Uff! So it’s been a while. I guess I should let everyone know that I survived the horrors of Seville and am back home and dry in Cádiz. Now I have been flooded with work and final projects that have taken over my life and will continue to haunt me for the next month. I am well overdue for a comparison between Holy Weeks:
Cádiz: This is the Holy Week that I expected: processions down tiny streets, huge baroque floats, a nice mix between religious and popular festival, gorgeous.
Seville on the other hand was off the mark a little bit for me. Seville, if anything, put me OFF to Holy Week. There were just many things about it that made me feel angry and that’s an emotion that I rarely feel. The first thing got me was the pompous look of the Seville elite. In Seville the point is to show off your money: boat shoes, khaki pants, Spanish flag mariner’s belt, brand name button up/ Full suit/ High heels, black tight fitting dress with a black lace veil. This is the entire base of the outfit. Then for men you add a silver pendant attached to rope creating a gaudy necklace showing off your catholic pride. Oh, and one earphone (just one) so you can listen to Holy Week news 24-7 and be an important Catholic “in the loop”. Again, I am not preaching, but according to Matthew 6:5 in the Bible: “And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by men. I tell you the truth; they have received their reward in full.” From a third party perspective this form of celebrating Holy Week is very hypocritical, especially when you pair it with the fact that the penitents who march in the parade with their hoods and bare feet do it veiled and in secret. The men and women who bear the cross miles and miles for hours and hours have their identities hidden from everyone. This is true devotion.
Secondly, the people in Seville have little respect. After waiting in my spot for hours a group of friends ALWAYS came up to the person next to me at the last minute and cut me off. It never failed. One time I just stood my ground and the person who just arrived had the audacity to yell out “There’s so much space back there, why do people have to be right up against you. Rude!” The tallest, fattest, loudest people always end up in front of you. They’re like vultures that look for anyone they know to plop down and have a conversation with in the middle of the street until they are forced to be pushed in front of you on the sidewalk for the procession to pass. Then there are the “professional photographers” who bombard the float and invade the processions; cutting off penitents and candle holders and incense swingers just to get the “perfect” photo. They tend to squeeze right in front of you as well as the float passes, cutting off your view just when you think it was perfect.
Other than the number of people and their socioeconomic status, the floats in Seville look the same as those in Cádiz (even though the Seville ones are hundreds of years older), the bands play the same type of music (Seville’s seems to be slightly more elaborate), penitents look the same, it’s the same basic structure, they both sell seats to the public, and they both “revolve around religion”. I’ve got a lot to go on now that I have experienced both worlds of Holy Week and am very excited to get started on my paper!
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