A Thursday Night in Cordoba
I stepped out of my room at the Santa Ana Hostel at midnight. From inside, I had been able to hear through the paper thin walls and I knew sleep was no where in my near future. The cobblestoned road that ran past was filled with people of all ages and I knew that this was not the time for anybody to sleep. Just a foot out my door and I could see that the passage between buildings was filled with people. It was a parade of sorts but not your average run of the mill “let’s get candy thrown at us” type. In hooded robes the figures marched past and small children ran up asking for a drop of the dripping wax to save on the end of a stick. The processions had been going on all day so at this point many had collected a baseballs worth of it. I caught small wisps of conversation in Spanish, but felt the attention of everyone soon concentrate as the wooden sculptures passed above my head. I could imagine the weight of the silver on my own shoulders as I watched men take small footsteps, moving the figure of Jesus further and further on. Regal women dressed in black lace preceded behind and a troupe of musicians thereafter. Purple was the symbol of this brotherhood and it was stitched within each uniform. It wasn’t just the reverence for their physical strength that could be felt during the Holy Week in Andalucia, but the respect to be let in to watch them celebrate their beliefs. The band of musicians marched on with the rest and as they all turned the corner to my right, I knew that I’d just witnessed something very special.
A video from earlier in the day
…more to come from the rest of my week around the south of Spain