IF YOU'RE in the Comunidad Valenciana any time between now and the early hours of March 20, you may notice an awful lot of noise and colour on the streets. It's the season for the region's biggest festival,...
Semana Santa, or Easter week, explained: Spain's unique celebrations
19/04/2019
FOR those of you who haven't opted to spend Easter on the Mediterranean, this weekend is likely to see you stocking up creme eggs in the fridge and, if you have children, spending a fortune on the larger versions lining the shelves at Tesco, making daffodil-shaped Easter bonnets, and something to do with rabbits (we can't remember, exactly). But if you're in Spain for the holidays, the experience awaiting you from tonight (Good Friday) is radically different - even if you're based near enough to a British-run supermarket to have bulk-bought hot-cross buns and kept Cadbury's in business for the rest of the year.
Many of Spain's fiestas have at least a tenuous religious link, even if it's only because they're celebrated on the day of a given saint; often, in fact, the biblical foundations of a Spanish festival are completely unknown even to those in the thick of it, but this doesn't spoil their enjoyment of them or reduce their participation. You don't need to have been to catechism to dance to live music or DJs until sunrise, indulge in public paellas, drink too much or don elaborate, psychedelic costumes and parade round town serenaded by marching bands.
But Semana Santa, or 'Holy Week', is serious stuff. Easter is when religion takes centre stage and, if you're an atheist and planning on watching these haunting, daunting parades, we recommend you read up on the story of the crucifixion first to give yourself some background knowledge.
Preparing for Easter: from the Carnival to the Passion of Christ
Six weeks ago, you may have been lucky enough to pop to a Carnival and let it all hang out, or just watched the splendid, often hilarious, fancy-dress costumes from the sidelines; this, along with Shrove Tuesday in the UK, or 'pancake day', is a final fling before the start of Lent - a season of abstinence in the run-up to Easter to mark Jesus Christ's 42-day fast in the desert, when he successfully resisted the temptation by the Devil to turn the rivers into wine and the rocks into bread. This is all part of the modern-day warm-up for Easter weekend, a series of events that greet the early spring and re-enact the winter of Jesus' life, which you may have seen traces of in Spain or in your home country. Five weeks after the Carnival is Palm Sunday when, in the UK, those who go to church receive a cross woven from a palm leaf, but which, in Spain, is the subject of a street parade with brass bands and locals carrying huge, intricate and decorative fans made from dried palm, or entire branches from the trees; this depicts Christ's final entry into Jerusalem before he is crucified, riding a donkey - at the time, the most humble form of transport - along streets carpeted with palm leaves to soften them for his mount's hooves.
Some time between Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday, you may catch sight of an open-air costume drama in which the Last Supper is played out - the biblical event upon which Leonardo da Vinci based his world-renowned painting, where Jesus breaks the bread and hands out the wine to his 12 disciples, saying it represents his body and his blood. He is betrayed by one of the disciples, Judas Iscariot, which leads to his crucifixion and, at Christ's own orders, the disciple Peter denies three times that he knows him - all excerpts from the story performed in this al fresco play, the Passion of Christ.
Good Friday: It's not as scary as it looks...
Bright colours and vibrant music are usually the fundamental ingredients of a Spanish fiesta parade - meaning the huge processions tonight might shock you. The atmosphere is sober, heavy and thought-provoking; the drums, torchlit vigil and chilling costumes augur gloom and destruction. Groups known as hermandades, or 'brotherhoods' - which meet up socially throughout the year - slow-march through town with lanterns or candles on long poles, each troop named appropriately to the crucifixion story ('Jesus of Nazareth', 'Holy Christ of the Pains', 'Virgin of the Sorrows', for example) and each wearing their sole 'team colour', normally black, purple, red or blue, but with no adornments.
They wear the same oversized gowns, like giant sheets draped over them, covering them from head to foot, even their faces - holes are cut for the eyes and nose so they can see and breathe, but otherwise, they are hidden, ashamed to show themselves because of the weight of their sins. Tall, conical hats are attached to the face-coverings - like a very narrow witch's hat - which are said to be pointing towards heaven, and which add to their eerie, terrifying appearance.
