Semana Santa

Semana Santa, commonly referred to as "Holy Week" in the English language, was just last week. Depending on which Wikipedia statistic you consult, about 94.2% of the country is Catholic, so Holy Week is a big deal here.  By Catholic...I mean, just about everyone is baptized Catholic, but this doesn't mean that all of the 94.2% do anything crazy like go to church or believe in God.

 And yet.

Semana Santa is a big deal.  As a general everyday rule, no one except the gypsies and American students leave the house in anything less than dress pants and a chic blouse (and don't forget the woolen peacoat--it's 70 degrees, how are you all not dead from heat stroke?).  On any given day, my "European outfits" are a solid 3 notches below the average 7-year-old, even if I spend an inordinate amount of time in front of the small decorative mirror Sarah and I use.  However, for Semana Santa, these people really bring on the class.

On this past Palm Sunday, I observed each Sevillano in his best suit, arm-in-arm with towering Sevillanas in heels and the latest spring fashion from Zara.

My friends and I were excited to see the processions everyone has been talking about, and were hoping for good weather. Each Catholic church in Sevilla (approximate count: 1.3 fillion) has their own procession with anywhere from 200-2000 people.  Every procession has their own exact time to go. As you will see in the pictures below, these cofradias are not cheap.  If a single drop of rain falls, a procession will refuse to leave, and the crowds that have gathered will disperse to the bars to drink away their Semana Santa sorrows.

On the morning of Palm Sunday, I put on what I deemed to be appropriate attire for Holy Week and skipped over to el centro to watch the processions.  However, this is what I was greeted with:

Yeah rain, you think you're real funny, don't you?

I had optimistically left my umbrella in my room, so after much moping in the rain, I returned home to sadly remove my soaking flats and bundle up in my bed to stream some illegal American online television.  However, I wasn't home for more than five minutes before I heard an “¡Oy oy oy oy! ¡Estrella ha salido!” from below, where Mama Rosa was watching the procession news on TV.

La Hermandad de Estrella la Valiente is the name of the first procession able to leave for this year's celebrations.  The brotherhood is called "the valiant" because this was the only one brave enough to go out during the Spanish civil war.  Over 70 years later, nothing has changed.

Attention: What you are about to see is not a European KKK uprising.  The KKK copied the Spaniards, not the other way around.  Posers.

Smile pretty!

First, these guys in robes and pointy hoods lead the procession carrying candles, crosses, and other symbols of their brotherhood.  

¡La Estrella ha salido!

The pointy-hats are followed by a large band, which leads the first paso.  The first one depicts Jesus in some stage of the Passion.

Next, members of the brotherhood with deflated hats and crosses follow.  These guys bear crosses as a personal sacrifice, and many choose to walk the 12 or more hours of the procession barefoot.

"La virgen!"

Another 50-person band follows, with la virgen behind them.  The virgin Mary is beautifully presented in gorgeous robes, surrounded by thousands of flowers.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that these enormous floats (for lack of a better word) aren't pulled by someone's Chevy or Ford (what is this "truck" you speak of?), and they don't bop along by themselves, either.

The procession leaves its home church, parades around Sevilla, passes through la catedral, and finally heads back to its neighborhood.  All the while, beneath the metric ton of metal, cloth, candles, wood, flowers, and Jesus, anywhere between 24-54 men are sweating profusely as they carry the paso on their backs.

Semana Santa is nothing to sneeze at in Sevilla.  And, it's even cooler at night:

Ah! White ones!

We were able to see a few processions, so the first day of Holy Week ended with much less pouting than the rain had promised earlier in the day.

Holy Week can begin.

When I told Mama Rosa that I wouldn't be at home in Sevilla to observe all the processions, she gave me a look full of pity, "Que peina," she said sadly, shaking her head solemnly back and forth. "Que peina."

Well. Although the processions are an awesome and important part of Sevilla's culture, I was pretty sure that Italy could have something to offer, too.