As Far As We Are

Being back in Sevilla, I am reminded of how sensual this place is. My sense of smell is the first to kick in when the aroma of the orange street blossoms fill the air and mixes with the sultry smell of the incense from processions passing by, and the wafting scent of fried food drifting out of the bars and cafes the line the streets.

The sheer number of people in Sevilla awakens my sense of touch, as I am forced to squeeze through the masses of people on the streets. The heat of the sun warms my face, yet the cool air gives me the chills.

Taste is one of my favorite senses in Sevilla, as Josh and I retrace all my steps from the last time I was here five years ago, searching for every good meal I wanted my tastebuds to remember—Sangria, fresh-squeezed orange juice, cola cao, tostada with tomato and olive oil, olives, croquetas, patatas bravas, churros con chocolate, and the list goes on.

The beauty of Sevilla hasn’t changed either—carefully hand-painted ceramic tiles adorn halls and doorways, flowers hang from window sills, ornate churches loom before us at every corner, and the children—the children must be some of the cutest dressed in the world. Almost every single person under the age of six has on brightly colored leggings (girls and boys). The girls have bows in their hair, little cardigan sweaters, and poofy dresses. Boys were little pedal-pusher pants and vests or little sweaters. All wear pea coats and patent leather shoes.

Our ears are constantly assaulted with a mixture of rapidly spoken Spanish, flamenco music, and Semana Santa processional bands beating their drums and playing their horns. Constant chatter all the time, people everywhere—there almost seems to be no escape.

No wonder Semana Santa is particularly spectacular in Sevilla. It too entices all the senses. The incense, the horns and drums, the ornately decorated figures of Mary and Jesus being carried through a massive crowd of people, all jammed together to experience something bigger than themselves.

My sentiments around this traditional celebration have run the gamut in the last few days. On the negative end, both Josh and I were feeling particularly frustrated with the whole thing after noticing how much of a show it becomes sometimes. People are dressed to kill, teenagers drink themselves into oblivion and then harass the nazarenos in the processions for candy. So much money and time poured into gold paint, flowers, and expensive costumes. I was beginning to wonder where the religious aspect was to all of this Holy Week.

But last night I went to one procession that really caught hold of me. The procession is called “El Gran Poder,” and it is a silent procession. Thousands of nazarenos carrying candles passed by us. We stood in a crowd of thousands of people, and everyone was perfectly silent. It was quite amazing. As the statue of Jesus carrying the cross was carried out of the church and into the crowded plaza, a woman began to sing a beautiful ballad to Jesus in a deep, gypsy-like, flamenco voice. Everyone silently listened and watched Jesus float across the plaza, accompanied by thousands of candles. It was such a powerful presence, such an emotionally-charged moment, that I felt like I understood why this tradition exists. The carriers of the procession sacrifice their bodies and a night of sleep to bring this experience to the people right out in the streets, to remind people of Jesus’ sacrifice for them. It wasn’t reserved for just the church-goers or for the more affluent crowd, it was for everyone—even those teenagers drinking in the streets, those dressed in their Sunday best, those begging on the corner, and those who want nothing to do with it whatsoever. And that is what I believe Semana Santa is all about.

-Jessie, April 6th, 2007