037 - Fiestas and Farewells
near Burgos, España - 2nd April 2005
¡Buenos Dias Amigos y Amigas!
You may remember we'd been at Camping Orgiva for three whole months. This being Spain, you will not be at all surprised to know that in such a long period we were around for all sorts of fiestas both in the town and in the outlying villages - after all, there are 365 saints days in Spain, and some of those just happened to have local significance, so justified, at the very least, a volley of firecrackers. Or several. Rumour has it that one of the town Big-Wigs owns a firework factory, so there are always plenty of loud fireworks available locally!
San Antonio (St Anthony) is clearly Big around these parts for example. Early in the year, he warranted a lot of noise and frolicking over one particular weekend. In Alcazar, where our friend Meg lives, there were half a dozen bonfires in and around even such a tiny village. Indeed, all the villages across the hills behind Orgiva had a bit of a do for the San Antonio fiesta, since he apparently was associated with farming and he's patron saint of domestic animals. The fiesta therefore involved parading animals round bonfires so they would all be very fertile over the coming year. Oh, and in one place we read about they put a live cockerel on top of a pole and the local men vie to rescue it. Hmm...
And of course, there was Carnaval - the big jamboree at the beginning of the supposedly abstemious period of lent. As last year, we much enjoyed the children's parade through the town, with all the dressing up and excitement among children of all ages. Dave was only just restrained from donning his gorilla suit and joining the procession.
Scenes of Frenzy
As you probably know, Easter in Spain is really important, and Semana Santa (Holy Week) is full of all sorts of parades, processions and goings-on - each town, city or village seems to have its own variation on the basic theme. As befits the slightly odd-ball place that is Orgiva, the townsfolk don't actually wait until Semana Santa for their Big Frolick. No, someone back in the 18th or 19th century had a vision of the Virgin Mary somewhat in advance of Easter (Dave think suspiciously closer to the original pagan festival), so there are some extraordinary events a couple of weeks beforehand. We were told to be sure to get down to town for midday on this particular Thursday, and to get ourselves inside the church, which we duly did - us, and several hundred other people. Jeni got whisked up by Señora Limpiadora, Lola, the cleaner from the Camping, who hoiked Jeni to the front, telling all her friends (and probably relatives for all we know) through whom she pushed, that it was important that this foreigner got a good view as she'd never seen anything like this before. No indeed she had not!
Well. It was astonishing. Not a Priest to be seen, it was kind of a people's anarchic religious event, as a group of men crowded into the dark 'niche' at the back of the church where the massive Christ-on-the-Cross statue hangs. The church bells struck midday, outside there was the most tremendous cracking, banging and explosions of thousands of firecrackers all attached to purpose-constructed metal scaffolding the length and breadth of the main street, and strung together with a huge long fuse. It was loud enough inside but must have been near-deafening outside. Inside the church shouts of 'El Señor - Iviva!, Iviva!' (he lives, he lives) as the crucifix was rocked off its hooks or plinth and passed horizontally across the up-stretched arms of the group of men. Cue for much weeping, arm waving and further frenzied cries of 'IViva!, Iviva!'. It truly was the most extraordinarily emotional moment - Jeni swears there was a split second when she actually thought the bleeding figure on the cross was real.
And thus the crucifix was borne down into the crowds in the centre of the church where people pressed around to touch it, wiping tissues and handkerchiefs on it, which were then carefully folded and stored in pockets, handbags or pouches. Some people were obviously acting as proxy for the rest of the family or neighbours, as they'd have half a dozen or more clean white hankies, each of which was carefully rubbed over some part of the cross or Christ figure. You didn't need to be religious, though, to be caught up in the atmosphere of it all - as one of our friends pointed out, it also has a very pagan feel to it and it's easy to imagine the Christ figure being the Horned God coming down into the town from the mountains!
Excitement of the day over, we found our way through the thinning crowds in the church and back out into the sunshine to sit outside one of the cafés for a coffee. There we unknowingly had ring-side seats to be entertained by a local young people's band marching up and down the still-cordoned-off main street, complete with accompanying troupe of red-and-white clad majorettes ranging from about five to self-conscious fifteen year olds. Proud relatives cheering and clapping, and friends egging them on as they all marched, turned, twirled and pirouetted, faces mainly creased in concentration as they tried to follow their leaders or beat their drums in time.
