Not understanding what's going on is part of being a foreigner. We're accustomed to this sensation, if not entirely comfortable with it. But some experiences are more extreme than others. El Entierro de la Sardina (The Burial of the Sardine) is one of these. On Ash Wednesday, as Carnival is winding down, there is one last absurd celebration. It's a Spanish tradition recorded in a Goya painting circa 1812 and enjoyed throughout Spain.
In Madrid, the mourners gather and parade down the street for hours carrying a miniature coffin complete with a well dressed sardine. The band plays. The pall bearers dance in circles bouncing the deceased up and down at the ends of ropes. The women cry beneath their veils. Family and friends dressed for grieving throw confetti and candy.
After an hour and a half Alex and I decided to throw in the towel. There were miles to go before the final burial, and it was getting repetitive for us. But not for the mourners who enjoyed each bar along the funeral parade. No one seems to remember what this party was really about when it began a few hundred years ago. But it's not important. It's another chance to have an absurdly good time with friends.
Veterans display annual pins
A few words about the deceased
The endless noise and frivolity
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