Hey Jaine, remember the three days in the rain in Spain in the tent with the mud everywhere? Well, we are into day two and a half, and I’ll tell you, it’s a lot easier with four big rubber tires under you. Rhona seems to be doing fine with it so far. Just had a brief bit of sunshine, hopefully it will return. Nope, here comes the rain.
I have been thinking about the changes that have taken place in the last 33 years. I remember the old men sitting in the Bodegas drinking red wine playing dominos, while the wives, dressed in black head to foot, shuffled between the church, the market, and the casa…. I suppose that still goes on in isolated villages, but the new Spain is very exciting. I see a lot of those brick apartment blocks we saw so many of in Barcelona… with the bar and small store on the bottom floor. But the Spanish middle class is moving into the suburbs in stucco two or three story homes. Many of them seem to be duplexes… but they all have shiny Renaults, Fiats, Seat (Spanish carmaker), and even a few BMWs parked outside.
Last night was Palm Sunday, the first night of the Semanta Sante processions. The streets were full of strolling well dressed people. Lots of young high school kids dressed as if for the prom, groups of college age men in suits and ties. I think Sevillianos are known in Spain for style and taste, last night it was all on display. It was difficult for Rhona and I to figure out what was going on, early in the evening it seemed like people were walking to plazas or restaurants where they were meeting friends. Lots of cell phone conversations going on. The central area of town, near the Cathedral, was decorated with red velvet bunting… the main streets were lined with row after row of empty folding chairs. A central plaza, the Plaza de San Francisco, was set up with a huge reviewing stand… all empty. The steady light rain may have been the reason, but I suspect that last night’s processions were just a warm up to the important ones later in the week. It was amazing to see the young women, many of them wearing skin tight white linen or other thin materials, in tall high heels, stepping through the puddles on the rough stone streets. Many were damp from the knees down, but no one seemed concerned. We just wandered the streets with the crowds. We thought that we would be able to detect some kind of movement towards one of the six processions scheduled for the evening. But we’d come to an intersection and there would be as many folks going in one direction as another… so we wandered.
At one point we found a sidewalk café where we sat for a while under an umbrella and watched the crowds pass by in the rain. Rhona sipped her coke and I learned to pronounce “Jarra” ( “yaghrah” - kind of a glotteral trill of the double r….) which at the moment happens to be my favorite container of the local beer… which goes down quite cold and smooth, as a matter of fact. I ordered a Torrijas, which turned out to be something like flan and a bit like French toast. I’m pretty sure it’s meant to be eaten with coffee, not beer, but no one complained. Rhona had a ham sandwich with chips. She says the meat was like Prociutto (Italian friends (Hi Albi!), excuse the spelling). Whatever, my bite was delicious.
A half hour or so later we wandered down to the area by the Tobacco Factory ( a huge building, now the university, where I understand much of story of “Carmen” takes place). We found a procession just being organized. Men and boys of all ages in their robes and head coverings… I assume that the Klu Klux Klan stole their costumes from these groups, it’s an unfortunate connection for Americans, to be sure. Last night there seemed to be two groups… the front ranks wore tall pointed head coverings, like dunce caps with flaps covering the entire face. They carried long candles, a couple inches in diameter, maybe 30 inches long (maybe a meter, Larry?) Yeah, probably a meter.
Behind them came the second group, the Penitents… Their cowls were flopped back behind them, like old fashioned night caps. They carried wooden crosses, maybe 2x3 material, four or five feet long, with a 30” or so cross bar. Some were barefoot… I guess those where the guys who really had serious sins to atone for… downloading naked Brittany pictures probably.
There was a very family atmosphere… like a baptism or confirmation ceremony. Lots of cute young girls hanging around the guys with the tall hats. I’ll bet in the States it would be the bad boys that got all the attention. The street was just about solid with people. At the far end of the crowd we heard applause… it was a dignified clapping… not cheering, more than polite applause. Out onto the street came the first (don’t know really what to call it) Tableau… Imagine an oak table, six feet wide, eight feet long. Being carried through the crowd a bit above head height. A life size group of statues, Christ on the cross. Roman soldiers, crying women. Large flower and candle arrangements. A red velvet curtain surrounded the base of the table, hiding the forty men underneath who are carrying it.
