BAM!
A square shot to the middle of the forehead, I stagger back as a hard candy bounces off the face onto the ground, which some parent swoops up to stuff into her already bulging purse. My eyes start to water again, and I wonder if experiencing the Spanish Christmas is really worth the battle wounds that it demands. Christmas can bring out the best or the worst in people—and in this case, the Spanish Granadinos need to learn anger management. Each parade float passes, on which dozens of overzealous niños break open bags of carmellos (little, or in this case, frighteningly big hard candies) and hurl them mercilessly at the parade crowd, which probably passes the 10,000 mark . ( I dodge another missile flying out of chubby hands and shoot a triumphant smile at Erardo, the “Angel” on the heaven float.)
A square shot to the middle of the forehead, I stagger back as a hard candy bounces off the face onto the ground, which some parent swoops up to stuff into her already bulging purse. My eyes start to water again, and I wonder if experiencing the Spanish Christmas is really worth the battle wounds that it demands. Christmas can bring out the best or the worst in people—and in this case, the Spanish Granadinos need to learn anger management. Each parade float passes, on which dozens of overzealous niños break open bags of carmellos (little, or in this case, frighteningly big hard candies) and hurl them mercilessly at the parade crowd, which probably passes the 10,000 mark . ( I dodge another missile flying out of chubby hands and shoot a triumphant smile at Erardo, the “Angel” on the heaven float.)
Missiles continue to fly, and so begins the first hour of two days of celebration of “El Dia de los Reyes,” when Spaniards celebrate the epiphany by honoring the, Belthasar, Melchior, Gaspar, and all of the candy factories that work overtime to send millions of kids into a sugar-induced comas.
This trio, the Spanish equivalent of Santa, represents gift giving (or gift-throwing), and is the center of the closest thing that Spain has to Christmas, landing on the 6th of January. Melchior passes by and kids scream, holding open bags for the pounds of candy that rain down. Gaspar passes.
Scattered between the king’s floats are commercial ones from local businesses. Virgin Mary passes by but is stingy on the candy until the parents, practiced veterans, chime in and start yelling guapa, guapa, (beautiful) to which the flattered high-school-hired-actress hesitates, grins then dumps whole a bag, candy raining down on ecstatic faces. Other traditions of “El Dia De Los Reyes” is the “Roscón,” a cake resembling a doughnut on steroids, filled with crème and topped with fruit. Hidden in the cream is a bean and a tiny wiseman figurine. The person that eats the piece with the bean has to pay for next years’ 25.00 euro dessert and the person that gets the wiseman in his piece gets luck and is “king of the day,” getting to wear the burger-king-like crown that comes in the box with the cake. Ana, my host mom, bought a cake for us to try, which tasted pretty good, considering it was a mix of white bread, pineapple, candied pumpkin and whipped cream.
A very obviously white-but-painted-black Balthasar passes by on a float, smiling, to which the Spaniards start yell “NEGRO,NEGRO!”. Didn’t quite get that one. A float of friendly looking chickens passes by, somehow a universal signal for the Granadinos to cease the fight over millions of pieces of candy.
This trio, the Spanish equivalent of Santa, represents gift giving (or gift-throwing), and is the center of the closest thing that Spain has to Christmas, landing on the 6th of January. Melchior passes by and kids scream, holding open bags for the pounds of candy that rain down. Gaspar passes.
Scattered between the king’s floats are commercial ones from local businesses. Virgin Mary passes by but is stingy on the candy until the parents, practiced veterans, chime in and start yelling guapa, guapa, (beautiful) to which the flattered high-school-hired-actress hesitates, grins then dumps whole a bag, candy raining down on ecstatic faces. Other traditions of “El Dia De Los Reyes” is the “Roscón,” a cake resembling a doughnut on steroids, filled with crème and topped with fruit. Hidden in the cream is a bean and a tiny wiseman figurine. The person that eats the piece with the bean has to pay for next years’ 25.00 euro dessert and the person that gets the wiseman in his piece gets luck and is “king of the day,” getting to wear the burger-king-like crown that comes in the box with the cake. Ana, my host mom, bought a cake for us to try, which tasted pretty good, considering it was a mix of white bread, pineapple, candied pumpkin and whipped cream.A very obviously white-but-painted-black Balthasar passes by on a float, smiling, to which the Spaniards start yell “NEGRO,NEGRO!”. Didn’t quite get that one. A float of friendly looking chickens passes by, somehow a universal signal for the Granadinos to cease the fight over millions of pieces of candy.
All of the sudden the scattered crowd unifies, now a 10,000 person choir, Parents and their children sway together, couples hold hands and smile, and they for the first time I feel the effects of being extranjero, the stranger, as I respectfully step back and listen.
“La gallina turuleta ha puesto un huevo, ha puesto dos, ha puesto tres.
La gallina turuleta ha puesto cuatro, ha puesto cinco ha puesto seis.
La gallina turuleta ha puesto siete ha puesto ocho, ha puesto nueve
¿donde esta la gallinita , donde esta la pobrecita?, dejala que pomga diez!!!!!!!”
A profound silence follows, after which the song repeats, and, as I learn later, is actually about chicken, but hey, to each his own. . .The parade winds down and people swarm into the main street, congregating to begin the celebration that marks the year to come.
Feliz año!
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