Last Sunday was the day of the Romería de la Virgen de Flores (The Pilgrimage of the Virgin of the Flowers). The annual celebrations for Álora's Patron Virgin ended, as it does every year, with a great procession from La Parroquia (Parish Church) in La Plaza Baja to El Convento out on the Ardales road where she spends the rest of the year. Nine days of misas (masses)and exploding rockets (remember those, Tommy?) form the build up to the second biggest local event of the year. (Semana Santa) (holy week) will always take the number one slot.)
Mrs. Sánchez and I live next door to Lina who is in charge of the whole show, so we feel almost involved. The Virgin of the Flowers, as you would expect, is yet another version of Mary, the mother of Jesus.
There are hundreds, possibly thousands of these virgins scattered around Spain and South America, all with special names like 'The Virgin of the Miraculous Medal', 'The Lady of Carmen', 'The Black Madonna of Montserrat' and 'The Virgin of the Macarena'. Most of them are used in the Semana Santa processions but all towns and villages in Spain have a special one to protect them.
Alora's patron virgin, La Virgen de Flores' ,is adored by everyone and the celebrations have none of the solemnity, pain, suffering and death that comes with Holy Week. It's all about flowers, dressing up, music, happiness and, of course, eating and drinking. Despite the obvious connections between Mary, Jesus and Christianity you don't see much overt religious fervour on the day of the Romeria. The village priest walked past while we were watching the procession this year . He was wearing a t shirt and chinos and had a cigarette on the go. The Church knows when to keep a low profile.
The bars in the Fuentarriba (Top square) shut down on the day of the Romería; partly out of respect and partly for safety as later in the day there are a lot of fino-fuelled horsemen wandering around. Paco, the boss of Bar Alegría, once had some of them ride into his bar on big horses demanding drink. It's all good fun.
As usual on the Sunday of the Romería our street gets busy, noisy and smelly before dawn as smart mounted señoritos, la carreta (the cart) and two massive vacas (cows) pass our door, all heading for the end of the street where the horses and cows crap all over the place and the cart and the virgin are dressed up. I usually go down there with a bucket and shovel to see if they want any help and to check how things are getting on.
Las vacas (cows)
By the time everybody in Casa Sánchez was up and about La Virgen was already decked out in flowers and ready to ride up Calle Atrás pulled by the two beefy vacas. These sturdy and often reluctant beasts are encouraged to progress up the steep hill by men wielding long poles with nails in the end. By the time I'd got everybody out of the house we'd missed the start. Cows, cart, virgin and followers on foot and on horseback were already up Atrás and entering Fuentarriba (the top square). I legged it up Calle Zapata and Calle Parra just in time to take some pictures of the rapturous welcome.
No self-respecting Virgin Mary would be seen in public without her little baby Jesus, unless it's Easter and she's holding the body of Christ or weeping.
I've no idea why, but all the baby Jesuses I've seen, and I've seen more than a few, I can tell you, tend to look a bit on the mature side.
Anyway, when I found Mrs. Sánchez and the family she immediately pointed towards the virgin and, in a fair imitation of Miss Marple, exclaimed,
'Something's up!'
'Up? What's up?'
'Where's the baby?'
'What baby?'
'The baby Jesus. He's not there.'
'Some mishtake shurely', thought I but she was right! The baby Jesus had disappeared and nobody else appeared to have noticed. All Mary had in her arms was a bit of cloth. Everything was going on 'como si nada' (as if nothing had happened.)
'We'd better tell someone', says Mrs. S.
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La Virgen de Flores (sin El Niño)
'No. Wait!' says I. 'Perhaps this has happened every year but we've never noticed.'
I checked my camera for the earlier pictures and there he was, safe and sound in his mother's arms. 'The incident must have happened on Calle Atrás'. declared Miss Marple.
La virgen de Flores earlier (con El Niño).
We watched the lone virgin pass through the square followed by a parade of Carrozas (decorated floats packed with beer, fino, ice and nibbles), mounted caballeros (horsemen), señoras and señoritas dressed in beautiful figure-hugging flamenco dresses and a long line of peregrinos (pilgrims).
Some señoras and señoritas.
Then we went home for a proper breakfast.
The next day our drains backed up and sewage started seeping out through the patio tiles. I called a couple of reliable builders and one arrived within the hour to sort out the problem. We'd planned to take the family to the beach en route to the airport but instead we took a leisurely al fresco breakfast entertained by the builder drilling into the patio and the sight of previous meals.He's coming tomorrow to finish the job. Hey ho.
Yesterday I bumped into our next door neighbour, Lina and asked her what had happened to baby Jesus. Apparently the baby is fixed to his mother's lap by an espiga (spike) (ouch!). As the cart wobbled through the cobbled Plaza Baja and up the cobbled Calle Atrás, the espiga came loose and El Niño almost crashed to an early demise under the wheels of the carreta. Quick thinking and a spectacular dive and catch by one of the young lads there saved the day. He'd make a good slip fielder.
Juanito Sánchez 16th. September 2015
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