Domingo de Ramos: Cofradía de La Pollincia

This is it. Palm Sunday - Domingo de Ramos. The day all have been looking forward to. The start of Semana Santa, Holy Week, and the week of daily processions, kicked off by Cofradía de La Pollincia.

The previous posting Semana Santa: something else again will explain a lot. I'll post a few photos on this the first night to help you visualise.

The host church is Iglesia de San Agustin. Three tronos are paraded. El Señor a su Entrada en Jerusalén (The Lord's entrance to Jerusalem), El Señor Orando en el Huerto de los Olivos (The Lord´s speech in the olive grove) and Virgen de la Consolacíon y Esperanza Coronada (The Virgen of consolation and crowning hope). All three quite magnificent.

The procession is lead by Roman legionnaires...































Next comes the officialdom of the Cofradía. That's the mayor, Ricardo, on the far left. He isn't a member of the cofradía, but just cannot help himself if there is a photo opportunity. We call him Senor 'en la sopa' - A Spanish expression literally translated as 'in the soup', meaning he is everywhere. He'd turn up for the opening of an envelope if a camera was to be there.
















Next comes the start of many, many attendants. The girls, of course are demure and attentive ...


































... and the boys rark about.




















the first of the tronos: El Señor a su Entrada en Jerusalén ...


























































The procession lines up behind:
















more attendants ...


































































The second trono is El Señor Orando en el Huerto de los Olivos:









































































All the tronos are decorated with cherubs.


























































... and more attendants




















every vantage point is taken




































care is taken with every detail ...




















incense levels need checking ...
















The third trono is the beautiful Virgen de la Consolacíon y Esperanza Coronada






















Her garments are just lavish.




















Beautiful.

















And this is just the first night.

Mad
aka Max

Semana Santa: something else again!

Semana Santa: Holy Week.

The week preceding Easter, starting Palm Sunday - Domingo de Ramos - through to the following Sunday, Easter Sunday - Domingo de Resurrección. The Easter public holidays are celebrated on Thursday and Friday in España.

Our favourite bi-weekly, local, newspaper El Sol de Antequera described the phenomenon as a big serve of religion, a chunk of culture, and a slice of tourism. That very description exposes myself. I'll fess up, and admit I have misplaced the clipping which gave the statement a bit of statistical credibility.

Basically, it's all about nightly processions of religious tronos, literally thrones, depicting scenes of Holy Week. Each procession is organised by a cofradía, a society, each with a very structured hierarchy, based at one of the many churches. It is an Antequeran status symbol to be a member of the 'board' of a cofradía, and a big deal within the host church community. Between 70 and 80 men, and some very few women, lift the tronos onto their shoulders. These are highly valued positions, handed down through families. Some wear a simple, conservative black suit, others a costume. Famous actor, Antonio Bandaras, even returned to his hometown, Málaga - to much media attention, to take part in his role as a trono carrier at his home church.

The tronos are decorated in elaborate, and expensive, robes and jewels. A a result the Cofradías, fund raise by holding big 'beer tents' at the Spring Fair and big casino nights.

The tronos carriers are somtimes accompanied by Legionnaires - both costumed Roman and the contemporary Spanish Foreign Legion - or military bands, altar boys, girls swinging incense laden crucibles. But a startling sight is the KKK-like outfits worn by many. Apparently these are to hide the identity of the person so they don't achieve any recognition for showing their adoration. I don't know the history and if there is any link with these outfits and the KKK ones, apart from hiding identity.

The crowds are spectacular. People adorn their balconies with banners of the colours and emblems of the host cofradía, and crowd them to watch the passing procession. Many of the old dears are reduced to tears at the sight of the tronos, and their grand children (some just wee tots) parading as altar boys and crucible carriers.

Processions start around 6:30 - 7:00pm and can go on on until 1:30am, doing loops of the inner city. Processions usually move forward for about 100 meters, then stop, and take a rest. Crowds usually take a break as well, nipping into bars and cafés for a quick drink and a round of tapas. There is a real buzz all over town. Clapping applause greets the procession the whole way.

The tronos are spectacular. Opulent. Usually two depict a scene of Christ, and a third with a stunningly beautiful statue of the Virgin Mary, usually with tears on her face, and the most lavish of robes. Each trono is laden with angels, and cherubs.

Each procession has a familiar feel, yet each is unique in its own way. Despite the 'sameness' I have covered them all so you can get the whole picture.

I'll dedicate a posting to each procession. Mostly pictures, to make it easier for you, but a few notes to explain any peculiarities.

For me, an experience not easily forgotten. Friday night is the big one, as the tronos carriers take on additional difficulty to prove their devotion on the day of remembering Christ's death, and run the tronos up step hills.

Catholicism is still very strong in Spain, though apparently slipping a bit - not that you'd notice during Semana Santa in conservative Antequera.