Asking why the Semana Santa paraders are dressed to look like the Ku Klux Klan is guaranteed to spark face-palming among Spaniards; it's a question that makes them groan, oh, not again. Luckily, we're here to tell you so you don't have to ask them: the Easter brotherhoods don't look like the KKK, it's the KKK that looks like the Easter brotherhoods. The horrific far-right organisation in the USA doesn't go back as far in history as Spain and Semana Santa, and it copied the Easter costumes because of their sinister appearance and the fact that they ensured members would not be recognised. Given that Spain invented it first, it has never had any intention of changing a long-running tradition just because it's been hijacked.
One of the most famous of Spain's 'hoodies', or capirotes, is Hollywood legend Antonio Banderas - the actor has been a brotherhood member since early life in his home city of Málaga and is one of the team that carries a float in the Good Friday procession, a ritual he has rarely missed, even since becoming globally famous. In fact, several times, he has been seen watching Easter parades from a balcony in Málaga with his now-ex wife, actress Melanie Griffith, daughter Stella del Carmen, and stepdaughter Dakota Johnson.
...but it can be painful (and it's supposed to be)
The floats weigh a tonne, literally. For this reason, brotherhoods with ageing members have often put out desperate appeals for young blood, because superhuman strength is needed to carry these life-sized scenes of each stage of the crucifixion for several hours in one evening, although somehow, they make it look effortless and, in any case, the sheer physical struggle is all part of the theme of penitence, shame and redemption that the evening entails.
Other shows of self-punishment are seen in the way locals not attached to a brotherhood join the troops dressed in black, marching barefoot, depicting Christ's impoverished origins and inflicting pain on themselves deliberately; and, more dramatically, paraders hitting themselves with birch twigs. Sometimes they only tap themselves repeatedly on either shoulder to give the image of self-flagellation, but this is not always the case: anyone with a thirst for gore or who deeply feels the sense of guilt and cleansing as an integral part of this time of year should head for the Teruel province village of Calanda, famous for its spectacular Good Friday drummers' march. Here, the percussionists strike their instruments until their knuckles burst open, and they're proud of their war wounds, whilst the birch twigs inflict real injury in the form of bleeding weals and blood blisters, which are then slit open with fragments of broken glass to release the pressure. It's enough to make you grit your teeth and cross your legs, but is an excellent chance to witness the true and profound sense of the penitence feeling and just how ingrained it is in many of those who celebrate.
On a more cheerful note
Even the most hard-hearted spectators find it difficult not to be moved to tears by the Good Friday processions. Even atheists cross themselves when the human-sized statues of Jesus in the run-up to the crucifixion, during it, his wounded body after it, and the distraught Virgin Mary pass them, borne aloft by capirotes and Antonio Banderas. The story of Jesus' last days at the tender age of 33 is a tragic one, unjust and highly-emotive, whatever your faith, or even if you have none.
But the dénouement to the Easter tale and to Spain's enactment of it is uplifting and will cheer you up if you've been deeply affected by Friday's funeral march: the morning of Easter Sunday is when Christ rises from the dead and, in Spain, is when the newly-resurrected Jesus meets his mother Mary again.
A statue of Jesus and another of Mary, free from wounds and tears, are carried and placed face to face in the main squares or streets of most towns early on Sunday morning, and the bands play fast-paced, feel-good music, whilst the capirotes fold down their hoods and lift the masks from their faces - now that their sins are forgiven, they have no more need to feel ashamed to show themselves in public. Sackfuls of sweets are thrown among the crowds, and dozens of children will be on their hands and knees scooping up as many as they can fit in their pockets; although in some towns, mindful of type II diabetes and dentists' bills, they scatter flower petals instead.
And then it's all over - unless you live in a region where Monday, as opposed to Maundy Thursday, is a public holiday, when you'll get another day's lie-in before dragging yourself back to work.
