Easter Sunday

I´m learning to read and write and I like to do it on my own. All help is very welcome

     He was the first person whom I heard this tradition. My grandfather, he was.

     He told me that there was the custom of seeing the day break from a hill and asking for a wish.

     Grandad didn´t get up the hill because his legs, but in spite of his age he kept this dream. Today is Easter Sunday.

     In all the county and villages in the area round our farm everyone did it. Where I´m living now in there are another stories. Here  the Jesus´s life is represented from his entrance in Jerusalem, Palm Sunday to his resurrection, Easter Sunday. We´re speaking about Holy Week.

     Now that I think of it my grandaddy English tradition and the Domingo de Resurrección symbolize the same: a silver lining is opening in front of you. A gleam of hope.

     In Andalusia the celebrations for Holy Week are very, very spectaculars. Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday are public holidays.

     As penitents and nazarenos, they accompany their religious floats and sculptures. Religious images are carried by costaleros, members of the lay brotherhoods. These costaleros are sturdy men that endure on their shoulder the pasos and so they finish their procession with an ulcerated neck.

     All the week smells a mixture of orange blossom, incense and sugared almond. In the Palm Sunday children are wearing for the first time a garment and are carried by their parents to see the Borriquita, which represents the entrance of Jesus in Jerusalem. First of all, children love receive sweets and make wax balls. Wax balls which are very hot because they are made of liquid wax from the candle. They —and adults too— love torrijas, a cake with honey, wine and cinnamon.

Making wax balls

     The penitents have to keep a promise. They are carrying one or two crosses on their shoulder and many of them walk without shoes. Their long hooded robes are frightening. 
     It´s night. You´re in a narrow street where the balcony from one side almost contacts the opposite and the Paso almost grazes both balconies. All is in silence. All is dark except the lights from the candles. Suddenly a woman´s voice is hearing. This woman sings a saeta. This moment makes you´ve got goosebumps.

     The long processions through the streets can spend eight or ten hours and the bands of music play marchs almost continuously. Do you know what I don´t understand? Some of that music that they play have nothing to do with the moment. And what´s more, I don´t like to hear the national anthem in the procession either. No way!

     Y. a.

     Mary