My EVS in Andalusia 12
Dead by bread - Crazy Andalusia
Fiesta of throwing bread on people´s heads
Last week on Wednesday, during Spanish classes, our English friends told us about a spectacular event they had been to the very same morning:
The celebration of Saint Sebastian and Saint Ildefonso in Olula del Rio (our neighbour town)!
Sounds kind of boring? I can tell you it is not!
Jane and Bob were totally over the moon, not able to give an account of their adventures without bursting into laughter several times.
The celebration of this “fiesta” has its origins in the Middle Ages, in the times of plague, cholera and famines. During these periods of suffering, statues or pictures of the city´s patrons were carried through town to keep up people´s spirits and hope for divine help. Some benevolent and rich residents started to throw bread wreaths on the street from their balconies, trying to support the poor population whilst preventing any infection with the deadly diseases.
Nowadays, the tradition is maintained twice a year in the same week of January, on a Wednesday and the following Saturday. Olula is full of narrow lanes lined with multi-levelled buildings with balconies. From the third or forth floor, some inhabitants drop, some rather throw the bread wreaths down to the street. The smaller ones, not bigger than a football (flat of course, not round) can be like dangerous projectiles, not to mention the giant and heavy ones with a big hole in the middle in which, Jane told us, she got stuck when it came flying and then crushing on her from above.
What a luck we were free on Saturday. Because it became pretty clear that this was something we did not want to miss!
Three days later, on Saturday morning, Renata, Jorge (a Spanish friend) and I were sitting in Olula church, listening to the catholic service in honour of the two saints. At midday, everyone went outside, impatiently waiting for the two “Saint barrow constructions” to be carried through town by a hand full of men each. With a loud “Viva Olula!” – “Viva! Viva! Viva!” they began their way through the excited crowd.
The three of us followed the growing stream of people jamming the streets with their hands up, fighting and jumping to catch the increasing amount of bread wreaths falling down from the sky. We very shyly tried to imitate the Spanish, though screaming and stepping apart due to the fear of getting either hurt by a bread or crushed by a fighting group of boys. Little as we are, we hardly had any success for the first hour of the procession. The taller men were clearly having the edge over us.
Only with the time did we lose our fear, could fill our bags and, looking for more space, stuffed the bread rings on our arms like large Inca bracelets. After another hour of stressful and exhausting, but hilarious, bread war, we decided to go to a Restaurant and finally relax from this crazy tradition.
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