Granada and its Saintly Week

Easter Week in Spain is a true spectacle, and although I hadn’t really experienced the full pomp and ceremony of the occasion when I lived in Mallorca; perhaps because of the lack of permanence (or maybe penitence?) of so many of its inhabitants; in Granada I was lucky enough to witness the whole caboodle from initial preparation right through to showtime.

It all began one dark evening when, sitting in my poky little room, I was startled from a reverie by peculiar noises outside the window. Rhythmic stamping of feet was interrupted every so often by a sharp cry, and the thwack of what sounded like a stick against the cobbles.

Peering out, I was astonished to see a group of about twenty men walking slowly along carrying a huge wooden table on their shoulders on top of which were half a dozen sand bags. In front of them walked another man with a long sturdy stick, whose intermittent shouts were apparently the sign for the table to be dropped sharply to the floor: the carriers emerging from underneath it, stretching widely and rubbing their aching shoulders.

After a few minutes of milling around, chatting and smoking, another cry would send them all scurrying back into position, and the stick would be thrust loudly down on the cobbles, at which point they would rise as one, the table once more balanced with utmost precision on their shoulders.

To the other side of them I could see another lad with a tape recorder; the tinny noise that warbled forth when he pressed play obviously the sign for the table carriers to move slowly and sedately off under the weight of their cumbersome load.

I stayed listening to the strange music for some time, unable to decide whether its medieval, doom-laden strains were pleasing to the ear or not. Not having a clue which instruments were actually involved in producing such a unique sound, I was put uncannily in mind of the plastic kazoo whistles found in many a children’s party bag during my youth.

Semana Santa is one long week of religious processions, each procession carrying a symbolic figure that represents the Virgin Mary or Christ in different stages of their biblical “lives” – Jesús Cautivo (Jesus the Captive), La Encarnación (the Incarnation, the Embodiment), María Santísima de las Maravillas (Saint Mary of the Wonders) Jesús en Jerusalen or La Buriquilla (Jesus in Jerusalem, also known as the ‘little donkey’ due to his mode of transport), Jesús de la Sentencia (so named as it depicts his death sentence being read out), Jesús del Amor (Jesus of Love) , María Santísima del Sacromonte (Saint Mary of the Sacromonte – the Gitano region of the city of Granada, situated on the hill just outside the Albaicín and where in my humble opinion the most awe-inspiring processions can be seen), Cristo del Consuelo (Christ of Consolation), Nuestra Señora del Sacromonte (Our Lady of Sacromonte) and Cristo de los Gitanos (Christ of the Gypsies).

Some of the statues are several hundred years old, and most carved by renowned artists. They are kept in their respective churches throughout the year, until their week of glory in the spring. The custodians of these religious artefacts, or ‘imagenes’ are the cofradías– catholic groups (literally ‘brotherhoods’ or ‘fraternities’) that organise the parade or ‘paso’ of their imagen through the city as a type of catholic penitence.

The men (and very occasionally women, although as with many aspects of the Catholic Church, the inclusion of females into any part of religious symbolism is something that is still hotly debated) who carry the imagen on its stately way through the city are known as ‘costaleros’. With some of the structures the costaleros are underneath and covered from view by velvet drapes, whereas others have two long metal poles protruding front and back which then are balanced on the costaleros shoulders.

From the moment it leaves its church, the imagen is surrounded bynazareños and penitentes dressed in long gowns, many with their faces covered by a capuz hood with only slits for eyes and wearing those pointed capirote head dresses so reminiscent of that infamous and hateful symbol of white supremacy.

Some carry crosses on their shoulders, and many will choose to go barefoot as a further sign of their penitence. A band marks the rhythm of the steps the costaleros must follow with soulful tunes beaten out on drums and accompanied by wind instruments.

Last of all walk the women and girls, dressed entirely in black with their tall peineta combs holding the delicate lace of the instantly recognisable mantilla veils.

Occasionally the paso will stop, and a lone singer will chill the onlookers’ blood with a heart-rendering saeta – sung to the glory of the Virgin Mary or to Christ.

And thus the procession will continue winding its peacefully silent way along the assigned route and back to the church to await the following year’s Semana Santa.