Given that Lent is now over, you could combine your Monday chill-out with a munching session: don't forget to stock up on monas from your nearest supermarket so you can spend the day eating cake and chocolate and building plastic toys out of small parts.
Related Topics
FOR those of you who haven't opted to spend Easter on the Mediterranean, this weekend is likely to see you stocking up creme eggs in the fridge and, if you have children, spending a fortune on the larger versions lining the shelves at Tesco, making daffodil-shaped Easter bonnets, and something to do with rabbits (we can't remember, exactly). But if you're in Spain for the holidays, the experience awaiting you from tonight (Good Friday) is radically different - even if you're based near enough to a British-run supermarket to have bulk-bought hot-cross buns and kept Cadbury's in business for the rest of the year.
Many of Spain's fiestas have at least a tenuous religious link, even if it's only because they're celebrated on the day of a given saint; often, in fact, the biblical foundations of a Spanish festival are completely unknown even to those in the thick of it, but this doesn't spoil their enjoyment of them or reduce their participation. You don't need to have been to catechism to dance to live music or DJs until sunrise, indulge in public paellas, drink too much or don elaborate, psychedelic costumes and parade round town serenaded by marching bands.
But Semana Santa, or 'Holy Week', is serious stuff. Easter is when religion takes centre stage and, if you're an atheist and planning on watching these haunting, daunting parades, we recommend you read up on the story of the crucifixion first to give yourself some background knowledge.
Preparing for Easter: from the Carnival to the Passion of Christ
Six weeks ago, you may have been lucky enough to pop to a Carnival and let it all hang out, or just watched the splendid, often hilarious, fancy-dress costumes from the sidelines; this, along with Shrove Tuesday in the UK, or 'pancake day', is a final fling before the start of Lent - a season of abstinence in the run-up to Easter to mark Jesus Christ's 42-day fast in the desert, when he successfully resisted the temptation by the Devil to turn the rivers into wine and the rocks into bread. This is all part of the modern-day warm-up for Easter weekend, a series of events that greet the early spring and re-enact the winter of Jesus' life, which you may have seen traces of in Spain or in your home country. Five weeks after the Carnival is Palm Sunday when, in the UK, those who go to church receive a cross woven from a palm leaf, but which, in Spain, is the subject of a street parade with brass bands and locals carrying huge, intricate and decorative fans made from dried palm, or entire branches from the trees; this depicts Christ's final entry into Jerusalem before he is crucified, riding a donkey - at the time, the most humble form of transport - along streets carpeted with palm leaves to soften them for his mount's hooves.
Some time between Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday, you may catch sight of an open-air costume drama in which the Last Supper is played out - the biblical event upon which Leonardo da Vinci based his world-renowned painting, where Jesus breaks the bread and hands out the wine to his 12 disciples, saying it represents his body and his blood. He is betrayed by one of the disciples, Judas Iscariot, which leads to his crucifixion and, at Christ's own orders, the disciple Peter denies three times that he knows him - all excerpts from the story performed in this al fresco play, the Passion of Christ.
Good Friday: It's not as scary as it looks...
Bright colours and vibrant music are usually the fundamental ingredients of a Spanish fiesta parade - meaning the huge processions tonight might shock you. The atmosphere is sober, heavy and thought-provoking; the drums, torchlit vigil and chilling costumes augur gloom and destruction. Groups known as hermandades, or 'brotherhoods' - which meet up socially throughout the year - slow-march through town with lanterns or candles on long poles, each troop named appropriately to the crucifixion story ('Jesus of Nazareth', 'Holy Christ of the Pains', 'Virgin of the Sorrows', for example) and each wearing their sole 'team colour', normally black, purple, red or blue, but with no adornments.
They wear the same oversized gowns, like giant sheets draped over them, covering them from head to foot, even their faces - holes are cut for the eyes and nose so they can see and breathe, but otherwise, they are hidden, ashamed to show themselves because of the weight of their sins. Tall, conical hats are attached to the face-coverings - like a very narrow witch's hat - which are said to be pointing towards heaven, and which add to their eerie, terrifying appearance.
