A new life in Andalucía : Happy New Year

Happy New Year

I have been humming and singing the song Feliz Navidad for the past few days, much to the annoyance of my husband. You must know it: Feliz Navidad (x 3), Prospero Año y felicidad. I wanna wish you a Merry Xmas … Yes, it´s a Christmas song, so why is it on my mind in the height of summer, you may well ask yourself? I can explain: Ian and I have just returned from cute little Bérchules (the village in the Alpujarras where we lived for six months until we moved here to the Sierra de las Nieves in April) where they celebrate Noche Vieja (literally old night but it means New Year´s Eve) on the first Saturday in August, therefore they call the fiesta ´Noche Vieja en Agosto` and it has made Bérchules quite famous, probably more on a national basis though.

The reason they have two New Year´s celebrations a year is that, back in the winter of 1994, the village suffered a massive powercut which meant they had to see the New Year in by candlelight which, of course, for Spaniards is not romantic but a sheer catastrophe. They need lights, lots of them, the brighter the better. They also need music, so loud that the bass notes swallow all the lyrics. So, no blinding illumination and no deafening noise equals no fun. After this disaster the villagers were determined that their Noche Vieja would never be spoilt again and decided to have two celebrations – one in December and one in August. I don´t think that they had quite expected this fiesta to become so popular and I´d be surprised if they ever thought it would attract thousands of people from all over Spain – but it did. You see, Spanish people love anything wacky (like running along the streets in front of bulls, throwing tomatoes at each other – you name it), so the news that there was this little mountain village somewhere high up in the Sierra Nevada which celebrated New Year´s Eve in August, spread like a bush fire. And so it happened that every year on the first Saturday in August several tens of thousands of people flocked into the tiny village, renting every room or donkey shed available and even paying good money for a space on somebody´s sofa or floor. The village which normally has a population of well below 1000 souls found itself inundated with visitors and their cars.

Well, that, we had to see for ourselves and as it also seemed a good opportunity to catch up with our chums and former neighbours rather than having to visit them all individually, Ian and I found ourselves in the church square in Bérchules just before midnight last Saturday night. Clutching a little plastic bag, containing 12 grapes (you are meant to eat one grape with each chime of the clock), we watched artificial snow being thrown from the church tower just before an impressively colourful and loud firework display filled the warm air. Some people were wearing red Father Christmas hats and many were dancing and singing. People hugged one another, wishing each other Prospero año nuevo and bottles of bubbly were shaken vigorously and sprayed into the masses. Throughout the day, there had been competitions as to who had the prettiest crib on display outside their house, the three Kings had paraded the streets, throwing sweets to the kids and there was a street market where all sorts of Christmas sweets were available to buy. The night continued well into the early hours with more dancing (each square in the village had its own live band playing) and we finally made it back to our friends´ house, where we were staying, at around 4:30am.

On the whole, good fun and worth seeing – once. It seemed that the village was packed with mainly youngsters from other parts of Spain whose only aim that night was to get completely rat-arsed. I was quite taken aback to see so many people walking up and down the streets with litre bottles of spirits and carrier bags full of mixers whilst many locals had stayed at home and only surfaced the next day. We got the distinct feeling that the villagers weren´t really that keen on the whole thing. Throughout the entire day on Saturday the water supply had been seriously affected by the sheer volume of people in the village. By the time we wandered around the village Sunday lunchtime, most of the visitors had disappeared again, leaving the mountains - as well as mountains of rubbish - behind.

I think next year we will not bother with Noche Vieja en Agosto but we´ll join the villagers when they celebrate St Marcos and parade the streets with all their animals or the St Pantaleon fiesta where they carry a statue of their patron saint around the village.

There was at least one happy berchulero though - the owner of one of the local supermarkets who proudly told us that he had sold 275 bags of ice cubes at a profit of €1.50 each. On this note, I wish you all a prosperous New Year!