Spanish Festivals
A week after Easter Spain is emerging from the annual religious fervour of the season. I want to mention this because Easter Week in this country is probably one of the most highly respected and lavishly feasted in the world. It is the tourist objective for many foreigners who come exclusively to bathe, not only in the sunlight and the sea, but also in the warmth of the masses flanking the streets as they watch the numerous processions. The work and enthusiasm - both lay and religious - which goes into those enormous floats is beyond imagination. It gives those who have nothing better to think about a great deal to do. But many, although a minority, are extremely critical of the entire performance when the different images of Christ and the Virgin Mary are carried from the churches on the shoulders of inhabitants and local dignatories in disguise, and literally take over in all our cities. Not to mention the penitents who parade barefoot and lash themselves with whips. Hints of Mediaeval times! Not being a lover of the masses myself, I am inclined to the opinions of this minority.
But it isn't only Easter Week, the Spaniards protect their folklore with similar fervour with the Valencian Fallas, when the whole city is aflame with burning floats and fireworks, with the Patron Saint's Day of St. George in Cáceres and the Feria of Sevilla in April, the San Fermines in Pamplona in July, as well as all the different regional celebrations throughout the year, with typical dishes, typical dances, typical dress. Yes, it is a colourful land this Iberia.
People seem to be increasingly avid for all these mass celebrations, whether football or cycling marathons or bull-fights. Some declare that Spain should never renounce bull-fighting; they argue that artists like Goya and Picasso would turn in their grave if the bull ring were to die. Other supporters maintain that the bulls destined for the ring live on some of the most lush pastures in the country before they are sacrificed. After nearly fifty years here I am incapable of accepting that men and women can get their kicks watching animals being provoked, cruelly baited and finally killed. One thing is the slaughter-house, quite another is this public display of be-sequined bravado.
I sometimes wonder if all this celebrating is a way of forgetting how society seems to be developing, i.e. the economic crisis, the thousands of unemployed, the thousands of employed whose precarious salaries will never be sufficient to purchase a home or to live in a dignified fashion. Yet the Spaniard has always had a talent for overcoming his dark moments with exuberance and a certain irony.
Little by little you will get to know me, if you're interested: my thoughts, my tastes, my aversions and I would love to hear from you if you want to comment on anything I talk about.
Incidentally, I said I would introduce you to Alba's brother. He is Catón (Spanish for Cato, the Roman Stoic politician who declared that the most important virtue is to control one's tongue. He believed that a man who is right and knows how to remain silent is almost a god). Others would say perhaps that we have a duty to speak up to defend what is right. Whatever, my Catón is almost an Emperor, isn't he?
