Life: Idiotropic

In 1208, Juliana, a nun in Liege (now in Belgium) had the first of a repeating vision she'd have over the next twenty years that compelled her to plead for the institution of a feast of Corpus Christi.  After 20 years of secrecy, she confessed this to her Bishop who relayed it up the chain until finally, in 1264, Pope Urban IV decreed that Corpus Christi would be a annual feast, the first universal feast sanctioned by a Pope in the Catholic Church.


There doesn't seem to be a strict form of celebrating this "feast."  Many countries display wreathes and flowers.  Most have processions of some sort and some, as in medieval times, recreate the mystery plays.

Hence this bread in the shape of a fish - a symbol of the miracle of the loaves and fishes, one of many miracles (mysteries) told in the Bible.

In Valencia, Corpus Christi is a happy celebration that incorporates many of these things.  Florists stage a competition all around the streets surrounding the Cathedral with huge floral arrangements on street corners.  They are elaborate and creative.  One used painted plastic water bottles to hold (and perhaps hydrate) the flowers.  Another had colorful foam swimming noodles curved up into the arrangement.  One had apples hanging.


Today I was headed to town to see the Cabalgata del Convite, a folk parade made up of traditional Valencian dances from the time of Medieval Valencia.  The costumes, I thought, were supposed to represent scriptural things, but they were more from bits of history and not necessarily from Christ's life.

I stood on the narrow Avenida de Avellanes, the infamous street where the residents enjoy throwing things from their balconies.  On Virgin's Day, they throw rose petals.  Today, it was something else.

Many of the balconies were decorated with beautiful banners and tapestries.  One had a mirror hanging in the center and a line of small paintings on either side.  Many had flower arrangements.  One, bread.  On this small stretch and another to the left, these rows of empty blue buckets swung lightly in the breeze evoking questions from the tourists and a warning to locals who should know better.

Oh, I knew about those buckets.  If you looked up to the balconies along this stretch, you could see lines of buckets hugging the walls, sitting full and ready.  The empty ones are nice for photos.  The full ones... dangerous.


I stood at the corner waiting at what I thought was the perfect spot until the crowds were thick and I finally realized that the parade was coming from and heading in a different direction than I thought, so I left my saner group of friends and headed into the crowds on "bucket street" to watch the parade from a better vantage point and get some photos.

Small groups in fun costumes came, stopped near the corner as they turned, waited for the music, then danced.  As soon as they were finished, the crowd would clap and throw coins, the performers would clamor to pick them up quickly, then move on to perform at another spot along the route.  It was all very nice.  And I stood and took photos and darted into the street, then out, watching and waiting a bit nervous for the eventuality of the...

... water.


Because King Herod would walk by.  And he did.  And then his henchmen would come arm in arm swinging plastic clubs and taunting the crowds. 

I saw the water before I saw the henchmen.  And then I saw the kids just ahead standing with arms out looking up to the balconies asking to be drenched.  And then I felt the shocking cold as what felt like an entire bucket of water fell onto my head, so I quickly ducked back under a 5" awning and under the umbrella of a friendly local who was willing to share.

The newscaster and every piece of equipment on him dripped with water.  These men walked by and bopped my friend's daughter on the head with their bats.  I found myself under a second deluge of water and completely soaked from head to toe, but I couldn't go anywhere.  The folks on the balconies were armed and reloading.  The henchmen passed, returned, then passed by a third time, all the while, the water fell and I clung to the wall.

When I saw my friends, Elisa took one look at me and told me that I couldn't go to lunch like that.  So we rushed back to change.  My Elise changed too.  She wasn't soaked, but wasn't dry either.  Dryish, we enjoyed a nice lunch at Al Pomodoro before the next parade.

Handfuls of fliers were thrown just before the water in the last parade.  They were printed with poems written by locals related to the Corpus Christi.  Here's one about the Rocas.  The poem above is about the flowers.  Both are written in Valenciano.


Hundreds of years ago, Valencians carved and painted enormous ornate structures depicting stories from the Bible.  These "rocas" were a tool that the church used to teach the people the mysteries of the church.  Now, each year on this weekend, they come from the dark museum where they sit all year to the plaza around the church so that people can see them in the light up close.  Then, on Sunday, they are pulled by horses in processions through the streets.

The parades tonight would go long with many long lags between parts.  I couldn't stay, but I did see a few of the Rocas go by before I left.  The detail is amazing and though some of them are as much as 500 years old, they are still beautiful, respected, and cared for.

The horses that pull them are adorned with fancy harnesses and colorful braids.  After the first rocas went by a man in a wagon came by throwing fragrant greenery all over the streets.  Next would come the giants and a repeat of what I saw earlier but without the water.  Next year, I'll see more.   Next year, I'll bring a poncho.

Photos:   http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=225925&id=674507268&l=b34358f12e