Correfoc

As the last echoes of the thrum of the batucadas rattled off the buildings ancient and new, Sarah and I wended down a number of ancient narrow alleyways and found ourselves soon in front of city hall in Plaça de Sant Jaume—in the middle of a concert of traditional Catalan music. The concert would have been interesting enough in and of itself, but many members of the assembled crowd had gathered together and joined hands, doing
traditional dances in rings all over the square! It was quite enthralling to watch people of all ages holding hands and slowly perform their circular dance well enough that it looked quite coordinated. If I have the pleasure of being here next year during La Mercè, I may have to join them.

As we were standing, taking pictures and enjoying the scene playing out before us, an old man came up and started speaking to us. At first he was using Catalan; once it became obvious that neither of us was following in Catalan (Sarah and I were both just nodding politely), he switched to Spanish. Sarah understood this part, but he quickly perceived that I did not. So, this septuagenarian who'd been born and raised in Catalonia switched to English! I was jealous. I only speak English and bad English and I understand about 5 percent of what's said to me in Spanish on a good day and here this guy was telling us about this festival in English despite having been born and raised here. If I'm ever in any position of power within a school system in the United States, I am going to do everything I can to make sure children are educated bilingually.

With the sun sinking low, we headed to a café for a bit of refreshment and had just enough time to sit down before Sarah’s phone was buzzing again: If we were to make it to see the correfoc, we had better hurry to Via Laietana, cried Sarah’s mates. Sans libation but anxious to see this after-dark spectacle, Sarah and I beat a hasty path to the appointed street to connect with the larger group. Our efforts to follow her classmates quickly were abandoned, though, as we began passing float after ornate float along the street. Feeling a bit crotchety and trying to keep sight of the group and my fiancé simultaneously, I did not snap a single picture, although she was able to capture several spectacular images of dragons and horses and demons and the like. The correfoc, or “fire-run” in English, “is the great festival of fire which starts with the opening of the gates of Hell, from which all kinds of male and female devils and fire beasts pour out…As there will be dragons, flames and explosions, it’s best to remain on the sidelines as spectators,” cautions the booklet. Spectators we remained, though I suspect Sarah had other aims as she came close to folding space and time attempting to position us among the crush of people gathered there.

My initial irritation at being squeezed through the mass of humanity there to watch the proceedings evaporated as soon as the first of the fireworks went off. I would love to tell you what the next half hour was like, watching costumed men and women walk down a street waving a vast array of pyrotechnic delights surrounded by people covered in clothes to protect against burns, but it’s probably just best if I show you. Scroll down and you will see some of the sights that I got to see. It was incredible. And don’t forget to click on the images to open them up in all their glory.