Las Bodas, Las Turbas y Lluviosa Oliva

When I first arrived in Spain in September (by all accounts excited, though equally apprehensive and overwhelmed by what lay ahead of me) this day would’ve been difficult for me to picture. Even now, it’s not easy to fathom that here I am, on the first of May – the first day of the last month of my year abroad – with seven months of living and teaching in a foreign country behind me. I’d be lying if I said I’ve loved every minute of it (after all, who can honestly say that about any given period of their life?) but all things considered, it’s certainly right up there with the best experiences I’ve ever had.

The beautiful bride and groom

But enough pondering; now is the time to fill you in on the last three weeks. On April 14^th, I headed back to England for the first time since the Christmas break. It felt strange to be going back, and it was a shame that I couldn’t have stretched my time to include a visit to Liverpool, but I was very excited about Dan and Erin’s wedding, the main purpose of my trip. It was lovely to see my whole family united for such a special occasion. We stayed two nights in a B&B on the seafront, with cooked English breakfasts (one of the things I’d been craving in Spain) each morning . I couldn’t have asked for a more English weekend!

Mary and me doing
touristy things in London

The wedding itself was a delight, in a picture-postcard church with the sun shining and everybody looking suitably bright and beautiful. The reception, in a nearby manor house, was equally picturesque, with more gratefully-received English food (lamb shanks followed by rhubarb crumble), comical dancing and plenty of booze flowing. As is often the way with weddings, it was all over in the blink of an eye and Hugh and I were on our way back to London on Sunday afternoon.

On Brighton beach with a
bottle of vino

The remaining three days of my little English break were also idyllic, although they too went by in a blur. On Monday, I met up with Mary (who was visiting London with some Spanish friends) for an Indian lunch followed by a spot of sightseeing. The sun was blazing and if it hadn’t been for Big Ben and the red phone boxes, I might’ve thought I was back in Spain!

Anna picnicking in Hyde Park

The summerlike weather continued into Tuesday and Wednesday, which were blissfully spent lazing around in the sunshine and catching up with my dear friend Anna. On Tuesday, we went for a picnic in Hyde Park followed by drinks at Camden Lock, and on Wednesday – after I spent a lovely morning with my aunt Kate and cousin Emily at the playground – we spontaneously decided to go to Brighton, somewhere I’d never been before. It was a perfect day and I don’t think I’ve ever seen an English beach so packed, especially in April! We ate fish and chips, paddled in the (admittedly icy) sea and got sunburnt while drinking wine and sitting in stripy deck chairs. Textbook stuff!


All too soon my visit had come to an end, and at an ungodly hour the next morning, Hugh and I began the long journey back to Cuenca. When we finally arrived in the late afternoon, it was clear that Cuenca was in the throes of Semana Santa, and gearing up for Good Friday, the biggest day of religious processions yet, which is called Las Turbas (The Crowds). Of course, as is the case with most religious celebrations, there are only really a handful of people who take part because of their strong religious beliefs, whilst the rest are just there to get drunk and have a good time. For this reason, the night before Las Turbas is widely known –though not in religious circles, as it’s seen by some as offensive – as Los Borrachos (The Drunks).

A paso of the Virgin Mary being carried by
several members of an hermandad

One of the delicate pasos covered in
plastic sheeting to protect it
from the rain

The processions begin at around 5 o’clock in the morning, so many people choose to do an all-nighter and stay out partying before stumbling into the processions at dawn. It’s one of the most famous Good Friday processions in Spain (and believe me, there are many) and draws thousands of people from all over the country and further afield. Each procession is organised by a different hermandad (brotherhood), in which there can be hundreds or thousands of members depending on how well-known and established they are. Every brotherhood has their own paso, which can only be described as a huge statue of a holy figure such as Saint John, the Virgin Mary or Jesus Christ, representing a scene from the Passion. These pasos are carried through the streets by around 25 members of the brotherhood (sometimes more, depending on the size and weight of the paso) and members pay up to thousands of euros for the honour of being one of those who carry it. Everyone who takes part in the processions is clad in matching robes (the colours of which correspond to their brotherhood) and their faces are entirely covered by long, pointed hoods, with just two small holes cut out for the eyes. For an outsider like myself, I’m sorry to say the costumes conjure up images of something the Ku Klux Klan might wear...

The crowds making crucifixes with their drumsticks

Anyway, Hugh and I decided not to stay up all night drinking (a sensible choice given the lack of sleep we’d had) and instead got up at around 8 o’clock on Friday morning to go up to the old town with one of my private students, Marta, her sister and her friend, who is somewhat of an expert on Las Turbas. It was thought the processions might be cancelled due to weather, but luckily they still went ahead (although some of the ancient, delicately painted pasos were draped with plastic sheeting to protect them from the rain, which rather took away from the overall image).

Typical costume of Las Turbas, 
in the traditional colours of 
that particular hermandad

Despite the damp weather, Cuenca was heaving with people and the atmosphere was almost tangible. As we watched the first couple of processions go by, with throngs of hooded people walking ahead of the pasos playing drums and trumpets (which I was reliably informed are deliberately mistuned, so as to sound more mocking and macabre than melodic) and others dressed as Roman soldiers solemnly bringing up the rear, I must admit I felt strangely emotional and drawn in by it all, though I still don’t profess to
 understand it all. Every so often, the crowds of drum-players would pause and turn round to face the paso, making crucifixes with their drumsticks raised high above their heads, and shouting to symbolise how the crowds mocked and jeered at Jesus as he carried his cross up the hill.  The hoods, incidentally, are apparently a deep-seated tradition and give reference to the fact that the Jews who mocked and threw stones at Jesus were ashamed to be seen by Jesus and thus covered their faces.

A windy walk on the beach in Oliva

After a couple of hours of watching all this, it was time for Hugh and me to go to Oliva, a small seaside town between Valencia and Alicante, where we were going to spend the Easter weekend staying in an apartment which belongs to a teacher at my school, Juan. Unfortunately, our plans to spend a relaxing weekend on the beach were marred by the uncooperative weather, and as there wasn’t much else to do (the downside to visiting a small town in Spain during Easter weekend is that more or less EVERYTHING is closed) we spent much of the time hibernating and watching DVDs. That said, we did venture out a few times to forage for food or walk around the old part of the town (pretty but again, like a ghost town) and once we even braved a brisk walk on the beach. Overall, although fairly uneventful, it was a much-needed restful weekend after a very busy week.

Hugh's birthday meal

That brings me to last week, which was my first week back at work after the Easter break. Hugh stuck around until Friday, which was great as having him around made it feel as if I was still on holiday, and we were able to spend his birthday on Thursday together. After I finished work, we caught the AVE to Madrid where I’d booked a 5* hotel as a birthday treat. We had a tasty meal in an Argentine-Italian restaurant to celebrate, and spent the next day wandering around Madrid before it was time for him to fly home.

I don’t suppose I can wrap up this post without mentioning the Royal Wedding, so I’ll tell you that against our better judgement, we were both sucked into the hype and eventually decided to stop pretending to be too cool to watch it, instead opting to have breakfast in a café which just happened to be showing it on TV. Unsurprisingly, the Spanish coverage was appalling – they went to an extremely long advert break right in the middle of the ceremony, when the hymns were being sung and seemed to be more interested in bitching about Princess Letizia of Asturias’ dress than anything else – but we didn’t feel able to ask the staff to switch over to the BBC! Anyway, we at least saw The Dress, the vows and that slightly awkward moment where it looked like William wasn’t going to be able to get the ring on Kate’s finger...

¡Hasta luego!