,
If you’re ever fortunate enough to find yourself in
Barcelona during the annual Merce festival, held each year around September 24th,
you will not be disappointed. The festival is a 5 day long event that is held
in honour of the Patron Saint of Barcelona, Our Lady of Mercy, La Mare de Deu
de la Merce, who saved the city from locusts in the 17th century.
On my way to see the Human Ladder competition, I had been
advised to arrive early at Placa de Sant Jaume, stake out my seat on the edge
of the fountain and wait for the spectacle to begin. Mistakenly thinking that
it would be a pleasant stroll through the winding narrow medieval streets of
the Barri Gotic, instead, I got hopelessly lost. Map in one hand, tourist guide book in the
other, I sought to find the quickest route out of the maze of cobblestoned
laneways, each leading to a different square or monument. Surely this can’t be happening to me, I
fumed. This was not my first visit to the Gothic Quarter, having shopped and
dined there the previous day. Perhaps I shouldn’t have taken that shortcut
through the picturesque alleyway where there was a handbag shop that I wanted
to take a snapshot of, so that I could return later that afternoon. Always one to search out landmarks in order
to navigate my way through the medieval passageways, I broke the cardinal rule
of sightseeing and deviated from the trodden path. It was now getting late and there was no way
that I’d be able to snag that up close and personal view of the Castellers
(human towers) from my desired vantage point in the square.
My travel buddy was
somehow able to squirm her way into the throng and get a bird’s eye view of the
Human Ladder competition that was about to start. I, being a mere 5 foot 3, was
already starting to feel somewhat claustrophobic and wrongly imprisoned in this
ever growing sea of humanity. More spectators were trying to edge their way into
the square and I was starting to feel like a sardine. If I don’t get out now, then
I’m on my way being mush....and it won’t be pretty.
Feeling slightly overwhelmed, I knew that I needed to escape
and get some air. It also didn’t help that
I was headed in the completely opposite direction than everyone else! Elbowing,
shoving and pushing my way through the crowd would have been the quickest way
to make my getaway from the swarm but not the most dignified. After all, there
were babies, grandmas, old folks and just plain nice folks amongst the horde,
spectators like myself, merely desiring to partake in the festivities.
The streets, flooded with throngs of onlookers, jostled for
space with the paper mache giants, dragons, musicians, circus acts and street
entertainers of all kinds. Tourists,
grandmothers pushing strollers, people in wheelchairs, rollerbladers and local
dignitaries were just a fraction of the sea of people who were nestled in the
tiny medieval square.
What felt like hours later, tired, cranky and miserable, I
had successfully managed to forage my way through the mob. Exhausted, I
proceeded to plop my pink sneakers down on a street corner, praying that the
strollers (steered by persistent mothers determined that their newborns witness
the festivities) would not mow me down. Yikes!! I’m gonna meet my end by being
trampled to death by a baby carriage!
Little did I know that I had now secured one of the most
desired viewpoints and was delighted at having the opportunity to observe the
parade of Giants up close! My disappointment with not having been able to
witness the Human Towers was transformed into awe and giddiness as I gazed upon
the giant paper mache figures that now filed past me.
Walking, dancing and spinning, the towering figures
enthralled and entertained old and young alike. Babies squealed, children hollered
and the older folks were just as captivated by the merrymakers, as if
experiencing the excitement for the very first time.
Swathed in regal robes, kings, queens and nobles spun around
and around, showcasing their magnificence to the crowd. The 16 foot tall gegants (giants) represented
all members of the community, as bakers, cobblers, seamstresses, farmers and
senoritas danced and twirled alongside the royal entourage. No parade is complete without some type of
marching band and it was fitting that flute playing musicians and drummers
frolicked amongst the revellers, a steady rhythmic beat resounding through the
streets.
Standing on the congested pavement, shoulder to shoulder
with the rest of Barcelona, I contentedly immersed myself in the gaiety and the
joie de vivre that contagiously spilled out into the streets, permeating the
hearts and souls of all.
My pink sneakers and I couldn’t have been happier to have
gotten lost and to have stumbled across the magnificent spectacle of the Parade
of Giants.
Come enjoy the Catalan festivities with me...come travel
with me...
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