Passion fashion
You wait. First you hear the drums, increasingly intense the closer they get. When you think all will be revealed, you keep waiting. Waiting until suddenly it turns the corner in the distance. You catch your breath as the vibrant purple or virgin white nazarenos, topped with ghostly pointed capirotes, becloaking local penitents, shuffle relentlessly towards you like the stuff of stubborn, recurring nightmares.
Round the distant corner comes the paso, with Mary, weeping, held aloft on the necks of local, betranced, suffering costaleros. The noise is deafening; the scene frightening.
One of many, in Semana Santa de Sevilla. Unmissable.
- Category: True Stories Told As Fiction
- Tags: Holy Week. Seville Semana Santa
2 comments add one below
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Neville Hunt about 7 years ago
Thanks very much, Drew. Mrs H was utterly fascinated by them all.... and I mean all! Every so often I would lose her but I knew where to find her, looking at the latest procession to shout its presence. It was quite spectacular and a drabble from another drabbler jogged my memory. Granada was something else too, where David Blunkett's 'minder' ran after us at the Alhambra after I had taken a snap of him to show my kids! And that's another drabble too....
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Ursula Searle Grainger about 7 years ago
Takes me back Neville! Your atmospheric piece reminds me so much of living in Continental Europe as a young person. So much we lose when we don't appreciate other's ways!
