March 28, 2024
In Almeria: Day 4, Part 2
It worked so well Tuesday mapping out the routes of the day’s processions that I decided to do it again for Thursday’s. I was really excited to see that one would be coming right in front of the hotel we’re just leaving, and it looks like it also goes down the street of the apartment we’re relocating to. It makes me wonder what sort of view we will have in the apartment, and whether we might be able to just look down from our window on all the action.
Today, while we were sitting in the lobby of the hotel waiting for lunch, I looked at the schedule to see what time the procession was due to come through our neighborhood. I was crushed though to see that I’d gotten the day wrong - it was last night’s procession that came through here. We sat the evening out because it was so cold and windy, but if we’d known the parade was passing right past our door we certainly would have stepped outside to watch. So dumb!
So I started in at mapping out the real routes for today. It’s slow, tedious work, but I’m just getting started when Rachael announces that she’s found this website that has descriptions of every procession of the week, with maps. So I stop drawing my own version and look at the website; and to my surprise I see that there’s a procession this evening, the Angustias, that also that passes right down our street.
And when we get to our apartment one of the first things I do is look out our window; and sure enough, we face right on the street. And we have a first floor unit, so we really couldn’t be positioned any better. What luck!
The Angustias is scheduled to start at 7 and arrive at Puerta Purcheria (the plaza with the illuminated building) a half hour later. We’re just two blocks after that, so the start of the procession should be outside our window at around 7:45. Being distrustful, I walk down to Puerta Purcheria to see if it really is coming this way. Something is obviously happening when I get there, because crowds are lining the streets and security staff are on patrol. I ask one if the route really is going down our street, and am assured it is.
As soon as I see and hear the procession appearing in the distance I head back to our apartment to take up my post at the window next to Rachael’s.
Right on time, the head of the procession comes around the corner a few blocks down our street and slowly advances our way. When they walk they proceed slowly, and there are frequent breaks where the train stops and waits for whatever reason. It’s probably ten minutes before they arrive in front of us, led by a trio of musicians playing a flute, a clarinet and a bassoon. They’re followed by a long double row of purple robed penitents bearing candles, some of which have been lit. They pass beneath us and in front of the Santiago Church on the other side of the street, and then they round the next corner and disappear from sight.
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And then the first Paso comes into view, and I hand the phone over to Rachael so she can capture it on video. I take a few shots with my Lumix, but none of them are any good - Rachael’s phone does much better in low light conditions. Really, if it weren’t for the zoom I might mostly use a phone myself.
When the first Paso arrives, we’re so low to the street that the crucified Christ is almost at our eye level.
And then comes the band - the first band, that is. There’ll be a second one later, following the second Paso when it arrives. The number of participants in this and all of the other sections so far have been large - this is the largest of the three processions we’ve seen so far.
By the time the band is below us, their horns blaring and their drums beating, the first paso is making the turn at the intersection. It’s a very slow process, so while that happens the band is stalled below us with band members chatting together or checking their phones or talking to one of the spectators.
Finally, the Paso makes it around the bend. The bearers give it a bounce, the crowd applauds, and everyone is in motion again. Soon the children’s brigade arrives, and then the front members for the approaching second paso. The next group of penitents appears, and then the mourners in black, and then the grieving Mary on her ornate paso, and finally the second band.
And that’s the show. I lost track of the time, but it’s been somewhere between 45 minutes and an hour from the time the front of the procession arrived and when the tail end rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. We close the windows and talk over what we’ve just experienced, neither quite believing we’ve been so fortunate as to witness this from our privileged boxed seats.
It was extraordinary having all of this unfold right beneath us, and it’s very moving. The color, the music, the crowds, the sense of community, the feeling that we’re witnessing an ancient tradition that somehow is still vital today touches both of us deeply. At the moment it feels like one of the most emotionally moving experiences we’ve been a part of in recent years.
We go to bed not long after, both pretty well worn out. Rachael sleeps through the night, and isn’t even awakened when I hear the band again, around midnight. They’re back, on their way to their point of origin. I hop out of bed, grab the phone, and remember just in time before leaning out the window that I’m not wearing anything and strategically wrap myself in the curtain.
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