FISHY stuff is going on around Spain tonight. Black-clad processions and gigantic papier mâché sea creatures on wheels, huge bonfires, public feasts, live music, fireworks and, in some cases, partying until dawn. We know about eating fish on Good Friday, but the pre-Lent carnivals and, in the Anglo-Saxon world, the Shrove Tuesday pancake feast, was only last week. And in any case, why aren't they edible fish, or fish left to their own devices in the river or sea, and why are they going up in flames?
Towns and cities which hold a week-long carnival celebrate the Entierro de la Sardina ('Burial of the Sardine') on the last day, and those whose carnivals are a one-night-only affair usually hold this apparently-bizarre ritual a week later.
Except they're not buried, they're cremated.
Why would half of Spain hold a late-night funeral for a fish? Does this mean next week will bring a memorial mass for chips, or a wake for fried eggs? Also, why does everyone seem to be enjoying themselves so much in a mourning march?
You've probably figured, if you've spent any time in Spain, that many of its fiestas are based loosely on a saint or biblical theme – so loose is the base, in fact, that it's practically fallen off in 99% of cases. Every town and even neighbourhoods within towns have their patron and, when this patron's name comes up on the calendar, fiestas in their honour hit the streets. We hope the Virgin Mary, Saints Peter, Paul, John and Joseph, and Christ himself, appreciate the open-air pop-up bars and outdoor discos and public paellas and, if they were still alive today, would give a speech or two and join in the fun.
So it stands to reason that there's an excuse for a fiesta somewhere that involves a fish. The feeding of the 5,000, maybe? Or maybe not, because the bread bit is missing, and the fish was dished up for supper, not thrown on a bonfire.
A high number of revellers taking part tonight are completely clueless as to the origins of the Burial of the Sardine, have never really thought about it, and probably don't care either, but if you're new to all this, you might not think an explanation would go amiss.
Mourning and evening dress
Firstly, why the funeral? Well, if you've spent the week having it large at a carnival, the day before it all packs up and you have to go back to school or work is bound to make you feel pretty miserable. In the case of a group of Madrid youths at an unspecified time before most of us were born, according to popular legend, they took this one step further and dressed in mourning on the final day of the city carnival.
Nothing like putting a damper on the good times whilst they're still happening. It'd be like feeling grim all Sunday because the next day is Monday and you're back at the office, and why would you do that?
Well, I suppose some do. Dog-food tasters, for example, can't be too enthusiastic at the thought.
But anyway, the idea caught on, which is reportedly why the last day of the carnival, or the weekend after the one-night ones, involves dressing as though for a funeral and acting as though it's a wedding reception.
The significance of sardines
Secondly, why a fish? And why, specifically, a sardine, rather than, say, a sea-bass or a hake or a cod or something?
Several theories abound here. One is that a wealthy ruling Mediaeval dynasty in Madrid sent for a massive load of sardines fished off the northern coast to hold a feast for the carnival – whether just for themselves or the whole city is not clear – but a shortage of refrigeration lorries, motorways and other domestic appliances not due to be invented for centuries meant they had gone rotten before they arrived.
One would have thought a dynasty capable of ruling a city would have realised fish don't travel well over 500 kilometres by horse and cart, but perhaps that's just 21st-century prejudice. Anyway, there was nothing else for it but to fling the gone-off sardines on the fire and, as it was carnival time, there were any amount of bonfires to choose from – meaning the whole city got to join in, breathing the delicate, heady aromas of putrid fish going up in smoke.
Next time you lament the loss of the 'good old days', or moan about the lack of New Year bin collection on your street in Spain, remember this.
The whole Lent ritual has been celebrated since time immemorial by a symbolic discarding of vices and consumerism - after a whopping feast, given that it would be the last for six weeks – and embracing spartan leisure and eating habits, in a bid to connect with Jesus' sacrifice of fasting in the desert for 42 days, refusing to be tempted by the devil to turn the rocks into bread and the rivers into wine.
