Semana Santa affects everyone in Sevilla, but not everyone in Sevilla loves it.  It transforms the city for a week.  Barricades line the streets, roped off sections of folding chairs sprawl into the main pedestrian avenue, tourists clog the bars and the sidewalks.  Many natives see it as a week-long inconvenience.  Irritated by the hassle, they get out of town and flee to the beaches or the countryside.

Then there is the faction of Sevillanos that live for this week.  I’m talking “se vive la Semana Santa.”  They prepare for it throughout the entire year.  Band members rehearse their trumpet music by the river starting in September.  Men are spotted carrying sand-bag-topped platforms, training to carry the pasos (giant floats), starting in February.  Family members are absent from the dinner table, opting for meals and masses with the hermandades (religious brotherhoods), starting in March.

Families from this camp fit their lives around the processions for the week, running to see the pasos from different viewpoints around the city, trying to pick out their loved ones (with surprising accuracy) behind the cloaks, noting any little change in the Virgins’ garments or the pasos’ floral arrangements from the year before.

My host family belongs to this group, and as a temporary member of the Costas-Guerrero clan, I too “lived” the festivities.  The family is fortunate enough to have a spot in the “palco” – elevated, outdoor box seating at center of the city from which to view the processions.  Starting on Domingo de Ramos (Palm Sunday) and lasting till Sábado Santo (Holy Saturday) we spent every afternoon and evening there.

This lively family loves to laugh, and with at least five to ten people in our particular box at any given time, there was a lot of happy energy flowing.  Conversations were studded at regular intervals as the pasos crossed before us.  Out of respect, everyone stands as they go by.  This was but one of the countless lessons I learned that week.

My host dad, Juan Luis, my “maestro” (teacher), informed my every curiosity.  He taught me to listen when the palios (pasos of the Virgin) go by – they make a special clacking sound.  He taught me that the higher the capirotes (cone hats), the more serious the hermandad.  He informed me that some music bands march with several different brotherhoods throughout the week, sometimes back to back – we conjectured about how much sleep they were getting.  Thanks to his patience and endless knowledge, I developed a working understanding of this centuries-old practice.

In fact, for me, the whole week was defined by learning and observation.  I especially loved watching the children.  They are giddy about Semana Santa in the same way American kids are giddy about Halloween, and with good reason.

Some of the penitents from the more lighthearted brotherhoods hide little treats in the folds of their robes.  When children approach, they dole out candies and estampitas (mini cards with pictures of the Virgin).  They give out melted wax from their candles which the kids collect in ever-growing balls.  They dart from penitent to penitent, hands extended, asking for goodies.

My host brothers (both ten years old) are especially passionate about Semana Santa. They’ve been marching as penitents for four years now.  Weeks before the holiday arrived we had procession music blaring in the living room and other signs of the coming holiday began popping up around the house.

One evening, before I had the vocabulary down, I referred to the capirote as a sombrero for lack of a better word.  Fernando, one of my host brothers, turned slowly to look at me.  With a combined expression of utter disbelief and almost disgust he said “Sarah, sombrero?” And in his eyes I read “how could you be so ridiculous?”

It was hilarious to me and also fascinating.  I was reminded of my anthropology classes.  Cultural knowledge is learned from birth.  Even if I lived in Sevilla for the rest of my life and learned all the vocabulary and recognized all the music, I’d never understand it in just the same way as my host brothers do.

Depending on which Sevillanos you talk to, Semana Santa is either an annoyance or a way of life.  For this particular outsider, though, it was, above all, a learning experience.  I rubbed shoulders with the valued ritual of another culture and, while I’ll never “get it” like a native, I surely added some new understanding to my cultural knowledge base.