Firecrackers and Flowers
“El jueves es el noche de San Juan,” my Spanish teacher informed me a few weeks ago. She explained that she would be going to the beach Thursday evening for bonfires and a dip in the sea to cleanse her soul. Every year Spaniards flock to the beaches to celebrate the festival of San Juan on the night of June 23rd.
I love learning about holidays and festivals in Spain. I am in awe of how many there are. During my trip in October I came across two statutory holidays (Spain’s National Day and All Saints Day), a “mini-Semana Santa” in Málaga, and an autumn festival in a small mountain village.
In April I was travelling during Semana Santa or Holy Week, one of Spain’s biggest holidays. While I got a glimpse of this traditon in Málaga, I learned the festivities in the Valencia region were quite different. There were marching bands and music. Certainly. But no incense, no heavy floats heaved onto shoulders, no ding ding ding of the bells. Instead there were colourful and varied costumes: gladiator style outfits, feathered plums on hats and helmets, and elegant flowing dresses. There were oodles of flowers: bouquets of roses, daisies strung into crowns, and bushels of lush carnations in pinks, yellows and oranges.
And there were firecrackers. Extremely loud shake-the-building kind of firecrackers.
Before I get to the pyrotechnics, I must explain the decibel level was much lower in the small villages in the Alicante mountains. There were no celebrations. No music. No processions. The only evidence of Santa Semana was on the television where it was common to see news coverage of the festivities around the country. One evening I ate my dinner in a small bar in Taberna while watching the grand processions in Sevilla.
Mid week, I moved on to Dénia where the streets were busy with families packed in restaurants to celebrate the holiday. Otherwise, the Easter festivities were low-key. The host at the tourism office was almost apologetic when she handed me the schedule. “We don’t have big celebrations here,” she said.
The procession Wednesday was cancelled because of rain. Friday was a beautiful clear day. In the evening I gathered with the small crowd to watch the sombre procession leave the church. (Sombre as it represented the crucifixion of Christ.) The floats were on wheels and were pushed by church members rather than carried.
The noise level ramped up in Valencia where I arrived on the Saturday of Easter weekend. In the middle of the night I was awoken by what sounded like fireworks. Rapid fire and extremely loud. Ta-ta-ta-ta! Every so often I thought I heard the sound of dishes breaking on pavement. Smash!
What was going on? It was a little unnerving. I peaked out my window and couldn’t see anything. The explosions felt so close, yet I couldn’t see any flashes of light.
The next day my host explained. All year long people set aside their old and chipped dishes in anticipation of this night. Then they toss them from their windows! Smashing the old dishes represents a fresh start. Out with the old, in with the new. The soundtrack for this plate smashing ritual is a unique pyrotechnic called a mascletà. That was the rhythmic (and very loud) firecracker sound.
This was my first lesson on the Easter celebrations in Valencia, called Semana Santa de Marinera de València. Apparently the Friday procession took place on the beach reflecting the seafaring traditions of this maritime neighbourhood. I was not there Friday but I was for the final processions Easter Sunday (representing the resurrection of Christ).
I am so glad I saw this exuberant grand finale. It was a like huge street party! People brought their lawn chairs to the curb to watch the lively parades pass by. Everyone was out on the streets, either as a spectator or in elaborate costumes in the long lines of people that weaved through the neighbourhood. The rollicking parades seemed to stretch on and on. And go on and on all day.
The tempo increased as the day unveiled. In the morning, the parade of people marched to the slow and steady beat of a drum (can you imagine carrying the huge drum below?)
In the afternoon people seem to dance through the streets. Smiling and cheering. The music was upbeat. The crowds clapped. The streets were awash with colour. Flowers flew through the air as women draped in gorgeous long dresses threw carnations to expectant spectators.
It seemed like the whole neighbourhood was out on the streets, from the very young to the old. The cover photo encapsulates this feeling. Babies in mini uniforms were held in their fathers’ arms. Smaller kids marched behind in their matching uniforms. The elderly sat on the side watching it all go by. Everyone had a role.
By late afternoon it was over. The revelry moved from the streets to the restaurants and patios. I was left with the cheerful images of bright flowers flashing before my eyes and the thunderous sound of midnight firecrackers ringing in my ears.
