Fiestas del Pilar: Taking part is more meaningful than observing

Dressed in traditional Zaragoza clothing and clutching our bouquets of carnations and baby’s breath, we inched our way along the Ofrenda de Flores route towards the ever-growing flower tower to honour the Virgin Pilar.

We’ve experienced many other festivals around the world as observers, standing on the sidelines watching local people in their celebrations of family, liberty, religion, battles won, honouring the dead and more. But the Fiestas del Pilar in the Spanish city of Zaragoza was different: we took part – and tourists took photos of us!

The Fiestas del Pilar began in the year 40 CE when St. James the Apostle came to Zaragoza and saw the Virgin Mary on a marble pillar. She asked him to build a church on the land where he stood, next to the Ebro River. His construction surrounded the pillar, and the church eventually morphed into today’s many-turreted Basilica del Pilar. Inside, you can even touch the pillar (or, before Covid, kiss it).

Our Spanish daughter Roxy – who lived with us for a year to learn English – had issued us a standing invitation to come visit for the 10-day Fiestas del Pilar and, in 2022, the timing worked. We spent a full week eating tapas, watching serious and fun processions, craning our necks at fountain and drone light shows, eating more tapas, drinking beer at Oktoberfest, shopping at markets, going tapas-bar-hopping, learning to dance with castanets, tasting new foods and drinks, visiting (which always involves eating) with Roxy’s family, listening to music of all types, and gasping at the close calls of the recortadores at modified bullfights. Exhilarating and exhausting at the same time.

Ofrenda de Flores

But the highlight was the Ofrenda de Flores [Flower Offering] – on Oct. 12, the official holiday – when hundreds of thousands of people joined the procession to offer flowers to the Virgin. The only prerequisite to take part is to dress in your regional clothing.

Roxy has taken part every year of her life except four: the year she lived with us in Canada, one university year when she couldn’t get home, and the last two years of Covid when the offering was virtual. What a wonderful gift, to celebrate your heritage every year that way.

After a late night at Oktoberfest, we arose early because it takes considerable time to get into all those layers of clothing. Roxy helped me: stockings that looked crocheted, long bloomers, full petticoat with a pocket where you store your valuables, heavy brocade skirt with a secret opening to access the pocket, blouse, gorgeously embroidered shawl, filigree earrings, necklace, black bow to put over my hair bun, and hemp-like shoes with long black ribbons to criss-cross up my ankles. Roxy pinned my shawl in place and I fastened a filigree brooch in front. Roxy wore a vest instead of the shawl.

Roxy’s father – Luis – directed Bill into his attire: black velvety shorts that came below the knee, white pantaloons peeking out below, maroon stockings, black shoes with ribbons, and a shirt with full pirate-like sleeves. The 10-foot-long waist sash required help: Bill held one end up to his waist, Luis held the other end taut, and then Bill spun to wind it around his waist and then tuck in the end. The head scarf also required help. After spending his entire life wearing one each year, Luis still needed help with his, so Bill didn’t feel so bad when it took several tries to get it right.  

After a stop to pick up our bouquets, we joined the long procession about 9 a.m. For the next 3.5 hours, we inched towards the Plaza del Pilar where the enormous pyramid of flowers steadily grew. Along the way, we visited with Roxy’s family and many friends who stopped to say hello. We took countless photos. We gave Amaia and Luzia – Roxy’s young cousins – ad hoc English lessons while they instructed us in Spanish. We admired other people’s clothing, especially the cute children’s outfits. I recognized traditional dress from Panama, Mexico, and southern Spain – the slinky dresses with ruffled bottoms that I associated with flamenco dancing. I wondered – what would my traditional Canadian clothing be? A pioneer dress with apron and bonnet? A Scottish kilt in the Graham tartan?

And we snacked on the food we carried in wicker baskets: chorizo, jamon, cheese, bread, pastries, beer, Coke, water, and homemade wine from a wineskin. You must keep up your strength to carry flowers that far!

Barriers separated those of us in the procession from visitors watching on the sidelines. Although I knew, of course, that we were taking part in this traditional fiesta, that separateness, that understanding that we were on the meaningful side of the barriers didn’t hit me until I saw TV cameramen and tourists taking photos of us. A strangely thrilling “Aha” moment.

My excitement built as we got closer and closer. At the entrance to the Plaza del Pilar, we removed the ribbons and greenery from our bouquets, leaving only the flowers. The pyramid is topped with the haloed Virgin and the flowers form a symbolic cloak for her, Roxy explained. A special blue-and-yellow floral tribute to Ukraine held a prominent place on the front of the cloak. I had hoped we could climb the metal stairs to add our flowers ourselves; instead, when we reached the pyramid’s base, we handed our bouquets to volunteers who placed them.

