The Easter Bunny Doesn’t Come to Spain
Ahh, Easter. That time of the year when the Easter bunny makes his sweet deliveries to all of the sugar-addicted children, when eggs are painted bright colors and hidden in the grass for hunting, and chocolate bunnies and marshmallow chicks are mass-produced. I suppose, if you’re Catholic, good chances are this might be the second time of the year you go to church (Christmas and Easter Catholics, anyone?) Or, maybe not, but that just about accurately describes me.
Growing up, Easter was always a favorite holiday. HELLOOO, have you tried Cadbury eggs?! But here in my dearly adopted country of Spain, I’m pain-stricken to say no jelly-beans or Peeps will be consumed, no plastic eggs will be hidden, and no Easter baskets will be filled. Instead, I’m heading up to the lush, green north of Spain to consume pintxos and kalimotxos to my heart’s content and maybe take in some traditional Semana Santa processions.
Good news is, if I’m really desperate for Cadbury, I can hop over to Gibraltar or even buy the Lindt chocolate eggs I saw advertised in the stores yesterday. We’ll see how I hold up. Until then, my Easter-bunny believing readers, indulge for me and enjoy these pictures of Semana Santa (Holy Week) processions I witnessed in Tarifa my first Easter here, last year.
P.S. YES, I know they look like Ku Klux Klan, but I promise this is the traditional uniform for brotherhoods during Holy Week in Spain. They’re called capirotes and are used to conceal the identity of those wearing them. In Andalucía, where I live, the processions are among the most famous, and thousands gather in crowds to witness the elaborate (and HEAVY!) statues being carried through the streets. This week is a solemn affair for which each city takes the entire year to plan. Yesterday, when rain fell in some parts of Spain and processions were cancelled, everyone was crying in the streets. Intense!