Sunny Sevilla and Semana Santa

---

Geo: 37.3833, -5.9965

We hopped onto the plane after a mad dash through Stansted Airport - we had completely underestimated the crowds that a 6am flight on Good Friday, and our flight was showing 'last call' as we cleared security. However, a thirty minute queue later, we realised we hadn't needed to have bolted quite so quickly through! Our journey took us over smooth fields of clouds, the sun reflecting blindingly off their flat surfaces, which cleared as we entered Spanish airspace, affording us incredible views over the snow-capped Pyranees.

After a short train ride, we arrived at the beautiful Atocha station, with its lush gardens. We headed out of the station, just as the sun started to break through the clouds, towards a roadside taverna to grab some lunch before boarding our train. Here, we enjoyed a cold glass of Cruzcampo, which went down rather too easily for 12 o clock on a Friday. Stacey had a crusty bacon and cheese bocadillo, while I enjoyed one of the nicest slabs of tortilla I have ever tasted (and, as a tortilla addict whenever in Spain, that's a bold claim!) light and fluffy on the inside and ever so slightly unset, it was divinely topped with a chunky layer of rock salt - that's my kind of seasoning!

After boarding our train, we were soon en route, whizzing through the outskirts of the city, before whitewashed villages with high church towers dotted the landscape, eventually giving way to orange groves and vineyards as we entered Andalusia. A short walk from the train station brought us to our accommodation for the next two nights - a brand new flat in the back streets of the Centro District, courtesy of Air BnB. Our host's mother and father met us - a charming couple whose English was only marginally better than my Spanish. In broken Spanglish, we managed to muddle through as they explained the great places to eat locally and where the best flamenco bars were.

After about 10 minutes, they produced the piece de resistance - a guide to the week's festivities. We had arrived at the end of Semana Santa, something we obviously knew about before we left the UK. However, in my research, I had come to the conclusion that the processions ended at 4am on Good Friday, having paraded through the night. En route to the apartment, we had passed through what we assumed was the carnage from the night before, crowded bars, road sweepers out clearing the streets, dousing them in water, and the unmistakeable aroma of stale urine. However, we were wrong, out hosts informed us - the festivities continue long into Easter Saturday and we would indeed be able to see the parades - one of the highlights of Andalusia according to every travel guide, magazine and website we had encountered during our research for the trip.

Semana Santa is the culmination of the holy Easter celebrations, which take place throughout Spain. However, the celebrations in Seville are world famous, due to the ancient processions, led by 60 different 'hermandades' - or brotherhoods - made up of nazareons - men shrouded in tall, pointed hoods and floor length robes. Ranging in number from 100 to over 3000 per brotherhood, they parade through the streets carrying huge candles. Some march in silence, others with the fanfare of a brass band. They are also accompanied by penitentes, those who wish to do penance by carrying huge crosses through the streets. Dependent on the amount of repenting they need to undertake, some can carry up to four crosses. Tradition dictates that they should walk barefoot to enhance the penance, and many of the men still do. Behind them, a team of brothers carry huge 'Pasos' - or floats - huge gilt structures adorned with candles representing the life and death of Christ and the Virgin Mary. They leave their church, proceeding through the steps to the cathedral, where they pass through its huge gothic arches, and then back through the streets to their own church. The processions can take over 13 hours, with up to 9 parades taking place in the city on any given day. They cross-cross the streets, drawing huge crowds who stand solemnly by, appreciating the spectacle of the celebration of life and death as the walkers and Pasos pass them by. In some busy areas, you can be standing for over 10 hours to watch all of the parades, and even then, your chances of gaining a view of the spectacle is fairly slim.