Flowers form a pyramidal ‘cloak’ for the Virgin of Pilar.

And just like that, the Ofrenda was over. Our carnations had joined the six to eight million other flowers honouring the Virgin of Pilar.

But the day was far from over. Our group walked to a bridge over the Ebro River where we posed for photos with the Basilica in the background, while groups of tourists watched. One woman asked if she could have her photo with us! It was confirmed: I really felt like a local. Well, a faux local, but as local as I was likely to get.

We continued across the bridge to a park to eat the remains of our food and drink. But all I wanted was water – it was hot in all those layers and my feet thanked me for a rest on a bench.

Our group included (left to right): José-Luis, Amaia, Begoa, Luzia, Ana, Bill, me, Luis and Roxy.

After snacking all morning and then having a picnic, it was, of course, time for tapas. Spain may be known for bullfighting but eating well – especially with Roxy’s family – is a daily activity that’s taken seriously. Fortunately, Roxy’s cousin Raquel joined us for tapas and I could thank her profusely for lending me her traditional clothing. She’d had to work and couldn’t join the Ofrenda.

We stuffed ourselves with tapas, then adjourned to the patio outside the restaurant, where we were plied with spiked coffees and a mixed drink of which I never learned the ingredients. Amaia started practising some dance moves with castanets, instructed by Raquel and Luis, who had danced for many years with traditional groups. I watched, trying out the castanets myself, and finally stood up at the back to see if I could do the steps.

We had seen this type of traditional folkloric dancing the day before, accompanied by songs about the people, the land of Aragon, and what’s grown on the land, such as olives, Roxy explained. The dances are not unlike North American square dances, with formations winding and reforming into squares, circles and lines. However, many of these dances included castanets – which I had thought (erroneously) were used just for flamenco. Those dancers made the moves look easy. They were not.

I discovered that using the castanets alone was tricky and coordinating their clacking with the dance steps was a real challenge. Luis spotted me practising.

“¿Bailas conmigo?” Luis asked, and I said “Si.” [Yes, I would dance with him.] It took me a few tries but I finally got my arms and legs coordinated, with the castanets flailing about in my hands, and did the short routine I’d watched Amaia learn. I felt clumsy but successful! We took a bow together.  

Tapas

The rest of the week was a whirlwind of activities that always seemed to include eating tapas. Luis and José-Luis (Raquel’s husband) were the masters of locating the best places, finding us a table or bar space, and ordering delicious treats that involved seafood (anchovies, octopus, shrimp), olives, jamon, tomatoes, tortillas, croquettes, and olive oil. One place, El Champi, served nothing but mushrooms – stacks of them drenched in garlic butter with parsley. We also tried torreznos – crispy fried pork belly, that sounds awful but was delicious. Wine and beer accompanied most tapas. But on one midday tapas jaunt when I tried to order a café con leche, Ana firmly squashed that idea. “No. Vermouth.” So I joined her in a vermouth with lemonade – surprisingly good!

We binged on tapas every day, plus churros and Spanish tortilla (like a thick potato omelette).

Ofrenda de Frutos 

The day after the Ofrenda de Flores, we went back downtown to the Plaza del Pilar to see the Ofrenda de Frutos – another long procession of people in traditional dress. However, that day they brought a wide variety of fruits, vegetables, jamon, bread and baked goods, olive oil, and wine. The food offerings were carried in baskets and pushed in wheelbarrows and on wagons, elegantly decorated. The procession proceeded right into the Basilica del Pilar where the food was offered to the Virgin, and then later distributed to soup kitchens.

The Ofrenda de Frutos was a parade of people offering food to the Virgin. While downtown, we walked around the completed pyramid of flowers, admiring it from all angles.

Giants and Bigheads

We saw the Gigantes y Cabezudos [Giants and Bigheads] parade one day – an event aimed at kids and their parents. The roots of these fibreglass characters go back to about the 15^th century when King Alfonso V reportedly brought the tradition from Italy; it’s known for sure that these characters were in Zaragoza in the 16^th century.

