OH, my GOD. (Semana Santa, pt. 1)

Evening Arrival

RyanAir had a 50Euro flight to Almería, in the south, in Andalusia. Jelen planned to visit friends there for an extra-long weekend during Semana Santa (Easter Week), and invited me along with her. Gus encouraged me to go for it; not only was it cheap as hell, but I'd have a place to stay. Plus, it was clearly time for us to have some time apart to do whatever it was we used to do, when apart. One big selling point for this venture was that I'd be fully immersed with other people speaking Spanish all the time, with the safety net of Jelen's really-not-bad-at-all English. OK, why not.

Easter in Spain is a very big deal in terms of religious observation. Um, we're talking Catholic, obviously. There are processions all over the country, Sevilla being perhaps the best known location for serious pageantry, but that's not to say that other places stint on dramatic displays of penitential pride. People compete to be included in the group that carries a massive float bearing religious statuary etc., with all the trimmings, on their collective backs in a crouched position, for eight hours. But the most eye twisting sight has got to be the Nazarenos, who, it must be said, are wearing the costume you'd most readily associate with the Klan, except also in sexier colors besides basic white. The long-peaked hooded robes are meant to signify hiding one's face in shame of one's sins. But really, there's no escaping the cross cultural button pushing they evoke.

We arrived in early evening, and headed for Luisa's apartment. She and her boyfriend Cristóbal have a balcony overlooking a square opposite a church - not the main cathedral, but a church on the parade route. We agreed that while we've got varying degrees of atheism and tolerance for religion, the eye candy aspect was pretty irresistible. The experience of watching the parade from the balcony was memorable, especially when a woman on another balcony was moved to express herself in song. Check out the three little old ladies cowering in the corner.


Just after sunset, we headed out to a nearby traditional bar, for some young wine and tapas. Luisa´s cousin Luisilla joined us after a few. She´s been traveling through Europe in her little funky van, with her two dogs. About here is where I had my first taste of total language breakdown. Those of you know me as a full time (oh, haha) speaker of only English also know that occasionally, I just don't hear you right the first time. My ears have tested fine, but something about my attention/listening/patience ratio is off, so I don't always get things right when there's a lot of crowd noise. This just creates another layer of comic possibilities in my Spanish-ish conversations. So when asked if I was vegetarian, I replied, "No, I don't speak Italian", which got a big laugh, and was just funny enough after a few drinks to make me feel silly, but accepted.

Onward through narrow, cobblestoned streets, we marched in search of more and more wine and tapas, with stunning success. The place that housed the peak of the evening was - oh hell, I have no idea where it was or what it was called. All I know is, the grill/tapas chef guy was hot, and he gave me an extra jamón croquette. Guapo! Some other friends of Luisa's showed up, Diego and Carmen, so we had a little posse building, and it was here that I found the sweet spot.

There´s a moment at which my alcohol consumption has shoved my anxiety and inhibition to a dark corner of my awareness, and my ears free up to follow the flow of Spanish conversation. Also, others are in about the same state, which makes them more amenable to filling me in on what I might have missed, in some really impressively detailed English for people who claim not to speak it. So, that shining moment was upon us as one among our party shared the tale of her sister having slept with a part time porn actor (and part time clown), who, when reaching his own sweet spot, would shout in English, "OH my GOD! OH my GOD!". I realize this isn't so funny in print, but please feel free to get loaded and read this again, because at the time, it was a sparkling good story, well told, and it provided the rest of the trip with: a catchphrase. For me, this was delightful, because it meant that as the trip unfolded, I could throw that in and be a participant in an 'in-joke', glory be.

Oh, the rest of the night devolved into more drinking and no more tapas, winding up in a few rock club type places, and finally, home to sleep. Big day tomorrow, we'd been invited to a barbecue that Luisilla had some hand in, taking place outside the city in a kind of - dare I say it - hippie outpost in the country. To be continued...