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The 
memory of the two processions we experienced will remain with me forever.
During Holy Week, processions take place all over Spain in towns and cities, starting with the Domingo de Ramos (Palm Sunday) and ending Easter Monday - Lunes de Pascua. Michael and I were totally unprepared for the emotions these processions evoked in us and the incredibly vast number of people who converged on the streets to watch and follow.
Thursday evening:
The highlight was when the two floats emerged from the huge church doors, each carried on the shoulders of 40+ men "costaleros". The first float carried the image of Christ, beaten and blooded (on a bed of hundreds of purple iris heads) followed a while later by the Virgin Mary (surrounded by white flowers and towering 
candles). It was nothing short of a feat of precision engineering that these 
men moved forward slowly, then, inch by inch, turned a full 90 degrees, negotiating the massive crowds, into the street. The procession was accompanied by the slow rhythmic beating of drums and the swaying walk of the costaleros and followed by people dressed in hooded tunics "nazarenos" and women dressed in black wearing the traditional mantilla headdress. There was the poignant wailing of th
e "saeta" - a sacred lament delivered to Christ then to Mary, by a man or woman from a balcony above, as the procession halted at various points along the route. There were other pauses in the procession which I would imagine were simply to enable the costaleros a brief respite. The entire procession, from leaving to re-entering the church took around 6 hours - the sheer strength and commitment of those men carrying such a load for so long is profoundly moving in itself! We followed the procession for some while then, as darkness fell, sought out a view point to watch the procession, by then candle-lit, move slowly towards us - still the same slow, swaying walk, the mournful sound of the drums. Even for those who are not 
religious, it would be difficult not to be moved in such a poignant atmosphere.
We finally pulled ourselves away, feeling intensely emotional, reflective and deep in thought after such a shared experience - and to look forward to the following morning ....
Easter Friday:
The Easter Friday procession is the most mournful of all the processions that take place during Holy Week.
The images were of Christ carrying the cross and again, the Virgin Mary. It was very similar in its 
entirety to that of the one the previous evening, with one very big difference. The route took in the longest, steepest street in Rute. We had learnt that as the costaleros carried the float up this street, there would be no stopping - it seemed an impossible human feat looking at the
length and gradient of that street. As they slowly started their way up, carrying the image of Christ, the band followed behind, playing a madrigal and no-one, but no-one uttered a word. Then, barely noticeably, we realised that as the float moved up the street, people in the street gradually fell into step with the float, walking backwards uphill, in time, again that gentle sway, whilst facing the image of Christ. It was the most humbling and overwhelmingly moving experience. Then the final most amazing sight was as the costaleros reached the top of the hill, they stret
ched their arms full length to hold the image of Christ on high - the sight and experience brought tears to my eyes (in more ways than one!!).
The image of Virgin Mary was carried in the same way, up the same street, and as it passed by us we fell into step behind procession this time - humbled to be privileged to be part of such a mark of devout commitment.
I felt very aware of how much this tradition of the Santa Semana is part of the culture of these folks and how appropriately it reflects their spirit.
The memories of Easter in Spain will never, ever leave me.
Apologies for the strange looking object in this last pic but it does show, so well, the density of the crowds. It had started to rain heavily just prior to carrying the image of Christ up the hill and the entire float had been covered in protective plastic - though this did nothing to detract from the solemnity of the occasion.
It was from the mirador in the Albaycin on the opposite hill that I first set eyes on the Alhambra - an ancient palace and fortress, built for the Moorish monarchs of Granada, set on the hilltop overlooking the city of Granada, under the shadow of the snow covered Sierra Nevada. Three years later our tickets were booked for both a night time and full day visit - that first sighting gave little promise of the grace and beauty within. My photos do it no justice whatsoever but will, I hope, give you a flavour of the incredible architecture and amazing feel of this wonderful place. We spent much more than the four hours supposedly needed to visit the Nasrid Palaces, the Alcazaba and Generalife - it was so difficult to tear ourselves away. We shall hopefully return mid-summer to enjoy the gardens of the Generalife which will, by then, be in full bloom and the heady perfume of the hundreds of roses.
Hope you enjoy the pics!
Mothering Sunday was very different this year with the boys so far away but Michael's sister, Wendy, and her husband, Alan, were staying with us so we consoled each other over the absence of our respective offsprings and determined to have a good day! The lads prepared a champagne breakfast on the terrace - we were blessed with lovely warm sunny weather the entire week of their visit. After a luxuriously leisurely breakfast Alan decided it was time for some exercise and suggested
we walked to the ruin that we can see on a distant hill from our roof terrace. (Just visible to the left of the clump of trees on the hill) Suitably attired and well underway, we somehow managed to miss the footpath completely and found ourselves amidst the olive trees walking laterally across the downward slope of the olive grove that was becoming steeper and steeper by the minute! Never having been the most sure-footed person, I was finding it harder and harder to keep my footing and combined with a completely illogical fear of slipping - which conjured up a vision of bouncing from one olive tree trunk to the next all the way to the bottom of the hill - I became frozen to the spot! Wendy was faring much better than I but even with her encouragement I refused to move another step. At that point the lads decided to do a right turn up the slope to check out the possibility of a final vertical climb to the top. Thankfully, on reaching the top, they shouted down that we could reach the ruin from there so, Wendy and I began the ascent - on all fours - which prompted much giggling, only adding to the difficulty of climbing on the loose, crumbling clay soil! I finally managed to reach the top ahead of Wendy and burst out laughing when I looked back and, seeing Wendy struggling up on all fours, realised what a hilarious
sight we were - though humour seemed to have deserted poor Wendy who was moving upward two paces and slipping back one! Once we were reunited with the lads, we walked the last few metres to the ruin - only to find the perfectly good track we should have used! That at least dispersed the horrible nagging fear that had been fast growing into panic at the thought of having to g
o back the way we'd come and we all dis
solved into laughter at the silliness of what we'd just put ourselves through - though I have a suspicion the lads wouldn't have missed it for the world!! And it wasn't even a ruin worth the effort - just a very old, large, dilapidated old house. However, the views were spectacular and having got our breath back we headed off back to the main road - via the proper pathway this time!
As we reached the village, we were very fortunate to find a couple of chaps putting their olive harvest of the day through the olive sorting/cleaning plant (there are 3 of these plants in the village). They were very keen to explain the process as we watched the entire automated mechanical process via a series of conveyor belts from the separating of olives from the leaves/stones to washing, rinsing, extracting samples for grading and finally dropping into the hopper where they await the lorry which takes them to the processing plant for extracting oil or marinating.
By the time we reached home Wendy and I had decided the day would be perfectly rounded off by a meal at the lakeside restaurant - and the lads dutifully treated us all to a superb meal after which we enjoyed a gentle wander to the water's edge as the sun sank lower in the sky and cast a beautiful silver path across the lake - so peaceful and beautiful.
It had been a wonderful Mother's Day, made complete and perfect by the beautiful card I received from Jon and telephone call from Sam (who was in Spain on a 'lad's weekend') to say he'd just posted my card in Spain - the sentiments of both cards bringing a tear to my eye.
