The DO’S and DON’TS of Attending Village Fiestas
Ric Polansky ©
The raucous carefree season has returned—village fiestas. The wine flows like water and even the lowest peasant in the pueblo can belligerently confront the mayor for answers. No one cares and even fewer are analytical about events. Chaos and oblivion are the order of the day. A few good days of fiesta are never remembered- by anyone.
If you live near wine districts the vendimia is great fun, squashing grapes and dancing. In the mountains the festival is often denominated as the “matanzana” in which a large pig is carved and diced to provide the years sausage and weekend pork chops. Sometimes traveling circus come to town, but at worst there are plenty of gaming stands of throwing rings, shooting match sticks and winning giant sized cuddly bears.
The afternoon session is for the “mosquiteros” (those that wish to fight the mosquitoes), well, kinda. They aren’t any. But, the renown “Spanish fly is”. And in pure fighting spirit; indomitable, impetuous, persistent, diabolical, up your right nostril without permission. I wouldn’t ever be seen at an afternoon fair if it was for myriads o melon bosomed young girls.
The authentic fun starts in the late evening. Thunderous sounds everywhere. Once it was music, but not at fair time… not tonight. Try, you cannot escape the over whelming noise. One tune leads into flamenco, which within two steps can change to Soleras, then maybe some rock, jive, children’s tunes or rap. All within a ten stroll.
The night time promenade through the streets is essential. Protocol demands that you stroll with your wife, arm and arm and greet all your building contractors, neighbors and owners of the local stores. You should be properly dressed, no whistle and flute required, but then again, tank tops to display your tattoos is not a good idea either.
It was amazing for me to learn that workers I knew actually had wives and children. One could exist years without every seeing them out of the work environment, rugged jeans and torn shirts. But go to their village fair and there they are in living color swaggering about and being domineered by their wives. The metamorphosis was overwhelming. The best clothes they had they wore.
The food stands are a culinary must. Even if you don’t know what you’re eating. Whatever the evil, plenty of cold beer can wash and cure. The turron (nougat) stand is to be avoided. The seller you will note always wears a white jacket like a dentist. He is. And it is through his guile that broken teeth, lost fillings and worse will soon follow. Turron, the rock hard candy comes in two flavors, concrete deadly and cement worse. If the seller believes you are unsuspecting to his deceit he might even throw in an extra box. The only palatable way to eat turron is leave it in the back recesses of your jaw for at least 48 hours before you attempt to crunch it.
Sooner or later you will have traipsed the streets and will need to sit down. A convenient bar is a good start. Of course the music is required to be played at 26 decibels, otherwise you are not having fun. You will be required to shout at anyone within two feet of you. You can scream dos cervezas at full lung capacity—and you still won’t be heard. So, drink whatever is at hand or nearest to reach. Mixing drinks is a good reliable practice as you’re gonna have a full Arm and Hammer head ache tomorrow anyway.
When the dancing starts be prepared to accept that the locals will want to cavort with your wife publicly. You cannot do the same. If you should ask one of the Spanish women to dance with you one of two things will happen. She will run out of the room. She will pass out while still in the room. It is a complete and absolute indignity on your behalf to even suggest such a thing. Never minding that your wife is uproarsly laughing as she is swung, flung, pinched, squeezed and fondled.
Nevertheless, it is another good chance to practice your Spanish. Discuss world changing events and pronounce to newly acquired friends that Arsenal would kick Barcelona’s butts any day of the week!
Another drink is required. Try wine drunk from a “porron”, a glass decanter with a long spout that squirts wine once tilted. More great fun can be demonstrated by purposefully spilling it on everyone. Ooops— no harm intended (nudge nudge- wink wink). In the Almanzora valley they mix Casera (lemonade), beer and white wine in equal portions and call it a “porron”. Very digestive, especially to put the fire out on the different blood sausage, gambas, pinchitos, bocadillos, cotton candy, sickly sweet cakes, pepitas, pies, membrillo (jellied quince) and sponge cakes that you have quaffed.
Whether you dance or drink the night away no one is allowed home before sun rise. It is the law (like all the rest of the laws not enacted but nevertheless followed). Before you attempt to depart for home you have one last requirement: chocolate and churros. The chocolate is so thick you can stand up the thick pastry fritter then gnaw off a section.
Village fiestas are a must to do. More important than attending funerals or showing up for weddings. It is your chance to let the immediate world (your village) see you as you are. Listen to you. Watch you make a damn fool out of yourself. Legalized mayhem rules. If you do it wrong …. you won’t want to remember-- nor will anyone else care.