Asking why the Semana Santa paraders are dressed to look like the Ku Klux Klan is guaranteed to spark face-palming among Spaniards; it's a question that makes them groan, oh, not again. Luckily, we're here to tell you so you don't have to ask them: the Easter brotherhoods don't look like the KKK, it's the KKK that looks like the Easter brotherhoods. The horrific far-right organisation in the USA doesn't go back as far in history as Spain and Semana Santa, and it copied the Easter costumes because of their sinister appearance and the fact that they ensured members would not be recognised. Given that Spain invented it first, it has never had any intention of changing a long-running tradition just because it's been hijacked.
One of the most famous of Spain's 'hoodies', or capirotes, is Hollywood legend Antonio Banderas - the actor has been a brotherhood member since early life in his home city of Málaga and is one of the team that carries a float in the Good Friday procession, a ritual he has rarely missed, even since becoming globally famous. In fact, several times, he has been seen watching Easter parades from a balcony in Málaga with his now-ex wife, actress Melanie Griffith, daughter Stella del Carmen, and stepdaughter Dakota Johnson.
...but it can be painful (and it's supposed to be)
The floats weigh a tonne, literally. For this reason, brotherhoods with ageing members have often put out desperate appeals for young blood, because superhuman strength is needed to carry these life-sized scenes of each stage of the crucifixion for several hours in one evening, although somehow, they make it look effortless and, in any case, the sheer physical struggle is all part of the theme of penitence, shame and redemption that the evening entails.
Other shows of self-punishment are seen in the way locals not attached to a brotherhood join the troops dressed in black, marching barefoot, depicting Christ's impoverished origins and inflicting pain on themselves deliberately; and, more dramatically, paraders hitting themselves with birch twigs. Sometimes they only tap themselves repeatedly on either shoulder to give the image of self-flagellation, but this is not always the case: anyone with a thirst for gore or who deeply feels the sense of guilt and cleansing as an integral part of this time of year should head for the Teruel province village of Calanda, famous for its spectacular Good Friday drummers' march. Here, the percussionists strike their instruments until their knuckles burst open, and they're proud of their war wounds, whilst the birch twigs inflict real injury in the form of bleeding weals and blood blisters, which are then slit open with fragments of broken glass to release the pressure. It's enough to make you grit your teeth and cross your legs, but is an excellent chance to witness the true and profound sense of the penitence feeling and just how ingrained it is in many of those who celebrate.
On a more cheerful note
Even the most hard-hearted spectators find it difficult not to be moved to tears by the Good Friday processions. Even atheists cross themselves when the human-sized statues of Jesus in the run-up to the crucifixion, during it, his wounded body after it, and the distraught Virgin Mary pass them, borne aloft by capirotes and Antonio Banderas. The story of Jesus' last days at the tender age of 33 is a tragic one, unjust and highly-emotive, whatever your faith, or even if you have none.
But the dénouement to the Easter tale and to Spain's enactment of it is uplifting and will cheer you up if you've been deeply affected by Friday's funeral march: the morning of Easter Sunday is when Christ rises from the dead and, in Spain, is when the newly-resurrected Jesus meets his mother Mary again.
A statue of Jesus and another of Mary, free from wounds and tears, are carried and placed face to face in the main squares or streets of most towns early on Sunday morning, and the bands play fast-paced, feel-good music, whilst the capirotes fold down their hoods and lift the masks from their faces - now that their sins are forgiven, they have no more need to feel ashamed to show themselves in public. Sackfuls of sweets are thrown among the crowds, and dozens of children will be on their hands and knees scooping up as many as they can fit in their pockets; although in some towns, mindful of type II diabetes and dentists' bills, they scatter flower petals instead.
And then it's all over - unless you live in a region where Monday, as opposed to Maundy Thursday, is a public holiday, when you'll get another day's lie-in before dragging yourself back to work.
Given that Lent is now over, you could combine your Monday chill-out with a munching session: don't forget to stock up on monas from your nearest supermarket so you can spend the day eating cake and chocolate and building plastic toys out of small parts.
Related Topics
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