The 11 Bigheads are short, with heads out of proportion to their bodies, while the 14 Giants are tall – about 12 feet high. They’re based on real and fictional characters related to Zaragoza’s history: kings, queen, dukes and duchesses; Don Quixote and Dulcinea from the novel; El Chino and La Negra, who represent the continents of Asia and Africa; and The One-Eyed who represents José Napoleon (people chant “Napoleon, king of the butts”). It’s tradition for kids to run in front of the Bigheads, screaming with delight as the Bigheads try to whip them. Kind of like a running of the bulls for kids. Luis found a friend who was helping with one of the gigantes and, during a rest stop, we stuck our heads under the skirts to see the frame and shoulder pads. I tried to lift it and, even with the aluminum frame, it was heavy. I nearly tipped the giant over! They weigh between 50 and 65 kilograms each.

Rosario de Cristal

One evening, we saw the Rosario de Cristal – a more sombre, religious parade of people holding lanterns and banners or pushing carts laden with statues and beautiful crosses, all while reciting the rosary.

Drone light show

The drone light show, new in 2022, was just 10 minutes long but was quite impressive. Several hundred lit drones formed words (Pilar22, Zaragoza, ¡Felices Fiestas!) and pictures (basilica, flowers, mantle, bridge, hearts). Afterwards, we went for – you guessed it! – tapas.

Bullfights!

I’d been simultaneously looking forward to and dreading this day. Roxy knew we couldn’t watch a real bullfight – the traditional kind that ends with a dead bull. Her family doesn’t like them either. But she’d asked if we’d like to see a modified bullfight, one where the men compete in pairs to see who can pluck the most ribbons from a bull’s forehead. That sounded okay, so she got tickets for the Recortes con Cintas. I still worried that the bulls might suffer but it was a cultural event I felt we needed to experience.

On our last day in Zaragoza, we went to the Plaza de Toros de La Misericordia. The yellow sand in the ring, combined with the dark red barrier and the yellow and red seats looked like the flags of Aragon and Spain.

A recorte is an evasive move, performed by the recortadores – men who wear white athletic clothes and running shoes, not the sequined fancy-pants outfits of toreros (what I had erroneously called ‘matadors’; Roxy taught us a lot). The recortadores don’t have capes or swords; instead, they rely solely on quick reflexes.

My heart pounded when the first bull charged, and the recortador deked out of the way at the very last moment by twisting sideways and arching his back to avoid those sharp horns as they swooshed by. We cheered when the first pair of recortadores grabbed a cinta [ribbon], and then sprang over the barrier to safety.

“Ooooooo. Ooooohhhhh!” The audience let out collective gasps every time a recortador and bull came close to each other. And wow! Those recortadores could leap high and far when they had to!  

My favourite part was what I called the “sheep cows”: two very large cows, white with brown spots, who came out to guide the bull from the ring once the time was up. The sheep cows are called ‘mansos’ in Spanish, which translates to ‘calm.’

Each bull had a personality. Some trotted right out, some ran with their head down, others stopped to look around, reminding me of Ferdinand the Bull in the famous children’s storybook. A fiesty one rammed his horns into the protective wall after the guy jumped behind it. He was no Ferdinand. I was astounded that bulls actually do paw the ground with their head down before charging.

One bull got way too close to a recortador too far out for him to leap behind a barrier, so a dozen men jumped into the ring to distract the bull. They were watching more closely than I’d thought. One recortador grabbed a cinta but got hurt when he hurtled over the barrier at top speed. He was taken off on a stretcher.

Since we enjoyed the heart-racing Recortes con Cintas, we decided to return that evening to the Recortes con Toros de Fuego. However, I was uncomfortable with this event, especially when they tied the bull tightly to a post to fit torches onto his horns, light the torches and then set him free. After that, all the bulls except one didn’t seem to notice the torches. One kept shaking his head back and forth, but the others behaved much the same way as the cintas bulls had – focussed on the men.

In this event, the recortadores earned points by seeing how close they could get to the bulls and doing tricks like somersaulting lengthwise over them. In other moves, they’d kneel on the ground, the bull would charge at them, and they’d lean away just in the knick of time. The guy who won had three black soot marks from the torches on his arms and legs. The only creatures getting seriously hurt were the recortadores.

I’m glad we witnessed bullfighting, even if it was modified. They were certainly no worse than calf-roping or bucking-bronco riding at North American rodeos.   

The Fiestas del Pilar left me with food for thought: about barriers and bullfights, the importance of celebrating heritage, and what constitutes my traditional dress? We returned to our home in Portugal all the richer for having experienced this festival, not as merely observers, but with our Spanish family.

The best part of our adventure was spending time with Roxy, her family, and her dog Simba.

We visited Zaragoza for the Fiestas del Pilar in October 2022. Find out where we are right now by visiting our ‘Where’s Kathryn?’ page.