Semana Santa

My deepest apologies for the tardiness of my post; with that said, here's a description of my introduction to Semana Santa or "Holy Week"

Sevilla:
Orange blossoms, wax, velvet, gold, somber, sweet, pink, red, black, white, ancient, crowded, trumpets, drums, incense, bare feet, cloaks, crosses, anguish, sweat...

These are the words that describe Semana Santa. The streets are steeped in orange blossoms and history. Wax from the marcher's candles covers the cobble streets, causing the cars to squeal mercilessly around corners for the entire week of Semana Santa and the one following. The traditional outfit of the procession marcher's is a white cloak, velvet cape and the distinct pointed white cap/mask not unlike those of the K.K.K. My previous knowledge of the resemblance didn't stop chills from creeping down my spine. Each procession (there being about 8 a day) consisted of hundreds of the "nazarenos" or K.K.K. look a likes and three floats. The "floats" are actually giant sculptures of scenes from Jesus' life, death and resurrection, and can take up to fifty beefy men, called "costeleros", stuffed underneath to carry each one. As the band bangs out the rhythm of despair and the horns wail of suffering, the costeleros awkwardly shuffle, causing the float to sway to the beat of the music. From the balcony of Helena's downtown apartment, the puffs of incense wafted up, mixing with the orange blossoms and the murmur of the crowd. It was in this mixture of celebration and overwhelming show that five days ran together, blurred with Portuguese port, torrijas (the french toast like dessert typical of the holiday) and tapas. All in all, I'd have to give Sevilla and Semana Santa a gold star.