2 in the
morning and there’s still 250,000 people in the street. Some of the processions don’t even start
until 3 or 4 and they can go for up to 12 hours. It’s hard to know how to describe it all, but
basically each church in town has their own routine: the Cofradías
(Brotherhoods or Fraternities) process in penitence through the (many narrow)
streets of the city, from their church to the Cathedral and back, taking the
shortest possible route, as decreed in the rule of the ordinances by Cardenal
Niño de Guevara in the 17th century. The
men and boys are dressed up in the long gowns with the head-dress that covers
their face and has the pointy hats (antifaz); some churches have large marching
bands but there is also el silencio congregation that walks in silence, and
commands silence from the throngs of spectators that line the streets (up to 1
million last night in the city center).
Every so often, a certain person in the crowd will break out in song: an
impassioned solo that can be heard for blocks amidst the demands for quiet from
the crowd. The streets are still full of
old women, babies in strollers, young boys and girls with cotton candy and
helado and sunflower seeds everywhere.
We didn’t actually get to experience Semana Santa in Cordoba
at all because it got rained out. The
evening news programs had footage of men and women in tears because their
church’s procession got cancelled. My
understanding is that the “floats” (a better translation probably doesn’t exist
for pasos) are built anew every year
and that most congregations start on the following year’s float and
choreography immediately after Easter Sunday.
And we were fortunate that the weather cooperated this evening because
it had been raining most of the day. But
obviously there would have been a lot more serious disappointment than a couple
of Yankee tourists’ dashed hopes of seeing some incomprehensible
spectacle.