We knew that the streets would be mobbed, and that the chairs and balconies for viewing the processions sell out months or even years in advance. Armed with this information, we decided to head out, grab some tapas, catch a glimpse of one of the parades as it passed and then join our tour of the Jewish quarter which was slated to take place at 9.30pm. However, as we wound our way through the twist wind streets of our Centro area, we soon saw balconies bedecked in red velvet swathes. I suggested that perhaps this was part of one of the parade routes, and then we notices that some small groups of people had begun to stake claims to the pavements nearby - pee we sitting in doorways, standing against walls and generally looking for all the world like they were waiting for something to happen. I used my best Spanish to ascertain that there would indeed be a parade passing by at 8pm - only an hour away. My research, I had found that the best places to witness the parades were at the salida or entrada - exit and entrance - of the church. I looked to the left and noticed that there was a small church on the road. A quick glance at the guide confirmed that this was indeed the entrance to the Iglseia de la Paz, which was the home of the Sagradia Mortaja - the penultimate group to parade on Good Friday. There was enough space for two British girls to take their place on the kerbside and that was it - our viewing place was sorted. Within twenty minutes, the entire area was alive with spectators, cramming themselves into every area of available space. I knew from the research that once you are on the edge of the kerb, your place is generally secure - people won't try to stand in front of you, out of courtesy. It was the perfect spot to watch the procession emerge from the church and we were incredibly happy and rather smug to have nabbed ourselves such a prime location, despite stumbling upon it fortuitously.

Soon, the nazarenos began to arrive, their pointed hoods covering their faces in order to shroud their identities. Also arriving were monaguillos - children dressed as priests, who carried baskets of sweets to hand to the spectators. All were dressed in the purple, black and white colours of the hermandad. Crowds continued to gather and the excitement in the air was palpable. Eventually, the crowds began to hush one another and the robes figures began to emerge from the church. It was eerie and solemn and yet incredibly moving and impressive as the hooded figures passed by - so close that the fabric of their robes brushed against you as they slowly marched past. The candlelight cast shadows onto the roads and walls and the complete silence was at once daunting and all-empncompassing. It was an incredible spectacle and, smashing so close to the action, you felt at one with the parade. The men came in waves, come holding gilded banners aloft, others huge sceptres. Soon, a choir passed by, their voices rising up in harmony, the air swelling with the sound of choral music, adding to the air of mysticism and gravity.

All of a sudden, a wild cry rang out - a small child opposites begun to tire of the procession. It was just at the moment that the choir had stopped singing. The entire procession had come to a halt and everyone was in complete silence. The crying went on for the entire duration of the silence, that seemed to be forever. Raised eyebrows from the un-hooded members of the brotherhood and stifled giggles from the younger members somewhat broke the spell, but soon the four part wind band began their haunting tunes and the cries were drowned out. The incensio - or incense burners- were next in the procession, men carrying huge burners, with one man in charge of topping up their supplies. The air become thick with fragrant incense, adding a cloudy shroud to the already mystical scene. Finally, the paso was paraded in front of us, an army of men under its gargantuan weight. It must have measured 3 metres on each side and been over 5 metres high. Underneath the ornate golden to we, we could see the feet marching in time with one another as we squeezed into the wall behind us and out of its way. The paso and the parade stopped on the corner in front of us, as we listened to the satea - a serenade sound by one man to the image of the Virgin Mary, perched atop the tower of the paso. Soon, the song had finished, and the parade wound this way down the street in front of us. Mesmerised, we watched it retreat, before attempting to avoid la bulla - the crowd that had begun to follow the procession along the route.

We strolled through the backstreets, aware that we had around an hour to get to our tour of the Jewish quarter. We stumbled upon an inviting looking tapas bar, where we jostled for space with the locals and ordered two serranitos - thick chunks of bread topped with slices of pork and Serrano ham, which melted in the mouth, and my first taste of sangria of the year. Appetites sated, we headed back out into the streets towards the meeting point for our tour. We heard the parade before we saw it, and then realised what all of the websites had been warning us about. Our procession had been incredibly serene and calm, and we had felt none of the panic we had been warned about. That was about to change as we came face to face with the cathedral area, where all of the seven of the day's parades were crossing. The marching bands and banging drums gave an air of ceremony to the proceedings, and hoods of all colours were marching through every street in the area. No matter which way we twisted and turned through the winding streets, our route was blocked by one of the parades. Each time we thought we had found a way out, another brotherhood would be parading past. Eventually, it became apparent that there was no way we were going to make the tour. By 10pm, we had given up all hope and decided to head back to our apartment. However, en route, we ran into another five parades, each one pushing us further and further away from the route we needed to take. Eventually, after two hours of u-turns and rat-runs, we managed to navigate to our apartment and tumbled into bed, exhausted!

---