corpus christi

On Sunday, we visited the cathedral in Granada, while a well attended service was in progress. We spent  most of the time admiring the ornate dome of the ceiling, as a Catholic service in Spanish was incomprehensible to us.

Spain, as you know, is a Catholic country, with over 90% of Spaniards professed Catholics, and the rest mainly Muslims.

This cathedral was built during the hey day of the Catholic Monarchs, Ferdinand and Isabel, who united the Iberian peninsular in the 1400's and drove out the Jews and the Moors, unless they converted to Christianity and stopped speaking in Arabic. The matrimonial couple, who are buried in the cathedral here, revived the cruel Spanish inquisition. Every place we have visited reminds us of the sites of  this brutality in the name of Christianity. Of course the political motives for a unified Spain, as well as the religious fervour, were powerful drivers for Ferdie and Issie.

Let me take you back to Sevilla. 

It was Thursday June 7th. We planned to visit the cathedral, but after two abortive attempts when it was closed for various reasons, I asked the hotel receptionist to check on the opening hours.

"It is closed today," she said, "for Corpus Christi. It is a public holiday. There is a procession."

"Where?" I asked.  She shrugged, "In the street. You have to find it."

"When is it?"

"It finishes at 1pm. It is too hot to be out after that."

We had noticed the heat!

As we walked down the labyrinthine shopping streets, we noticed religious displays in shop windows and heard a cacophony of bells ringing-out across the city. We turned a corner and there it was; the procession.

Most of Sevilla, in its Sunday best, seemed to be crammed into the narrow streets, craning for a glimpse of the procession as it passed ornate altars which had miraculously appeared in the streets overnight.

I stood on tip toes in the midday sun: there were highly decorated floats with religious icons, sleek Spanish men in black suits, young men in white robes and religiosi in purple, all with expressions of great gravitas. Men in military uniforms, contingents with khaki, emerald green and royal blue berets, stepped slowly along the narrow streets, synchronised with the beat of the kettle drums and the funereal sounding music of the brass bands.

People held sprigs of rosemary which infused the air with a distinct aroma. It was a very slow and solemn procession, but the devout crowds stood silently in that heat as if mesmerised. Some watched from balconies, which were draped with red velvet, and crossed themselves as the iconic figures floated past.

It was too hot and we couldn't see much over the heads of the crowds, so we rushed off along a different route towards the cathedral, which I guessed would be the ultimate destination. It was. But the areas around the cathedral were already stuffed with people so we sheltered on a shady stone step to a big wooden doorway, as Dave photographed the crowd. The cathedral bells tumbled and clanged in the Giralda tower.

Soon, to our surprise, we heard the sounds of the procession advancing and saw the first float edging its way into this narrowest of streets with the cool whitewashed walls.

On its way...

The other onlookers were ushered away, but amazingly, because we were on the doorstep, we were permitted to stay, so had the most privileged and unique, larger than life view of the entire procession.

Trapped on the doorstep as the major float passed within centimetres of my nose, with the suffocating smells of incense and rosemary, I realised that there must be a group of men underneath, supporting the float, in these unbearably hot conditions. A man at the front and one at the back yelled out directions.
[Later, I read that thirty or forty men bear the weight of the float, sacks filled with sawdust and dirt on their heads for padding.]

A pause for instructions.                  Oh so tight!

I flattened myself against the door and fought the rising feelings of claustrophobia. But the swaying float passed without getting wedged between the walls. Getting floats, cars and buses through impossibly narrow apertures is something the Spanish excel at. 

Next came the trumpets. I do not recommend listening to trumpets at these close quarters.

At the risk of offending the earnest musicians, I covered my ears with my hands, as  they passed.

If you are ever in Sevilla for Corpus Christi, get a balcony seat, not one in the orchestra pit!

In the spirit of Corpus Christi [the body of Christ] we stopped at a nearby bar for bread [a jamon y queso bocadillo] and wine.

Although I am not a Christian, it was humbling to see the power of a strong single faith on a community.

Yes, I know it was drummed into them, but they see beyond the symbols something profound, I am sure.