This long post is about the St. Bartholomew’s Day “Festival of Fire” that we participated in on Sunday night, here in Mallorca. Without a doubt, it was the most pyromaniacal and pagan event I have ever witnessed personally.
Sunday August 24th was St. Bartholomew’s Day. He is Soller’s patron saint, and the Cathedral in the town is named in his honor. Apparently his saint’s day has been celebrated with this festival for hundred of years. We had been told that the festival, which started at 10pm, was “not to be missed” and “perfect for kids.”
Envisioning pony rides and maybe a parade, we had an early dinner and took the old-time electric tram over from Port de Soller to Soller itself. Many of the Mallorcan north coast towns are located 3-4 miles inland from their ports, apparently as historical protection against pirate attacks.
We arrived in Soller at about 9:30pm, and walked up into the medieval-looking main square of the town, where a crowd was already gathering. The Cathedral steps were decorated with scattered wooden boxes, fake spider webs, and a creepy looking dead-soldier mannequin. There was a stage set up to the right of the Cathedral, with an outdoor movie screen and 20 large drums on it. Loud, Gothic, haunted-house-type music was playing on big speakers.
We walked around the square for a short while, and then bought ice creams at a packed heladeria. Just before 10 o’clock, we found seats on the low wall across the street from the Cathedral. It looked as though whatever was going to happen was going to happen there.
10 o’clock came and went, then 10:15. The crowd got bigger and more lively. Even though it was a warm night, we noticed a lot of teenagers and kids walking around in long-sleeved shirts and long pants. Strangely, their clothes were soaked with water, leading us to guess that maybe there was a dunking booth or something (as if this actually were a county fair). Also, there was a long and animated discussion in front of us, between the man who appeared to be in charge of the festival and the woman who appeared to be the fire chief. We thought they were discussing what to do about the few kids we saw lighting firecrackers near the Cathedral steps.
At about 10:30, the area directly in front of the Cathedral steps was cordoned off, the scary music stopped, and a short movie started. The gist of the movie was a re-enactment of a nobleman (maybe in the 1500s) leading an expedition from his castle to capture a golden idol, which was guarded by dangerous -but unseen- forces. Then the movie ended, and a live re-enactment started in from of the Cathedral steps.
The nobleman and his seven knights approached the Cathedral, and saw the golden idol, bathed in white theatrical lights, on a pedestal at the top of the steps. When the nobleman grabbed the idol, the lighting all turned blood red, and new scary music started over the loudspeakers. Three “demon soldiers” (for lack of a better description) jumped out and attacked the nobleman. The demon soldiers’ were painted brown and dark red, and they wore skins for clothes. They had horns protruding from their long and matted hair.
The demon soldiers quickly disemboweled the nobleman, represented by having a string of about 30 link sausages pulled from an opening in his armor. Then the demon soldiers turned on the remaining knights. After a few minutes of dramatic swordfighting, the demon soldiers called in reinforcements, and about 50 additional demons poured into the cordoned-off area. The demons quickly and decisively massacred the knights, and started dancing and screaming, and trampling their vanquished foes underfoot. This all happened about five feet from where we were standing. The crowd applauded wildly, and the demon soldiers and the knights all got up and danced away toward the stage and the drums.
About this time, an old woman in the crowd tapped me on the shoulder, pointed up toward a string of firecrackers hanging over my head, and said something in Mallorquin which ended with “…por la niña.” My interpretation was that she was worried about Tallulah being afraid of the loud noise when the firecrackers were lit. I motioned to her that I would cover the baby’s ears with my hands, and that we would be OK.
A moment later, the lights went up on the stage, and 20 of the demon soldiers started banging out a fast rhythm on the big drums. Other demon soldiers started dancing around the town square, carrying torches. Then all hell broke loose.
It is difficult to describe how many firecrackers, bottle rockets, Roman Candles, pinwheels, and giant sparklers were going off all around us. Directly above Tallulah’s little head, 20 pinwheel firecrackers were lit electronically, and spun wildly and shot sparks in all directions. (Needless to say, I had been warned.) Rows of Roman Candles, hanging and pointing downwards into the street, created sheets of fire all around the square. Groups of teenagers (wearing hats and bandannas along with their wet clothes) danced/jogged around the square. Each group was led by a demon soldier with spinning Roman Candles on a long stick, showering the crowd with sparks. In all directions, sparks and fire and screams and drumbeats. Wild.
After about 10 minutes in the center of the square, we tried to get across the street and out through the crowds. Every time we would step from sidewalk to street, another demon soldier and entourage would come through, spraying sparks all over us. India and I would cover the kids with our bodies, and shut our eyes. We were hemmed in by a 10-deep crowd on the sidewalk and the fire/dance in the street itself. We teetered on the curb, not exactly scared, but definitely not feeling comfortable either.
This went on for another 10 minutes or so, until Tallulah made clear that we really needed to get out of there. Following two demon soldiers -who wheeled past us with a mounted cow’s skull, spraying fire from its bony mouth- we fled down the street after them, cut through the crowd, and into an alleyway off the square.
When we got onto the electric tram, surrounded by equally shellshocked and baffled Germans and Brits, we found a few small burns on each of us, and a bigger one on the top of Zola’s head. We had lots of blackened holes in our clothing. Ten minutes later we were back in placid, seaside, Port de Soller, walking to the car.