Mad
aka Max

Andalucía Day: A bull fight

We made it back from some time away ('Getting around and catching up') just in time for Andalucía Day celebrations. Which kicked off with bands and civic ceremonies in the Plaza. We didn't attend these and as a result missed out on wearing a green and white rosette on our lapels as it seems all of the town's citizens did for the rest of the day.

But one of the festivities we did attend was the bull fighting. Now I'm aware there are people strongly pro and anti this event. I had no feeling either way due, as I had confirmed, having very little knowledge of what went on. If you know that you are really anti perhaps you don't want to read further, I understand. It was a learning and observation experience for me.

I had a misunderstanding that once the matador (or sometimes called torero)had fought the bull, the 'judge' - the President of Plaza del Toro would give a thumb up or down assessing the matador's performance, and thus the right to kill the bull. Wrong, first mistake. Actually what happens is that if the bull has fought 'bravely' the public can petition or even the matador may request an indulto: the bull is spared. This is very rare. In fact the bull has been speared and stabbed and would be lucky to survive back on the farm anyway. No, what you are likely going to see is the bull being killed. In fact the judgement of the matador's performance is on how well he kills the bull.

I'll do my best, as I understand it, to explain what happens.

The format is made up of three matadores who each fight two bulls. Following a brassy fanfare by trumpet the matadores and their teams enter the arena to the accompaniment of a full band, and salute the President and dignitaries. The matador has the assistance of two picadores mounted on horseback,and four banderilleros, one of whom acts as mozo de espada (sword page boy) and assists with the final kill of the bull.

A bull is let loose into the ring, snorting and pawing, and racing around like a mad thing (I wondered what had been done to him to have him so riled.) I understand the bulls should be at least four years old, and weigh at least 500 kgs. Upon sighting, some of the crowd around us murmured they thought a couple of the bulls could have been a bit young. The bulls race from one side of the ring to the other chasing anything that moves - the banderilleros waving capes at him, then running and leaping behind shelter walls. One guy got his comeuppance and got a good trampling, he was carted off and not seen again that day. Apparently the bull is being observed by the matador for its ferocity, agility, and strength. It also tires and slows him down a bit. The matador confronts a bull with his large colourful cape, but not 'fighting' at this stage but making some sweeping passes at the bull as it races past.

















Next, two picadores enter, riding well padded and blindfolded horses. Naturally, the bull charges the horse getting stuck in. While the bull charges the horse, and the matador notes which side the bull favours, the picador lances the bull in a muscle group high on the neck and shoulder. The reason is to make the bull carry his head, and horns, lower when 'fighting' the matador as lifting his head will hurt more. This lets the matador perform his 'classical moves'.

Then three banderillos take over. As the bull charges them they dodge, an attempt to stab two razor sharp and barbed banderillas into the passing bull. They aim is to place them as close to the wound made by the picador as this angers the bull but at the same time weakens its neck and shoulder muscles through pain and loss of blood. By now the bulls charges are not much more than a canter, or very short bursts.


















The matador is now back on the scene, in an otherwise cleared ring. This time he only carries a small red cape and a dummy sword he uses to shape the top of the cape. It's at this stage, the 'bull fight' is conducted, to classical moves, or art as the purists would have it. he whole point is to perform under total control, getting as close to the bull with each pass as possible. When ready, the matador will motion to his page to bring out the real sword.

The matador will continue for a while with this all the while moving the bull into a position where he can stab the bull behind the shoulders going right down into the bull's heart. Done well, the bull should drop immediately. If it staggers and drops to the ground the page will move in and stab the bull in the brain. Should the bull keep moving the matador's sword is retrieved and he attempts another time. One fight we saw, the matador had three goes. Two were clean, immediate drops. The dead bull is ignominiously dragged off by a couple of horses.





















Should the crowd be satisfied, and the President agree and wave his handkerchief, the ear of the dead bull is cut off and presented to the matador. On his victory circuit of the ring, waving to the crowd, he will throw the ear to a 'lucky' person - imagine catching a bleeding bull's ear. God knows what they do with it.

The performance we saw was not a first grade event,and the crowd was not large. Antequera has a big week long festival of bull fights in August. We won't be here.

If I had left after one or two 'fights' I would have seen enough, though I wasn't compelled to leave. I could be tempted to visit a first class event, in one of the big rings, with a big crowd for the atmosphere. But maybe, I've seen enough.

So, that's another whole new Spanish experience.

Mad
aka Max

Getting around and catching up

Following January, with trips to Madrid and London, time spent in Antequera seemed somewhat scant.

It continued as at the start of February, Deb and I flew north to Berlin. Yet again travel has blown away misconceptions. With the cold war hanging all over my youth, propaganda left me with the idea 'West' Berlin would be a much better place than the dour old Soviet era 'East' Berlin. How wrong. What was the 'East' is in fact what was the original old Berlin and all its history. And the DDR's showpiece. It now has so much more to offer as well.

