We’ve attended Semana Santa (Holy Week) festivities in Sevilla and Valencia, cities known for the extent of their celebrations. Despite the fact that we would be in Madrid for both Good Friday and Easter, we had no expectations or knowledge of how big the celebrations would be there. We saw very little preparation in Porto though our driver told us it was a big deal, and very family and neighborhood-oriented. “They visit every house on Easter,” he told us. Well, compared to Sevilla which has a local cable TV channel dedicated to following the processions around the town, Porto was a no-show.

I did a little sleuthing and uncovered the official Semana Santa program for the city of Madrid, and discovered that the processions would be passing on Calle Mayor, right under the apartment we’d rented. While I didn’t know whether we’d be facing Calle Mayor or not (we are) it looked like we’d be in the thick of the action on Friday night. We had our dinner and sat back and waited.

Around 9:30, the music started – generally the processions are accompanied by a small brass band to keep the beat for the marchers and I went out on the balcony and looked around. Puerto del Sol, about a block away was mobbed, with people jammed up against the barriers I’d seen them installing earlier. But nothing was happening on our street. Apparently, the routes and times had changed.

The marchers are known as Hermanadads, “brotherhoods,” and share a truly ancient history, dating back to the 12th century. They were originally formed to provide armed protection to outlying towns which suffered predation from bandits, and Muslim rebels during the Reconquista. The long arm of the law did not extend beyond the cities and the king could not protect these towns, so they took matters into their own hands. The role of the brotherhoods has evolved over the centuries and today they are public service organizations associated with certain paroquias or parishes, in Spanish towns and cities. The colors of their costumes are unique to their associated church, and unfortunately, I cannot count the number of times I’ve had to tell one of my fellow Americans, that “No, they are not associated with the Ku Klux Klan.” You might think that living in the Age of Information would mean people would educate themselves?

They wear hoods and robes to demonstrate their penitence and they are covered from head to toe to hide their vanity while atoning. It’s as simple as that.

A palanquin, or float, is usually a part of the procession, and they are incredibly ornate, and heavy. They display a saint, Jesus, or the Virgin Mother, and their level of decoration mimics that of the most gilded churches we’ve seen. We once stumbled on a palanquin team practicing on a side street in Madrid and it was something to behold. Ten or twenty men, underneath a heavy wooden platform, carried on their shoulders, literally shuffling forward a few feet at a time. They walk about a block, stop, set the thing down, and take a break until an official on the outside rings a bell and tells them to go on. Crews are swapped out at regular intervals. Normally, they are working under heavy covers – you don’t see them as they pass – and I imagine it must be stifling. One that passed up last night was open to the air, and I counted 56 men and women carrying it.

Unfortunately, the distance to the action limited our photography options but our little point-and-shoot cameras did the best they could – no cell phones for this job. We went in and out – it was freezing – each time waiting until the next band could be heard.

Around 11 PM the police down below started setting up barriers on the side street by our building. A half-hour later, the music came up again, this time really loud and echoing off the buildings. And then appeared, right below us. The Hermanadads came first, carrying banners and long candles. They were followed by the band – not playing at this point – dressed in red and white. Next came the palanquin depicting a crucified Christ on a blanket of red velvet. Military members in uniform followed them, and another squad of soldiers, this time in blue, gold, white, and red. Bringing up the rear were parishioners, all in black. They took about 5 minutes to pass off into the darkness up the street.

It didn’t turn out exactly as we’d hoped, but despite the cold and the late hour, it was a great way to end the evening. For us, exposure to a cultural event like this is very special, and we were sorry that we were missing the pageantry in Sevilla, but we got a welcome taste of it here.