Easter Processions

Our trip to Madrid had coincided with Easter.  

During Easter in Spain, there are famous processions that occur throughout Spain.  These processions are grand affairs steeped in history and tradition.  Cities like Seville are known for having some of the biggest of these religious processions, but these events were all still celebrated in other parts of the country including in Madrid.  We were extremely lucky to have found ourselves here during this time.  It was completely unplanned and it was only well after I had booked the tickets that I realised that we would indeed get to witness these incredible events.

The processions seemed to mostly happen at night.  The wonderful girl at the front desk of the hotel was very kind and printed out and prepared explanations for us on when and where in the city we could find them happening.  When she talked about them, she thumped on her chest as she talked about the power of the music.  One evening as we walked down towards Puerta del Sol, we saw a gathering crowd.  We could see down one of the side streets that people were gathering for the coming procession.

At first we couldn't see anything.  There was just the gathering crowd, all slowly pushing together and to the front.  Nothing happened.  People waited and then some people decided to just move on.  Then very slowly you could hear it.  Feint at first, but it was the music.  The steady beat of the snare drums as they rattled off their beats like a metronome.  Then as the drums became louder, we could start to hear the brass band.  The trumpets first, then the other instruments became louder.  In the cold and dark of the evening, the music hit hard.  It seemed to reach deep into the soul, with both a glory and struggle.  As I listened and looked, I could see the procession slowly reach us.  Slowly.  Step by step.  They carried the towering floats and sculptures.  It moved slowly, above the gathered crow, almost like a boat pushing through this enormous sea of people.

  

Another evening, we finished dinner in a different part of the city closer to the palace and decided to take a slow and winding walk home.  As we were walking, we found the streets were slowly being cordoned off by police as they prepared for another procession.  On the large street, there was far less of restriction on the gathering crowd and so we were all able to stand closer and with a better view.   Just like the first procession we attended, before we saw anything we first heard the music.  This slowly approaching sound created a strange sense of anticipation and excitement.  I wondered if it was just because we were new to all of this, would we feel the same again?  

What appeared from around the corner was not what I was expecting at all.

A procession of marchers impeccably dressed in old European romantic military style uniforms, along with far more ominous and threatening marchers in red hoods.  Those in the hoods looked like a strange cross between something out of Star Wars and the KKK.  I wasn't sure whether to be terrified or laughing, but in the circumstances there was still amazingly, a solemn feel to it all. 

We didn't stay for the entire procession.  It was getting extremely cold now.  Baby Pickle was fast asleep, wrapped up in warm clothes and a blanket.  We on the other hand needed the comfort of somewhere for a warm drink.

Before we left, we spotted a statue.  It wasn't of anyone famous or any notable figure.  I later found out it was part of a series of statues around Madrid of ordinary people, with this one called the "curious neighbour".  Touching the statue on the very well worn and polished bum was apparently lucky and would mean you would return to Madrid one day.