Flagellants R Us?
Next evening at 6pm it was all back up to town. If we thought that the metal scaffold-full of bangers in the main street was big the day before, on the Friday evening it was vast. This time we were watching from outside the church, as the local women had spent the day decking out the Christ figure and the Virgin Mary statute in carpets of flowers ready for their grand entrance into the town. Six o'clock struck and - bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! What an ear-splitting racket! The flame on the fuse wire was designed to travel backwards and forwards, up and down so that there was a constant barrage of noise as the firecrackers went off the whole length and width of the street. There was so much dense smoke, it looked like the entire main street had exploded and burst into flames! Blimey! There must have been a few perforated ear drums there.
Pause for recovery while the metal firework frame and associated debris was cleared - oh, except that then some more fireworks started going off from just behind the high street and we all stood there with rocket detritus raining down on us. This was followed by a bit of a march-past by another band and its quasi-military, quasi-young-pioneer-type cofradia (kind of a brotherhood or fraternity - some of whom had been posing mercilessly with hairy chests, or could they have been chest wigs?!, and medallions akimbo while the clearing up was being done!). Then it was time for the Grand Exit from the church - the Christ statue on its huge wooden plinth carpeted in blood-red flowers, preceded by its band and followed by a brace of selected townsfolk with hefty candles. Next the Virgin Mary (or BVM as Jeni said, the Blessèd Virgin Mary) with her plinth entirely clad in enormous white lilies, edged in purple. The BVM also had a marching band in front and was followed by a group of young women, clad in black with tall lace mantillas, carrying great bouquets of white flowers. Naturally the emergence and gradual assembly of the procession wasn't met with reverential silence from the waiting throngs, but cheering, clapping, yelling, crying and much vocal enthusiasm. You'd not get this in Little Piddlington-By-Sea!
Eventually, off the procession swayed, thence to go through the entire town, including tiny narrow alleyway streets, until after two o'clock in the morning. As the parade moved slowly into different parts of the town, so another volley of rockets and bangers would go up from that particular quarter. You don't come to Spain for the quiet! We'd heard that there are people who take the whole thing very seriously in a religious sense - flagellants and penitents who indulge in a bit a self-mutilation in the fervour of the procession. We didn't see anything of that nature actually taking place, but were decidedly alarmed to see a furtive-looking guy standing in front of us at one point with a fistful of 10 cm nails and a stock of short pieces of thick wire.
We chased around the back streets for a while, flagellant-spotting - no, really to get a good view of the procession squeezing through the narrow lanes, and to continue to soak up the atmosphere. There were many people out on their balconies exactly at BVM height so they could touch the statue as she passed. Once again, the ritualistic movements of the dozens of men carrying the two effigies conspired to make them seem alive, especially the BVM as she dipped and swayed to the beat of the accompanying band.
Religious significance aside, everyone, but everyone, was there in their Sunday best and made the most of the festival night as their fellow townsfolk staggered round the backstreets with the massive statues. The cafés and bars removed their firework-proof window coverings and reopened once the procession was en route. They were instantly packed out. There was a carousel for the kids outside the town hall, mobile bars on the street, stalls - noise and people and chaos and lots of fun! We wimpy Fruitbats didn't last the whole course (not least because we wanted to check that Chip was okay back in the Lorry at the Camping), but we did hear the second mega-volley of fireworks around 2.30 a.m. as the BVM and JC were returned to the church. The firecracker-scaffold had been rebuilt and entirely restocked during the evening, so it was war-zone time again come the early hours!
Certainly it was the most extraordinary fiesta in which we had been involved, and it was amazing, seeing it at such close quarters. Although the town was absolutely heaving with humanity, the scale of it was manageable and we could get real ring-side views. Different from one in a huge city, maybe, where it might feel too overwhelming and scary. The fact that we know the town so well also helped, as it meant that we could scoot around and head the procession off at the pass several times to get other glimpses. It was a wonderful experience. Un-missable and highly recommended for anyone visiting Orgiva during this period before Easter.
