We wanted a
taste of the Malaga Carnival and we chose the final weekend of the
festivities, deciding against the Battle of the Flowers on the Saturday,
although that sounded rather colourful, in favour of the Burying
of the Boquerone on the Sunday, which sounded most intriguing. And
the more we delved into the matter, the more intriguing it became.
Our initial local enquiries in Alora did not reveal anyone who had
actually been to the annual ‘burial’, although we were
assured that it had nothing to do with boquerones (anchovies). It
was in fact the burial of the sardine, although no one could state
with any certainty what was actually involved. Further enquiries
revealed complete agreement that the ceremony did take place on
the Sunday, yet two different published programmes indicated two
different times of starting at two separate venues. The termination
and the ‘burial’, whatever form that may take, were
also clearly in doubt.
Adopting a cheerful philosophical attitude, we pulled into Malaga
Renfe railway station halfway through the afternoon, discovering
that the crowded streets were delightfully peppered with happy revellers
in all kinds of colourful and sometimes quite bizarre fancy dress
costumes. Feeling somewhat peckish and a little duty-bound, we plunged
into a smoky, crowded tapas bar just before the doors were shut
to further customers and we placed our order for … yes, of
course, boquerones. The intrigue deepened. With boquerones by the
dozen to the left of us and boquerones by the dozen to the right,
there we were, stuck in the middle without a fish bone between us.
For some strange reason we were not going to get any either, the
disappointment being compounded when we discovered that only a hundred
yards down the road, the dishing out of 600 kilos of the famous
fish had just come to an end.
Forgetting our hunger for the moment, we were consoled by several
very funny and extremely lively musical performances, the flow of
people in fancy dress increasing to a flood. Where and when the
procession of the grand boquerone through the streets of Malaga
actually began we were never to establish, although we managed to
intercept its merry journey in the old part of town and we were
swept away by the wonderful atmosphere.
And the burial? Well, apparently that took place on the playa de
la Malagueta, although it was more of a cremation than a burial.
And the meaning of it all? Obviously, it was the symbolic end of
the carnival. Obvious when you know, of course.
We did, however, pay our respects to the occasion, in a manner of
speaking. With most tapas bars now shut tight until later in the
evening, I was very pleased to discover one with its doors still
open. We ordered boquerones, opened our mouths and carried out a
burial of our own and very tasty it was too.
All sorted? Not quite. We were told that it was a sardine and not
a boquerone that was buried, I had to mention to the barman. Ah
yes, he replied with a grin, that is the case all over Spain, Malaga
being the one exception.
Can’t wait for the Battle of the Flowers next year, just have
to assume in the meantime that it does actually have something to
do with flowers.
| The
sobbing boquerone at the
Malaga Carnival on its way to be buried |
|
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