Holy Week

The noise started around dinner time. 9 pm or so. Rocio peeked out the window and saw the gathering crowds: nicely dressed civilians, a uniformed marching band and assorted robed clergy. I fixed dinner. The noise grew. We waited.

Rocio and I live in prime holiday real estate. Our street is where most of the processions start. During Three Kings I just pulled up a chair to my window and snapped photos. The same has proven true during Cuaresma (Lent) as each Saturday I am privvy to a midnight and 3 a.m. procession right down my very own calle. I have heard I have front row seats for Semana Santa as well.

The music finally starts and we rush to the window. The band is in formation in front of the church across the street. The church doors are thrown open, the processors waiting for their turn. The tune is kind of eerie, fervent, pressing and sad all at once. It actually manages to invoke in me the image of Jesus carrying His cross to the hillside where He will take His last breaths (for a while). The night air fills with the choking smell of incense. There doesn't seem to be enough open air to dispel it. After the marching band slowly turns the corner, suited men carrying long lit tapers file out, followed very slowly and carefully by a group of men carrying the heavy statue of Jesus on a platform. He is surrounded by candelabras. The crown of thorns is on His head. They make slow progress down the steps and follow the band around the corner. The air is a bit fresher now, the music muffled by the walls of the next street.

It seems Semana Santa has begun early in Puente Genil.