“The feathers are from the naked man. They cover him in honey and feathers and then they take him around town, in a box that he jumps in and out of, like a jack in the box, spreading feathers everywhere.”
I was in Vilanova, a town about an hour and a half outside of Barcelona and it was Carnival weekend. My friend, A., who is from Vilanova was trying to explain the mounds of fluffy white feathers wafting through the picturesque streets like albino dust bunnies.
A.’s eyes sparkled as she spoke. She was smiling and I was drawn in, as I always was. She has this way about her - this way of talking, of moving, of simply being - that somehow, strange as it may sound, makes the world seem like a better place. She laughed musically, “I almost forgot. The best part is that - the naked man - he’s followed by this long line of women, all of them with babies.” She explained that the women represented the women he slept with, all in one night, impregnating them with rapid fire, conveyor belt like efficiency. I asked, if during Franco’s conservative Catholic reign such a thing was allowed, considering its racy subject matter. She shrugged, grinning. “Of course not, but people found a way.”
As we wandered through the streets A. explained a few of the other Vilanova Carnival traditions. Among them:
The picture above was taken on one of the main thorough-fares. The candy fights don’t stay isolated to the city square and you’re guaranteed to leave Vilanova with your soles glazed with sugar and candy wrappers.
Two weeks later I’m still getting over the fact that there is such a festival and that it happens every year.
Photos I have missed; memories I have made
Barcelona is cloudy today; thank you Nature. Makes me miss the roulette of San Francisco weather...
Lounging around on a terrace on top of of the Eixample.
Once I read that Spain is actually in the wrong time zone.
Neverending conversations or segmented reality?
you & me, that's something. we are work in process. not defined; in discovery mood. happy anniversary to us #11
Gaudi's Color Gamut
On cities that were made for friendship