NUESTRA SEGUNDA SEMANA SANTA
Our Second Holy Week
We’ve just completed our second Holy Week in Granada, which was pretty much like last year’s, in that each church associated organization produces the same procession (parade), and each procession features the same pasos (floats). There may be some variation in starting times and routes, in the flowers covering the pasos, and there may be different marching bands, but those variations are minimal. But that’s what tradition is all about.
Last year, when we lived on Calle Elvira, the first procession of the week came down our street, the pasos so close to our three balconies that you could have stepped onto them. Wanting to share this ideal location (during Semana Santa every hotel room in Granada is taken at substantially higher rates and those rooms overlooking a procession are at a premium), we had a small party. We invited everyone we knew, which was two couples, one living here and the other visiting.
We had no idea when we moved that our new home would once again be on the parade route. This year we had to wait till Thursday for a procession to come down our street, Calle Pages. Calle Pages is wider than Calle Elvira, so it would have taken a mighty leap to reach a paso from one of our three balconies, but still, being able to view the parade at eye level and not have to stand on the sidewalk for hours waiting, presented a unique opportunity.
Once again, wanting the share our location, we had a small party. We invited everyone we knew, this time all residents, three couples (Spanish/American and their baby, American/American, Spanish-Dutch/English and their two boys, and a single, American woman, who had a guest and couldn’t make it. Our Mexican friend was out of town.
Just as last year, there were 34 processions over the eight-day week. Just as last year — and every year, for that matter — it rained, though this year only one day of processions was rained out. Last year eight were cancelled. The rainiest day was Wednesday, and we were worried that “our” procession, and hence party, would be rained out. The day began with sun, then clouded over. But we were fortunate and the show went on.
The highlight of the week for us came on Tuesday afternoon. While waiting for the procession to begin, it was scheduled to start at 5:45, we bumped into an English couple we’d met last year. They’ve lived in Granada for ten years and see every procession they can every year. They informed us that the church the procession was leaving from, Iglesia de San Juan de los Reyes, was the oldest church in Granada, in that it was the first to be converted from mosque to church after the Moorish city fell to the Catholics. It was the site of the first mass celebrated in Granada, one attended by Queen Isabel and King Fernando.
Calle San Juan de los Reyes is narrow, no wider than the paso is long. This makes getting the pasos out of the church doubly difficult. First, because both pasos are taller than the church doors are high, the 30 or more men who carry the paso (I’m sure there’s a name for these holy beast of burden but I don’t know it) must come down the ramp on their knees, then rise, lurching neither forward nor backward in the narrow street. This leaves the paso positioned across the street. Then they must negotiate a very tricky turn, in which the center of the paso does not move, while the carriers at the rear shuffle to the right and the carriers at the front shuffle to the left. Hidden behind a thick skirt that surrounds the paso, all you can see of the carriers are their feet.
A maneuver like would normally be accomplished to great applause, but as this procession was a silent one, at least until the emergence of the second paso bearing Mary, it was done in silence. This moment of silent drama was followed by a dangerous looking one. As the carriers of the second paso were rising from their knees, the paso tilted and lurched. There was a collective gasp from the crowd, which was packed against the walls of the narrow street. Fortunately, the paso was quickly righted, made the turn, and began to move down the street.
Now the music began, the applause echoed off the walls, and flower petals rained down from above. The procession began its slow march through the city, a start and stop progress that would not end until 3 a.m. With the exception of a small, instrumental group, the procession included the usual. There were formations of church officials carrying crosses, gowned boys swinging incense, two marching bands, lines of penitents wearing hooded robes and rows of ladies wearing black dresses, mantillas and wickedly precarious high heels. I guess that’s what doing penance is all about. Including the carriers, there were more than two hundred marchers. The dripping of the candles, both on the pasos and carried by almost all the marchers, would make the city’s streets squeak for weeks.
Almost immediately after the second paso began moving forward, the sun broke from behind a building and, because it was low in the sky, shown through, not on, the procession. The ornaments on the paso and the tortoise-shell combs holding mantillas sparkled like jewels. I felt I was in a painting, if only I were wearing a robe and carrying a staff.
This was all getting a little too spiritual, so we went home and had a drink.
