I spent the days after my arrival sleeping, reading, wandering and trying to enjoy the fiesta activities. Much of the fiesta felt lost in translation; it was a crazy, sprawling event, and I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I was in Spain at all. Several times I would see two people separated by a street screech in excitement as they recognized each other from across the road – like friends united after a long separation. It seemed like everyone in the city was gathering their loved ones to unite in their Bilbao pride, but through my jetlag and culture shock the whole affair felt like a party I wasn’t actually invited to. Nonetheless, I enjoyed it: the people watching, the general merriment, the variety of events, the drinking on the streets. Jessica and I watched fireworks three nights in a row, and each night was a bigger spectacle than the last.
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| One of the performances during the festival |
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| Jessica drinking on the side of the street, like a local |
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| One of the many fireworks displays |
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| Some sort of festival kids game... there's a slide in this guy's mouth (we think...) |
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| Me drinking on the side of the road, like a local |
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| more fireworks! |
After the fireworks on Saturday night, the entire crowd started moving north along the river, as if in a mass exodus to the promised land. We had been told there was a big concert celebrating the last official night of the festival, but we had no idea where. So, we followed the crowd. And we followed the crowd. And we followed the crowd some more. We walked for almost an hour, and eventually discovered a gigantic parking lot converted into an outdoor concert venue where an obviously popular rock band entertained a vast audience. Groups of friends sat drinking or dancing or milling about. The sheer size of the concert made me appreciate how big the festival actually is and how important it must be to Bilbaoans.
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| The Promised Land of the Rock Concert |
Jessica and I enjoyed the concert for a little while, but soon turned around to head home. On the way, we stopped to see yet another performance – a multicultural dance show – at a stage constructed next to the famous Guggenheim Museum. The crowd here was smaller, older and more sedate, but perhaps only relative to the concert crowd. Again, I wondered at the size of the festival – it had seemed all of Bilbao was at the rock concert, but really that was just one entertainment option for the night.
Today the festival ended with the traditional burning of the woman. No, not a real woman - a statue woman. She is the matron of Aste Nagusia, and to symbolize the end of the annual fiesta, a figure of her is floated down the River Nervion and then burned. Jessica and I crammed in with thousands of others along the river banks and bridges, standing on our tippy toes to watch her pass by. From our spot on the bridge, we could see only smoke and light from the flames as she was set on fire, but it made me think about the tradition itself. Many years ago, I went to Ecuador for New Years where the tradition is to burn a “Viejo” at midnight. The “Viejo” is an old man dummy that represents the past year and as it burns everyone jumps over the fire for good luck. Then of course, there is the Burning Man Festival in the Nevada desert, which also ends by burning a man sculpture. I find the universality of burning a human representation fascinating. Conceptually, it seems morbid or at least morose, but the vibe on the bridge tonight in Bilbao was serene and respectful. Perhaps it’s the inherent acknowledgement of our own mortality and the celebration that we are alive. Perhaps it’s the honoring of time passing. Or perhaps is the idea of renewal with construction and deconstruction. Or perhaps there is a distinct significance to each culture, or even to each person watching the tradition.
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| The lady floating down the river |
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| Right before setting the lady on fire |
