED CUMMERBUNDS NOTWITHSTANDING.

I would love to stop someone and ask them what they are repenting, if anything. Yesterday, I saw a 5-year-old in a blue robe, carrying his hood, while walking hand-in-hand with his mother. What could he possibly have done that would require him to publicly (yet anonymously) repent?

THE SUGAR GIRALDA AT LA CAMPANA SURROUNDED BY DECORATIVE
AS WELL AS EDIBLE PENITENTS. NOW THIS I UNDERSTAND.

While out walking today, I asked a very nice guy in a local shop if he could shed some light on all this. He explained that most people are dressed in the robes and conical hats of penitents for tradition's sake and aren't really repenting their sins. He told me he could understand our discomfort with the cone-hooded strangers. He's from Sevilla and it makes him uncomfortable, too.

THEY DO HAVE CHOCOLATE EASTER EGGS (AND TIKI HEADS... AND PINEAPPLES)!

I might try and catch one procession as it leaves its home church around 5 p.m. It's then supposed to walk right below our windows a few minutes after midnight tonight as it makes its return trip. Here's hoping the rains don't force this one to cancel.

RESERVED SEATING IN PLAZA DE SAN FRANCISCO (WHERE THEY USED TO BURN HERETICS).
CITY HALL TO THE RIGHT. BANK OF SPAIN, CENTER.

Penitence and Sensible Shoes

It's Semana Santa (Holy Week), one of the most important celebrations in Sevilla for perhaps as far back as the 14th century.

All the Catholic brotherhoods process through the streets of Sevilla for eight days beginning on Palm Sunday. I mentioned in an earlier post that there are 61 different processions this year. Most brotherhoods carry two floats (one with a version of Christ in one of the stages of "the Passion," and another with a "Dolorosa" (the Virgin Mary in pain) under a canopy. Some brotherhoods have three floats and a few have only one.

People march in penitence, anonymously. It's a very strange thing for our American-trained eyes to see, since they are garbed in conical hats (capirotes) that make them look like members of the Ku Klux Klan. It would appear that the Klan stole this costume for their own loathsome purposes, but no one knows for certain (especially since Catholics are among all the others the Klan is hatefully against).

Each brotherhood has some kind of identifier. Some robes are white and the cones are purple. Some are entirely white. Some are black. Some red. Last night I saw a very tall penitent all in black walking down the street holding hands with two small children who ran happily beside him dressed in their Easter best. Very curious.

PENITENTS RUSHING DOWN RAINY STREETS (WITH NO PROCESSION IN SIGHT).

I haven't yet seen one of the processions, which carry their floats from their churches to the Cathedral and back taking the shortest possible route based on "the rule of ordinances" from the 17th century. Even the shortest possible route takes hours. It was pouring down rain yesterday when they were supposed to walk by our plaza; that walk was canceled. Jerry read this morning that one of the groups covered everything in plastic but still had to take shelter in a nearby church (fortunately, the old churches have huge doors just for that purpose). I may break my vow and go out on the streets today (with an umbrella) rather than wait for them to come to me.

I DON'T GET IT, A COMMON SIGHT THIS WEEK IN SHOE STORES.

Pot(ted) Plants

Jerry loves gardening. I do, too. But Jerry loves the part of gardening that reminds him of his childhood visits to his family's farms in South Dakota. Digging, planting, weeding, getting his hands dirty. Some chickens and pigs (and perhaps a cow) would really make him happy.

BOUGAINVILLEA.

Now that we're living in a city apartment, we have to satisfy our gardening urges with pot gardens. No, not that kind of pot, although I remember a cousin of mine in the '60s having a jungle of marijuana plants on her balcony across the street from my parents. The Dowager Duchess loves to garden and has a green thumb. She asked my cousin what the lush plants were. My cousin panicked and I believe told my mother "they were tomatoes, but they died," before hauling them all into the house for harvest. It was an excellent crop, by the way.

THIS IS WHEN I MISS HAVING A HOUSE (UNTIL I HAVE TO WEED IT ALL).

Our seven balconies have been bare and we really wanted to spruce them up. We spent some time checking out other balconies and terraces around town to see what seemed to thrive in both winter and summer here. Wednesday, we went to a wonderful garden center a few miles north and loaded up two carts with 14 staked bougainvilleas, 14 trailing geraniums, 28 pots and trays, and 5 big bags of soil. Bougainvilleas and geraniums aren't unusual but they grow easily, thrive in the summer heat, and will give us color year-round.

KEEPING IT SIMPLE AND LOW MAINTENANCE.

Everything was delivered (free of charge) Friday morning at 8:30 and San Geraldo quickly went to work. He planted. I hauled. We both watered.

BRIGHTENING UP A RARE DREARY DAY IN SEVILLA.

The recent gray, rainy days have been great for allowing the plants to settle in, but I can't wait to see them thrive in the sunshine.  I've been checking the balconies incessantly to see how much everything has grown. Ten minutes ago, I discovered that a geranium had started to flower. I'd better go check again.

GERANIO!

Palm Sunday: Domingo de Ramos

We are gearing up for Semana Santa (Holy Week) in Sevilla. We've been told the population of the city increases this week from approximately 800,000 to over 2 million. The city seems to be prepared. We, however, are not. Fortunately, our apartment is on the route of several of the 61 processions that will wind their way around the city over the next eight days. So, if we don't want to battle the crowds, we can simply move from balcony to balcony and watch the parades pass by.

DETAIL OF ONE OF THE HUGE PASOS AVAILABLE FOR VIEWING LAST SUNDAY.

A MORE COMPLETE VIEW OF THE SAME PASO.

ANOTHER VIEW (THE FIGURES ARE LIFE-SIZE).

I've been studying and printing out the routes of the daily processions. The pasos (floats) carry Jesus, Mary, and/or other personages of biblical significance. The statues are life-size and we've had an opportunity to see some of them in their home churches, basilicas, chapels, and brotherhood buildings. 

ONE OF THE VIRGINS OF SEVILLA.

Last Sunday, many opened their doors so people could view the completed pasos before they make their tours of the city. The craftsmanship and the precious metals, painted woods, and fabrics used to create these displays are awe-inspiring. 

BASILICA OF JESÚS DEL GRAN PODER (JESUS OF THE GREAT POWER).
HOME TO ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT PASOS AND JUST UP THE STREET FROM US.

JESÚS DEL GRAN PODER LAST NIGHT. HE'LL PASS BY OUR HOUSE AT LEAST ONCE.

By the end of the week I know I will have had my fill of all the religiosity, but the first paso to be carried by our house will be here Monday. I may or may not head out this afternoon to get a street view of some of the others. If I do, I have a feeling it will be my one and only time to share the street with the crowds. Our birds-eye view will be so much more relaxing. Maybe we'll have some hot chocolate and a Semana Santa specialty, torrijas (which is basically french toast swimming in honey).

I JUST LOVE THOSE CHERUBS.
OUTSIDE THE CHURCH OF SAN LORENZO IN THE SAME PLAZA AS JESUS DEL GRAN PODER.

It's already been an entertaining week. Early in the week, we noticed that all our regular cafés, restaurants, and bars had significantly less tables on the plazas and sidewalks (or low tables where they always had high tables). I won't mention any names, but I asked one of our friendly neighborhood bar owners what was going on and I was told they don't have a license for more than nine tables. It's not a problem the rest of the year but during Semana Santa "there are many eyes," so they temporarily follow the rules. This morning however, all was back to normal at two of our regular haunts. I asked what was up and was laughingly told, "It's Sunday; no one's looking."