Pedaling from town to town over Holy Week and the holiday had us steeped in Easter. First off, all grocery store billboards were advertising their specials for Pasqua: rounds of red sausage, big breads, these chocolate eggs the size of footballs wrapped in colorful foil. Shops had springy pink and green pantsuits and dresses in the windows.
Maundy Thursday we were just getting ready for bed around 10pm, when we heard what sounded like gun shots. That's unnerving, this feels like such a sleepy little town. Then I heard a band with brass and drums. Ah, fireworks instead. "Put on your shoes!"; this was a non-negotiable thing to witness. We followed the wafts of music down the dark streets until we reached the town center. The main intersection was packed with people and in the center of the crowd was a band playing, people singing, and two statues with candles around them being held aloft. I didn't recognize any of the music but it felt pensive and holy. We were definitely the only foreigners at this night scene.
Then on Easter day, right at 10am as the bells were tolling we passed a church, with that characteristic trickle of people picking their way up the stairs. Without questioning, and of course wearing my appallingly ridiculous bike outfit, I left my bike with Matthew and slipped up the stairs into the back. The sound of a pipe organ and the feeling of it in the air had me nearly in tears. People were singing--again nothing that I recognized --but it was so sacred feeling and intentional and beautiful. I didn't want to stay for the whole service--that would have been too much, so I left when it was still too little.
Later on Easter day, just before noon, we were passing through a small hill town and found the entire population in the square outside the church. There was no music this time, just a constant pulse of drumming. Six young men dressed in white pants and shirts, with red sashes around their waists, were holding aloft a statue of an angel with a sword (this must have been Gabriel?). They were slowly walking through the square, the thick crowd passing to let them through, and they were pulsing the statue up and down rhythmically. The young men were being directed where to walk and pulse next by an important looking man with gelled hair and a grey suite. Every single red-sashed dude was chewing gum (because they couldn't be smoking?) and indeed the statue pulsing looked rather like hard work.
We enjoyed watching the crowd, the little girl holding Mama's hand, wearing a puffed white dress with a bow. Teenagers more involved with themselves than the event. Friends running into each other and stopping in a foursome to chat. This all had the air of a festival! The angel statue was paraded to this building, that building, and back to the center. Bopping up and down the whole time. This went on for long enough that we assumed we'd seen it all and were putting on our helmets again. But then there was cheering; the be-sashed men were sprinting with the statue the entire length of the square. Sprinting! With the statue held aloft above the crowds, it looked like an angel skimming along above it all.
After a while a statue of Mary and one of Jesus arrived from a street at the edge of the crowd, both lifted along by 6 other fit young men in blue sashes. There was cheering and the drums reached a frantic braying: the statues of Mary and Jesus were being bent in towards each other. They were kissing. Mary had realized her son was risen from the dead, this fact that the angel Gabriel had been rushing around to tell her all this time.
How fascinating to witness this! A cultural gift we hadn't known about or planned, just lucky circumstance.
The crowds then flowed into the coffee bars, the pastry shops. Time for the treats before the big Easter family dinner.
In one coffee shop, I was sipping a macchiato and taking in the scene. There was a woman in a neon pink pantsuit, tan heels. Teens were feeding each other bites of cornetto. A few pastel rabbits and those big football foil chocolate eggs were about. Everyone knew everyone. Half the folks had Aperol spritz in wine glasses or beers. A baby with a mini mouse balloon tied around her wrist was being passed around. Uncle Someone came in loudly with open arms and everyone got louder to receive him. I thought of my own loud Polish Catholic family and our Easter day traditions, how I could connect with the celebrations here, all while feeling enormously out of place.
Lambs made out of marzipan were on display at the counter. My Polish family does a lamb molded out of butter, and I enjoyed this parallel.
Easter Monday felt like a day for parties, at least where we were passing. Tents set up in front yards, hip hop, beers, voices talking over one another. But mostly it was the music. This was the first day this whole trip we'd heard music coming onto the street. (Compared with Latin America where I've made many other bicycle travels, Italy has been impressively quiet.)
1 comment:
Such fun to be in the Mediterranean for Easter. We experienced Easter in Crete and Cyprus. It's a huge holiday for the Orthodox church. Good Friday processions (we saw 3 in Chania, Crete in one night) and Sunday morning at home in Cyprus, waking up to a brass band at 6am! Get your lazy butt out of bed, he is risen!
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