Animal Hospital
There was one week before we left Orgiva which had more than its fair share of veterinary emergencies. We had a big scare with small Chip one night when we went to take him out to do his last-before-bedtime widdliardo. He'd been lying snuggled up as usual during the evening, but he didn't seem to be able to move when we called him. Panic. Dave picked him up gently and put him on the floor but he whimpered in pain and his back legs wouldn't hold him. Every time we tried to stand him up he shrieked piteously! He looked so poocher-pathetic, with his ears and tail down, his eyes huge and his face looked shrunken. We got him into the bottom bit of his crate and managed, with whimperings and difficulty to lie him on his side which seemed to be more comfortable.
We rang Star, who, bless her, tried to contact the local vet but alas couldn't get him on any of his numbers. (This was 11pm by the way!) Instead she gave us the details of the excellent 24 hour animal hospital in Granada in case we felt we needed to take him over there during the night. At least that was reassuring. We decided to see how he was over the next few hours, so put his crate base up on our bed, and with much manoeuvring managed to get both of us into the bed end with the crate (!), and thus we slept, fitfully. Every time poor little Chip tried to move he'd whine pathetically, so Dave would stroke him and talk gently to him - aah! Jeni lay awake at times rehearsing her Spanish explanations of Chip's symptoms, the Medical Emergency History and also worrying about how we were going to tell Becky if Chip ended up in a wheelchair!
But we did get a reasonable amount of sleep, he settled down eventually and so we decided to see how he was in the morning. If necessary, we decided, we'd take him over to the animal hospital in Granada (as the local vet doesn't have an x-ray machine and by this time we'd ruled out a puppy-stroke and decided he probably had a slipped disc, Dachshund backs being notoriously their weak spots).
In the morning, to cut a longish story shorter, he staged a Miracle Recovery. When we lifted him into the outside world to try and work out how to get him to do a wee, Dave put him gingerly on the ground ... Chip was very tentative at first then realised all four legs were working, he looked bemused but pleased and started toddling forth. By half way through the day he was skipping round in his usual fashion as though nothing had happened. Phew! We reckon that he maybe lay awkwardly and trapped a nerve rather than completely slipped a disc, and by relaxing on his side, the nerve freed itself. But poor little thing he was obviously in great pain.
We clearly do need to take some care of his back (he doesn't seem to feel the need to do so himself!). All the Dachshund advice says limit things like stairs (we've always tried to lift him up and down the Lorry stairs as it's a big couple of leaps for one with such short legs), so we'll need to keep an eye on that. He's been absolutely fine ever since, no problems at all. So don't worry about the get well cards and flowers for him, thanks anyway! He's back on the ordure tasting, long walkies regime so everything's back to normal.
Jeni confesses she will probably be an Over Anxious Parent now though, and will be a bit more careful if he's on slippery flooring, leaping near precipices or when all the Squirmies are Squirming him over, as they sometimes do!
Dog in a Blanket
The other Veterinary Emergency of that week was a little less unexpected. Less an emergency, more a Planned Veterinary Situation. A lovely local friend of ours had to take her dog in to be speyed. Her partner (that's the friend's partner rather than the dog's!) was away at the time so wasn't around to help. It was fairly urgent to have her speyed then, as Pooch had escaped for a several hours when she was on heat and was probably rogered by all the perros (dogs) in the neighbourhood, so was pregnant (thus the earlier the better for getting her done). She's a really big dog - like a cross between a Briard (cattle dog) and a hairy Rottweiler. Very gentle and beautiful, but certainly huge, and too big for our friend to carry to and from the car when she collected her from the vet's.
Augustine, the local vet, does speying/neuterings at the end of the evening surgery sessions, around 8 or 8.30 pm. The owner then waits in the bar down the road and half an hour/forty minutes later Augustine comes down and tells you the animal's ready to go home! Dave had volunteered to take the other end of the blanket to carry Big Pooch into the car, then back out at the other end to our friend's flat. The flat is down a little alleyway where it's not possible to get a car right up to the door so it was definitely a two-person job. It was a sight to behold, the pair of them staggering down the road with the semi-comatose hound in the blanket, but somehow they managed it without having to return to the vet for emergency surgery themselves!
