April in Seville or what spring can bring

"Lleva azahar, lleva olivas,
Andalucía, a tus mares. "
F.G. Lorca (Baladilla de los tres rios)

Spring unfolded in orange blossoms. Walking in Seville at this time of the year means walking with your nostrils wide open toward the sky, catching at every step the utterly pleasant scent of these tiny white flowers flying and falling around like snowflakes. With the azahar, came the Semana Santa, kicking off April's festivities. Did I say festivities? I did my first Holy Week "madrugada" this year and if the weather was rather moody, well at least I could see quite a few Virgins and Christs dancing their ways through the city. 

Last year I was waiting 4 hours for la Virgen de la Esperanza in the rain and she never came out. This time, it seems she wanted to make it up and she pursued us all night long on Holy Thursday. 

We saw her come out of her church in Triana, "en la gloria", under a rain of rose petals and a thunder of shouts "Trianeeeeeeeraaaaaaaa!!! Guapaaaaa!!!"  She was the dancing queen of the night, preceded and followed by a never ending cortege of cones, these "nazarenos" or "penitentes" who would accompany her during her approximately 12 hours stroll through the city center. The "capirote" or conic hat the penitents wear, which first reminds of the Ku Klux Klan fashion seems to come from the Spanish inquisition times, when heretics or other sinners were punished by the religious court and were  forced to wear one and  put under public humiliation. 

The link with the Ku Klux Klan is not clear as these are anti-catholic. But who cares in the end. They all look scary. 

"Tirititando de frio bajaban quatro gitanas por la orillita de un rio 

Tiritiritiritiri Tiritiritiritirititando de frio 
Luna que brilla en los mares los mares oscuros 
Ay luna tu no estas cansa de girar al viejo mundo 
Ay luna queate cormigo y aun no te vayas porque dicen que a veces se escapa el alma se escapa el alma" 

Camaron

So after La Esperanza danced her way to the Triana bridge, and after we had time to drink another couple of beers, and encounter the police and state the obvious (that they were liars for example), we moved to the other side of the river and  witnessed the surrealistic Semana Santa effect. At 6 am, the streets were crowded more than at midday, all bars and coffee shops open, kids, elderly, teenagers, all there, having coffees, eating, drinking beers...as if no one in Seville was sleeping. We had to stop at some point as another procession was crossing our way and we waited until we realised it was our Trianera again. Half an hour later, we moved two streets up, and here she was again! It was close to 8 am, it was cold, we were tired, literally tirititando de frio but decided to wait for the procession that was following her to the cathedral. And there, as the sun was rising, the magic happened, in this bizarre silence of dawn, El Cristo de los Gitanos appeared bending under a large cross. He was stunning in his pain, so touching as he swayed on a sad clarinet solo. A true moment of grace and pure beauty.

We followed him a bit, and went back to Triana, The sun was  high in the sky and on the bridge, people were already waiting for Esperanza to come back home. It was ten in the morning. Bedtime, finally. 

The next two nights were just as long, the Virgins and Christs were simply keeping us from sleeping. Strangely enough, El Cristo Resucitado was the one who attracted least interest. And as a matter of fact, he was rather boring. By the time he resurrected, the Sevillanos were already tired. Not like in Alhama de Murcia where he quite surprisingly decided to follow the global trend and dance samba to "Ai se eu te pego".

Guadalquivir, alta torre
y viento en los naranjales.

¡Ay, amor
que se fue por el aire!

Semana santa ended, my dear friend left and Sevilla returned to its relative tranquility. The wind kept blowing strong as if we were on the coast, swirling the orange blossoms. Spring time brought us the subtle guitar of Juan Ramon Caro, and a twirling Marco Flores. The New York Times talked about his magic "florid hands" and indeed, just like the azahar scent, his dance transported me in delight. Beauty is the name of his performance, blooming are his hands and perfect as nature is the slightest movement he does on stage, making his audience  smile steadily  for all the time of his show and even long after.

The wind was still blowing this sunday afternoon as we sat on the river bank that overlooks the Guadalquivir, dreaming of a true ocean breeze. Well, in our nostalgic mood for the sea, we ended up meeting a pirate who had lost his boat, and thus, was taking hostages at la Traviesa and releasing them against a glass of rum. The pirate made us laugh so much, as well as he did with all the other guests and people passing by the cafe. Me and Ale, temporary landlubbers, happily decided to join our kidnapper for more adventures. Since we do not have a boat yet, we can still  make a pirate incursion into the upcoming Feria. Or go there dressed in Indian saris and riding an elephant instead of a horse. 

Who knows what all can still happen in Seville in April, when you follow the orange blossom.