A very special night for Málaga

The joy in the unexpected is so often about the little things. A fun interaction. A quiet plaza. A new taste. Málaga held a wonderfully unexpected experience but I cannot classify it as small. It was on a grand scale.

It started as I checked in to my hotel. The greeting from the hostess was unusual: “Let me explain what’s happening tonight.” By the excited tone in her voice it was clear this had nothing to do with the wi-fi password.

“It’s like a mini Semana Santa.”

A week earlier I was in Sevilla so I had heard a little about Semana Santa or Holy Week. Sevillanos spend the entire year preparing for this epic event where religious processions weave through the city’s narrow streets. The processions are organized by brotherhoods associated with the churches. Each brotherhood has a unique float depicting a scene of Christ or the Virgin Mary that they carry through the streets.

I got a glimpse of Semana Santa traditions on my fantastic tour with Sophie of Devour Tours. We visited a tiny bar where the owner Paco has recreated the essence of Semana Santa. It’s crammed with devotional paintings, gilded candle holders, shrines, crucifixes, chalices, statues of Christ on the cross, and candles dripping wax. Incense burned continuously. Recorded processions replayed on a large screen above the bar.

I never expected to see these processions live. Holy Week takes place in the week leading up to Easter in April.

It was October as I stood in the lobby of my hotel in Málaga listening to the hostess explain the streets would soon be closed off. This one special day, called Magna, was to celebrate the two previous Holy Weeks that had been cancelled due to the pandemic. “It’s a very special night for Málaga. I hope you will see it,” said the hostess beaming with pride.

Up in my room, I was still processing this unexpected news when I heard drums. I leapt to my balcony (another surprise!) and I saw a marching band speed by, almost in a run. They were wearing olive green uniforms and thick black boots. They marched in perfect unison: drummers, trumpeters, men carrying flags and bayonets. At a pause in the music, the trumpeters twirled their instruments like a baton.

The music felt upbeat. It felt like the band was rallying the crowd. Sure enough the crowd cheered. I cheered! I was delighted I could see the spectacle unfold below my little balcony on the first floor.

Ding ding ding!

Loud bells rang. It was a sound I heard over and over that night. I didn’t know what those bells signified the first time but it jolted me to pay attention.

A large bell was attached to the front of the float. The ring of the bell notified the float-carriers, dressed in matching robes, to get in position under the float with the support rungs on their shoulders. Heave! In perfect unison, the 200 plus men (yes, all men) stood and lifted the float. The music started and they marched. Rhythmically. It was almost like a dance. When the music slowed, the float gently swayed on their shoulders. When the tempo quickened, the choreographed walk quickened, and the life-size sculptures tilted from side to side with more vigour.

Ding ding ding!

This time the bell was cue to take a break. The float lowered. The men stepped out from under the float to rest (and check their smartphones).

I was grateful for the view from my balcony. For the uninitiated like myself, it gave me a chance to see the full grandeur of a procession. The massive float was certainly the centrepiece but the parade of people stretched in front and behind.

In front there were 2 long lines, side by side, of other church members, of all ages, kids at the front. Each carried a thick candle about 4 feet tall that got lite as they exited the church. Behind the float, the band set the rhythm so they all moved as one entity. I watched the sprawling parade pass my balcony and round the corner until it was out of sight. I was amazed.

Ding ding ding!

A couple hours later the loud bells started up again. A second procession? Indeed. A second set of double doors opened in the adjacent building. I watched another parade of people unfurl through the doors. In a puff of incense another float emerged.

That night in Málaga 16 processions marched from their home location to the main cathedral and back. My balcony overlooked the start and end of two (CENA and MENA).

The celebration went on all night. The streets heady with the scent of spicy incense. The float-carriers marching and resting intermittently as the crowds cheered them on.

Ding ding ding!

At 2:30 in the morning the second float (MENA) made its return trip past my balcony. I roused myself from bed and stepped out on the balcony to see an eerie shadow of Christ on the Cross moving across the wall. A solemn visual yet as the procession got closer to the finish line the music was celebratory.

The finale was even more vigorous than the debut. The 200 float-carriers did not march directly into the open doors. As they got close someone tapped the front of the float. Like a gear shifting into reverse the group of men walked backwards a few metres. Another tap on the float, shifting into drive, they all stepped forward. Back and forth they marched, half dozen times. It was an amazing feet of strength and choreography. It looked playful. It did not look they had been carrying this tonnage for 10 hours already.

It did not look like they wanted the night to end.

It was 3:00 am as I watched the tail end of the gold gilded float disappear into the church. The last bell rang. The band quieted. The crowds dissipated. I lingered on my balcony as the street emptied.

I felt incredibly privileged to be a spectator that night. A very special night for Málaga.