Really, you should read Deb's blog page 'Berlin' at http://stayontheroad-nz.blogspot.com/ which really does our trip justice.

I just loved the whole time there. What especially? Hmmmm...


The angel statue atop Victory Monument, in the Tiergarten is just beautiful.














Bismark stands proud in granite form.



























The higgledy-piggledy heights of the stone stelaes, contrasting with the orderly lines in both directions, of the Halocaust Memorial, is an awe-filling sensation to view.

We chose to visit the Pergamon Museum, from the number of first class museums on Museuminsel (Museum Island). Wow. The completely removed, reconstructed, and restored Istar Gate from Babylonia is something to be seen to be belived.It's approx. 2500 years old. Rows of lions stand in relief. My pick. Though the Pergamon Altar, hence the Museum's name, was also impressive. What I did find interesting was the PR releases justifying the museum's reasons for not returning treasures to their original countries. We witnessed a lot of the other side of the argument in newspapers and magazines in Egypt whilst on the Africa trip.


And sometimes, it's the little things. Like Ampelmann. The really neat little green walking man of the pedestrian crossing lights. And the Trabbies ... the Trabants, those quaint little heap of shit Soviet cars. A local said that people used prefer buying a second hand one: there was a chance they might go.

And I especially love tying loose ends when traveling, those coincidences and such like I've often written of. Like visiting the Jewish Museum, not only for its own architectural worth and interesting and not over-burdening story of Jewish history and culture, but because its first Director was none other than, the late, Nigel Cox, one time manager of Wellington's best book shop, Unity.

I can't leave Berlin without quoting one of a series of plaques embedded in the footpath of a street. It quotes Miguel Cervantes, famous Spanish author (Don Quixote):

"Travelling and sojourning among various people makes men wise."

Walking in and around Berlin is great. Their Metro is beaut. Beer, naturally, damn fine. Stacks of 'The Wall' reminders. The glass and chrome Norman Foster-designed dome addition sitting over the historicist Reichstag parliament is interesting, if not a bit incongruous. But all the reflections, mirroring, makes for some interesting photos.












Home. Antequera. And only a chance to catch breath and repack the bag.







Back to New Zealand, family and friends, in Wellington, for a fortnight. Wacko. The purpose: to play my part in the RoosterRacing.com team sucessfully defending the Men's Grade Trophy won at the Around Lake Taupo running relay. Mission accomplished.














It was so nice catching up with friends. Unfortunately the time constraint meant it had a slight business feel about it. Make appointments, meet, next! But I got to see all I wanted to at least once. It made me think that I wished I was there a bit longer, could spend some more time with people, but then I'd be back in Wellington, and ...

Just had to visit Unity. And again connecting those loose threads, spotted Nigel Cox's Phone Home Berlin: collected non-fiction (Victoria University Press, 2007). Posthumously put together by Fergus Barrowman. Hey, and there's Ampelmann on the front cover! A nice gift for the Deb, who didn't make the trip. But ... ahhhhhh ... Victoria University, takes you back.

























I took every opportunity to catch up with my old mates, Ingrid and Peter, los sobrinos. I loved doing all the old favourite things with them. Picking them up from school, going to beaches, rock pools, cafes, parks... On my last afternoon, after school, we walked the harbour front (Pete stood "the closest I've ever been to a helicopter."), we spent a couple of hours rock climbing the walls at Ferg's, and finished off with dinner at One Red Dog. Really neat. I went directly to the airport with a big fat silly feeling welling inside. It was bit tough.

This time I flew back to London via a transit in Hong Kong. Couple of times I've gone through Singapore, but mostly via the US. It was a good change. Nobody on the plane, window seats galore, and daylight travel over Mongolia, Siberia, and smack bang over the top of Moscow. Makes a change. A chance to finish off Ghosts of Spain: travels through a country's hidden past by Giles Tremlett (Faber and Faber, 2006). Took a while longer to read than I would have thought - too much traveling around.

Deb had already flown up to London, staying at her sister's. Tracey had given birth to Zoe, the Zoster or is that Zo-star, on Christmas Eve. She is a real little cutie. We goo-ed and gah-ed, and she puked milk over our shoulder and farted on your hand while you held her. A real charmer.
























While in London, we saw Saracens play Harlequins, at rugby. Tracey's man, Rhys is a real Saracens fan. Deb and I went to the Brit Museum, yet again. But during my visits to London, this time and in January, I made a point of catching up on some movies. Ang Lee's Lust, caution. Kite Flyer, based on Khalid Hosseini's book. Ian McEwan's (one of my favoured authors) Atonement. Slueth, I just like Michael Caine. And of course, The Cohen bros' No Country for Old Men. Got lucky - I liked them all.

But by now I was itching to hear the sound of Spanish, have lunch at three, tapas and cerveza at ten (pm), and just be surrounded by charming Antequera again.

Not such a bad option.

Mad
aka Max