That's what the carnival is about – a final fling before personal austerity sets in – and pancake day, traditionally eating up the sweet stuff in the cupboards because you wouldn't have much use for it until Easter.
So it stands to reason that the Burial of the Sardine, or burning even, might symbolise the eradication of gluttony, indulgence and luxury – as another hypothesis about the festival goes. This doesn't explain why, specifically, it's a sardine, although it could be along the same lines as why the Anglo-Saxons eat turkey at Christmas: it was once an expensive food item that, in the case of turkey and Christmas, the average household could only afford to eat on very special occasions and only once a year, and in the case of the sardine, represented wealth and culinary hedonism; maybe an equivalent today would be 'burying' models of bottles of top-of-the-range champagne or caviar or luxury chocolates (because the real ones, if we didn't want to consume them ourselves, we'd give to someone who might like them or to someone who couldn't afford these lavish pleasures).
Theory number three is that the original 'sardine' buried or burnt was not a fish at all, but was roughly the same shape – that it was a rack of pork with a bit of a fish-like appearance, and was a metaphor for greed and excess (as in, being a pig).
The modern-day version
Nowadays, burning or burying perfectly good food would cause an outcry – excess food production is known to contribute to climate change, whilst an estimated 70% of the world does not have access to enough to eat due to poor distribution of wealth; also, most animal-lovers, and especially vegans, would be horrified that a pig or a fish was killed, not for human consumption, but for absolutely no greater good whatsoever.
Hence the model fish – papier mâché is a good way to use up waste paper, burning it means it doesn't end up in landfill, and the bonfires double up to cook a tasty meal for the whole town on, which is also a nice, cheery, social opportunity where people who live on the same street and barely exchange more conversation than 'hello' and 'nice day today' can actually get to know each other.
That's what happens at the Burial of the Sardine – and guess what the flame-grilled public feast is?
Funny you should say 'sardines'.
Sometimes, the Entierro de la Sardina is just a raucous outdoor party with no rhyme, reason or organisation, particularly, although plenty of rhythm if there's live music or a mobile disco. Take Pego (northern Alicante province), home to one of Spain's biggest and best-loved carnivals (that was last Saturday): everyone runs around with firework-type torches, splattering them at each other (they don't cause damage and aren't even hot; the 'sparkler' bits are just lights. Otherwise, they wouldn't be allowed to do that, don't worry), a ritual known as La Pinyata, whilst pushing model fish on wheels, which aren't always even sardines; sometimes they're prawns or just anything vaguely geometrical that could pass as something you spot swimming when you're out snorkelling.
But it's jolly good fun, and you can just sit and watch and listen from a café terrace if it's too energetic (yes: February evenings on Spain's Mediterranean coast are perfectly warm enough to sit outside with a drink; you'll need a coat, maybe even gloves just in case, but you certainly won't get uncomfortably chilly).
Elsewhere, it's a full-blown procession with spectators, an organised route, marching bands and fish-floats, with hot grub for everyone who buys a ticket, followed by an al fresco concert (how fresco it is depends upon where you are in the country; in Madrid and the north, and most inland locations, you'll need your thermals; in the Canary Islands and on the south and east coasts, a couple of thin layers and a jacket will do.
And that's it, until Easter, except if you're in the province of Valencia, northern Alicante province or southern Castellón province, when the crazy, colourful Fallas festival is due to kick off in two-and-a-bit weeks (stay tuned to our site and we'll tell you all about it nearer the time).
Photograph 1: The Burial of the Sardine, or Entierro de la Sardina, in the far-western city of Badajoz (Extremadura.com tourist information blog, by ÁlexFo.com)
Photographs 2 and 3: The celebrations in Murcia (Bertobarc90/Wikimedia Commons)
Photograph 4: A 'sardine' on the bonfire (Thafeth on Flickr)
Photograph 5: La Pinyata, or torchlight 'fireless fireworks', in Pego (Pego i les Valls tourist information office)
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