San Xuan – of fish and fire

Darkness falls eventually, the smoke of atonement

Longer days, shorter nights, traffic jams and sardines

Ancient streets flooded with toes ripe for crushing

High heels, cobblestones and opinions

Strangers to witness the flames of San Xuan…

Last night was the summer equinox in Santiago de Compostela, which as you probably know refers to the fact that the sun is transiting the sky at its highest point and therefore it is the longest day of the year; in Spain they actually call it the shortest night of the year. Just as many cultures have foundations of celtic, norse, pagan, or various other ancient mythology underlaying a judeo-cristian world view, Santiago owes many of its fiestas, traditions, and superstitions to the Celtic roots that became Gallego.

The night is known as La Noche de San Xuan (gallego substitutes X for the spanish soft J and CH sounds, for example Xocolate instead of chocolate but pronounced like shwa). The fiesta is traditionally a night of atonement and cleansing, but done in a very pagan manner. Rather than the traditional catholic method of confession, gallecians jump over pits of fire to destroy evil omens and spirits that may be attached to them. The number of jumps must be “impar” or an odd interval (1,3, 5, 7) but 1 is bad luck, and even numbers are said to increase your chance of having a misfortune in the coming year. The optimal number of jumps is traditionally 3. One jumps over the fire, jumps back, and once again over; after fire jumping the fiesta goers should partake in charred sardines on bread, and drink red wine. The sardines here are large, the size of small bass, covered in salt, and grilled for a very long time over hot wood coals. The air is filled with the smell of fish and fire, a clash of elemental forces paying homage to the traditions of celtic magi. It is a night for renewal, a baptism of fire for the malignant inhuman spirits that cling to the Alma (soul).

The night begins with a cultural excursion – the school hosts these events in the evenings and they have all be ridiculously boring due to the long-winded spanishness of it all. I am very sure they have no concept of many of our spanish comprehension levels. We are brought to a lecture hall where they proceed to introduce some Gallecian anthropologist, which I would  find very fascinating in English I am sure, I do have a soft spot for pagan foundational mythos. After 30 minutes of spanish lecture on Tarot cards, I think to myself ” there is no way this can be much longer, the paper said 30 minutes. I wonder if they think I can understand all this”

30 more minutes pass.

After an hour sitting listening to a lecture in spanish, I think to myself once again “clearly now this will end soon, we have listened to this man speak for over an hour now in spanish. ”

Another hour passes

and nearly another.

Two hours and 30 minutes… that is how long we sat there listening to this lecture. Hey… at least its getting dark out now right?

Darkness falls. We walk to a square where people stand shoulder to shoulder butted up against a busy street, as busses and garbage trucks try to tiptoe by like elephants lumbering through a school yard. Sardines the size of children’s’ arms are roasting viscuously over hot coals as people stand around doing seemingly nothing. What is the plan guys? The faces I recognize all wear questioning looks, where are we going and when do we start getting drunk?

Many of us want to try queimada, a witches brew lit aflame in a cauldron of earthenware and served hot (in taste and temporature). It is a mix of orange spirits, orange peel, an herb liquor of gallecian origin called Orujo Gallego, coffee beans, and cinnamon. It is brought to the table and lit on fire as all who will partake in drinking it recite an incantation that is meant to imbue the noxious concoction with exorcismic powers. Queimada is basically the alcoholic equivalent of the movie “The Excrocist”. It all feels very occult, the waitress stirs the flaming pot, it smells like an orange tiki torch, we sloppily pretend to follow along with the incantations.

It tastes like being hit in the mouth with a sledge hammer made of gross oranges. I get drunk of 2 small cups of it. Most of the girls don’t get past the first sip due to the taste and pretend to nurse their small cups which remain nearly full on the table by the end of the evening. Spitting out soggy coffee beans, I down a third cup of it. It really doesn’t taste that bad once you get a bit drunk. I think it would be good served ice cold, alongside some grilled spicy sausage, with a fennel and apple salad, and a glass of fresh orange juice for chaser. Alas we have no food and nowhere is serving anything but roasted sardines (which aren’t yummy). I slip into the night looking for an open restaurant… find none… walk home.

Who cares, its wednesday anyways and I didn’t want to be out all night. I slip into bed slightly drunk and put on the zen music channel on shoutcast, falling asleep the sound of some sort of windchimes and ocean waves, now at last free of evil spirits.