It's all go on the animal front ... !
Knees Up
Dave did have to go to the vet himself on another occasion, though. Well, okay, the doctor. He'd been having terrible trouble with his knees for a while (they're usually a bit achey and age-arthriticky but nothing untoward). However, for about three days he had extreme pain in his left knee and one night he, whimperingly, found a big lump behind the joint (on the non-kneecap side of his leg) which hadn't gone down by morning, in fact it seemed quite a lot worse. There was a much smaller 'lumpette' behind the other knee. So off we went down to Almuñecar in search of a recommended medic.
Doctor gave him a scan and was able to confirm he wasn't, as Dave had feared, carrying a low pregnancy. It turned out he had Baker's Cysts, an arthritis-linked condition. It basically means the fluids from his knee joints have leaked out the back and formed a very painful large cyst. Poor lamb! When the doc saw it he said 'Ouch!'. Ouch indeed. Anyroadup, he was given some anti-inflammatory tablets and pain relief and things have improved quite a lot since then, although - like Chip! - he'll have to take some care in future to avoid problems. So Señora Fruitbat is in the driving seat rather more than before ... well, she's been driving the hire car round the bendy-wendy roads so is at least back in practice.
Not content with suffering in his Poor Old Knees, Dave managed to have another dental emergency to pair up with the one he'd had some weeks previously when we were in Iznajar. It was unrelated to the first Tooth Incident but did mean he had to try out the dentist in Orgiva as well. Poor Old Codger - we'll probably need to put him out to grass fairly soon!
St Paddies Night
We finally decided it was time to move on from Orgiva or the Lorry's tyres would start putting down roots. The impending Dragon Fest - the noisy music festival down in the river valley which attracts thousands of people for a four day blast of techno-thump (remember last year?) - provided a reason and a date to get on the road. Not that we're killjoy old farts, we love our music festivals as you know, it's just that we didn't fancy several sleepless nights listening to a thumping base that apparently had no associated melody (strangely enough it's what our parents said about our music wasn't it?!).
So our penultimate night out, prior to leaving Orgiva, involved accompanying Betty and Drew up to a local taverna for a St Patrick's Night special. It was Betty's birthday and although she's from one of the other Celtic fringes, it seemed rather a fitting way to help celebrate her birthday. We arrived at an un-Spanishly early hour, but by 9.30pm the place was heaving and a good time was had by all. Especially Dave, who had taken his drum on the off-chance of joining in with the live band … and of course he did, the regular percussionist having got stuck in Thailand of all places!
Hasta Luego!
So the time had come to say our goodbyes over at Tijola, which felt very sad. We picked several more bags full of oranges from Mary's terraces, bade farewell to the four or five households we've got to know very well over there, and of course Paco, Star and Kasheen. Paco presented us with an enormous bag of his newly picked, specially selected, very best oranges to refresh our journey - and we can confirm (as we're still munching them some time later) that they are truly unsurpassed. We feel like we're travelling with bags of Alpujarran sunshine on board!
So it was time to pack up things in the Lorry and the awning as well. It felt rather like Mongolian yurt packing - a community event, as people brought us cups of tea and came over to chat as we toiled. Having had our very own yurt, as some of you may remember, we are fairly well up with yurt etiquette - or yurtiquette as we like to call it. The methodology is to remove the structure first and pack the contents into the wagon afterwards. Which is the system we followed with the awning. We packed to the accompaniment of more midday fireworks up in the town - sounded like Semana Santa (Holy Week) was going to be a noisy one in Orgiva!
So there we were, ready to say our final farewells at the Camping, and be off, on the road, by late morning the next day. But, as we all well know, the best laid plans of mice and Fruitbats don't always slip neatly into place ... which you'll find out in the next episode of a Bulletin in the Lives of the Rollingfruitbats ...
For now,
Stay safe and well.
Love and hugs,
Dave y Jeni y Chip
xxx
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