I was happy to see that the basic procession seemed the same as 33 years ago. I was prepared to find Rose Bowl style floats to please the tourists. The overall mood was cheerful but solemn. While it may be promoted and publicized, the basic ritual is unchanged.
When the first procession moved off down the street, a second began to form behind it. This one carried a statue of the Virgin, and was met with louder applause. As it moved off into the city center, Rhona and I walked along with the crowds for a while. We walked down to the river, by the famous Moorish tower of gold. Evidently there was a similar tower on the opposite bank, and when the Moors controlled Seville they hung a heavy chain from bank to bank to control the port. Past the tower we came to the old bull ring, with posters advertising next week’s events. I’m still not sure what I think about the bullfights… I wasn’t sure what I thought when Jaine and I went to one 33 years ago. It seems the Spaniards aren’t sure themselves. Last week we saw a large billboard, a picture of a bull with the picador’s spikes in his shoulders standing in the ring, side by side with a picture of a bull relaxing in a beautiful pasture. The sign said something like, “Tradition or compassion, you decide - Vote.” I’m assuming there is some ballot measure coming up…. I’m very interested in the Spanish mindset, if there is such a thing. It’s clear they are not into an Easter Bunny holiday on Sunday… it’s Good Friday with death and blood that gets the attention. Has this new middle class Spaniard in his flashy little car lost that connection with the past? If so, is that a good thing?
We’ve seen the McDonalds and Burger Kings everywhere we go, and I don’t think it’s something to be ashamed of, as Americans. They are clean, bright, and serve good food at very reasonable prices. Perhaps most important to us, the restrooms are clean and free. We’ve seen French and Spanish versions of fast food restaurants filled with kids and young families, everyone seemed to be having a great time without the burgers and fries. Smiling young faces behind the counters, hopefully an office in the back with a local franchise owner. I don’t see the loss. We also have visited the American Style big box shopping centers, and frankly, they are doing a great job of combining their own cultural likes with a level of cleanliness and variety far exceeding even the Valley Fairs of the world. I don’t think it’s American culture that is taking over the world, it’s the spread of the tools of distribution we pioneered that are becoming popular. The big supermarket in France had a large fish section, huge ice covered tables with literally tons of whole fish laid out like any vision you’ve ever had of an European fish market… Apron clad knife wielding fish market guys throwing whole fish to each other, yelling back and forth, advertising their wares. Just down the aisle from the fruit and vegetable department.
We saw some graffiti the other day that said, “Democracy = $”. Did not seem a protest. Might just sum up America’s contribution to the world.
How did I get off on this…? Oh yeah, bullfights and traditions, and the things that make us different (and interesting) and the things we share.
We have met very few Americans so far. Most travelers seem to be German and, in this campground anyway, Spanish. A few older English couples along the way. There does not seem to be any reaction, either positive or negative, when people find out we are American. I like that… very much.
One of the strongest feelings I had traveling 33 years ago was a mixture of guilt and sadness. That even though we were relatively poor by American standards, we were impossibly wealthy compared to the people in the countries we visited. I remember that the average working man’s wage in England was forty dollars a week. I remember hitchhiking in Ireland being difficult, not that people weren’t willing to give us a ride, but because every car that came along was packed full. We saw nuns hitchhiking….
Today… in England, France and here in Spain, I’ve seen a different reality. Oh, I know that taxes are horrendous, and I’m sure there are still very poor areas. But we’ve seen very few homeless people on the street, and the average family seems to be doing very well. The average Spaniard was out in force last night on the streets of Seville, showing the world just how well, rain or no rain.
6:03:22 PM 
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