How often, when travelling, have you scanned the calendar of local events, only to discover the great art exhibit you would have liked to see closed two weeks ago, or the concert you’d enjoy is happening the day after you leave?
One of the great things about the kind of slow travel we’re doing – staying in one place for a good long spell – is that you’re more likely to be there when something interesting happens. Like the San Sebastiano celebrations in Siracusa the past week and a half.
We had read (in American writer Theresa Maggio's excellent The Stone Boudoir) about a similar event in Catania, just up the coast. In that city’s annual Sant’Agathe celebrations, sweaty young men troop an effigy of the saint through the streets to the sea on their shoulders, shouting out in their adoration of her. It’s a major ordeal for the carriers that lasts all night and a spectacle that apparently draws tens of thousands.
The San Sebastiano procession is on a more modest scale, but also features the trooping of an effigy, with young men shouldering a catafalque bearing the gaudy statue of a saint. San Seb somehow saved the city from plague in the 15th century – we’re not quite sure how – and was later martyred. The effigy is anatomically correct and complete with arrows stuck in him and blood trickling down his bare torso, over his gold lame loin cloth.
The first night event (see earlier post) was a rain out. But last night, they brought Saint Seb out for another meander through the streets before replacing him in his niche until next year. This time it was a clear, if cool, evening and a few hundred Siracusanos turned out to follow the procession, most dressed as if for a blizzard.
When we arrived at the Piazzo Duomo, we could see the effigy, hoisted high, in the brightly lit doorway of the little church at the end of the square. It resides there during the festival. Outside, two bands were fidgeting, and priests and altar boys were lined up ready to march.
As the saint came out of the church to the chorused shouts of the carriers, fireworks exploded above the buildings behind them and the bands struck up. (At one point, they were playing ‘Ta-ra-ra-boompteeay’, which didn’t seem quite right.)
We have no idea how heavy the effigy is but it looks to be about the size of a small car, or at least a riding lawn mower. It sits on a base, which rests on two great long poles, which rest in turn on the shoulders of the carriers. There were 20 or 30 them, mostly young men, but some middleaged, all wearing dark suits and little medieval-looking maroon velvet beanies.
They would carry the saint 10 or 15 feet, shouting at intervals, “Sebasti – a – a – a – no! Sebasti – a – a – a – no!” Then they’d stop to rest. After a few minutes, a young woman would ring a little hand bell, and off they’d stagger again. (The VP Finance speculates, and I’m sure she’s right, that women were not part of the celebration in times past. There you go – progress.) All in all, it’s quite a spectacle. Okay, a bizarre spectacle.
We followed across the Piazza, me snapping furiously and no doubt annoying people with my honking great flash unit. One guy exclaimed the Italian equivalent of, ‘Argh!’ (or possibly something more profane) when I accidentally flashed him square in the eyes from about three feet away. Oops. When the procession started down a narrow street, we sheared off and headed for home. Not everybody’s idea of a fun night out, perhaps, but memorable.
One of the great things about the kind of slow travel we’re doing – staying in one place for a good long spell – is that you’re more likely to be there when something interesting happens. Like the San Sebastiano celebrations in Siracusa the past week and a half.
We had read (in American writer Theresa Maggio's excellent The Stone Boudoir) about a similar event in Catania, just up the coast. In that city’s annual Sant’Agathe celebrations, sweaty young men troop an effigy of the saint through the streets to the sea on their shoulders, shouting out in their adoration of her. It’s a major ordeal for the carriers that lasts all night and a spectacle that apparently draws tens of thousands.
The San Sebastiano procession is on a more modest scale, but also features the trooping of an effigy, with young men shouldering a catafalque bearing the gaudy statue of a saint. San Seb somehow saved the city from plague in the 15th century – we’re not quite sure how – and was later martyred. The effigy is anatomically correct and complete with arrows stuck in him and blood trickling down his bare torso, over his gold lame loin cloth.The first night event (see earlier post) was a rain out. But last night, they brought Saint Seb out for another meander through the streets before replacing him in his niche until next year. This time it was a clear, if cool, evening and a few hundred Siracusanos turned out to follow the procession, most dressed as if for a blizzard.
When we arrived at the Piazzo Duomo, we could see the effigy, hoisted high, in the brightly lit doorway of the little church at the end of the square. It resides there during the festival. Outside, two bands were fidgeting, and priests and altar boys were lined up ready to march.As the saint came out of the church to the chorused shouts of the carriers, fireworks exploded above the buildings behind them and the bands struck up. (At one point, they were playing ‘Ta-ra-ra-boompteeay’, which didn’t seem quite right.)
We have no idea how heavy the effigy is but it looks to be about the size of a small car, or at least a riding lawn mower. It sits on a base, which rests on two great long poles, which rest in turn on the shoulders of the carriers. There were 20 or 30 them, mostly young men, but some middleaged, all wearing dark suits and little medieval-looking maroon velvet beanies.
They would carry the saint 10 or 15 feet, shouting at intervals, “Sebasti – a – a – a – no! Sebasti – a – a – a – no!” Then they’d stop to rest. After a few minutes, a young woman would ring a little hand bell, and off they’d stagger again. (The VP Finance speculates, and I’m sure she’s right, that women were not part of the celebration in times past. There you go – progress.) All in all, it’s quite a spectacle. Okay, a bizarre spectacle.We followed across the Piazza, me snapping furiously and no doubt annoying people with my honking great flash unit. One guy exclaimed the Italian equivalent of, ‘Argh!’ (or possibly something more profane) when I accidentally flashed him square in the eyes from about three feet away. Oops. When the procession started down a narrow street, we sheared off and headed for home. Not everybody’s idea of a fun night out, perhaps, but memorable.
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شركة تسليك مجاري
شركة كشف تسربات المياه
شركة جلي بلاط
شركة انشاء مسابح
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