Felices Pascuas

Even without weekly scheduled group excursions to mass, I was able to get myself up this morning in time to attend mass for Easter Sunday.

Mom, how proud are you?

Even though it wasn't Notre Dame, I knew that I wouldn't regret doing so. The cathedral that we decided to trek into the city center to chill with God in was Alcazar Cathedral. This is the elusive cathedral I spoke of earlier. It's the one that holds Christopher Colombus and whatnot.

Just a tiny corner of what is the massive cathedral.

We did think, by the way it sits on a plot of land equivalent to what looks like three city blocks, that it was the biggest cathedral in Europe. Unfortunately, we were wrong. It is actually the third largest; the first being St. Peter's Basilica in Rome (check...) and a cathedral in London whose name escapes me. This, however is the largest gothic cathedral in the world.

NO BIG DEAL.

We were walking into the city center from what I explained to you all (vosotros) as our suburbia haven and saw an amazingly low number of people outside. Those who were were all decked out in either adidas or wearing their one shoulder backpack to the front.

AKA: American tourists.

Inside of Alcazar, not to be confused with Alcatraz.

Santa Domingo in Spain is not a time to enjoy the sun, which had peaked out today for the first time in weeks to celebrate JC's ascension I guess. It is a time for church and siesta. The entire city is shut down.

Naturally, our first fear was that we would get to the cathedral and find the entire population of Seville inside, since it was only 9:30 and there was no sign of native life. We got lucky. We got there, and though it was swarming with tourists and the mass had literally just begun, we were able to explain to the high security team that we actually wanted to pass through their gated area to attend the mass.

We were seated in an awkward area off to the right of the elaborate floral decor alter in wooden fold chairs. The smell of the waving ball and chain filled with incense brought me back to my early Catholic school girl days when we used to cover our noses for dear life. I guess the fact that it was in Spain made me appreciate it a little more.

The mass was such an elaborate show that we saw
all the side stage action.

The Spanish mass especially made me appreciative of the holiday and chillin' in the house of the Father. Though it was long, I like the challenge of piecing together the lisps into comprehensive spanish.

What really struck a chord of familiarity, being in a gothic church, was the music. Remember me describing the Halloween-esque music of Notre Dame? Well, this wasn't quite as creepy, and the alter boys didn't emerge from the depth of a pit of punishment, but when they played Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, I truly felt like I was in a vampire movie (one in which they don't sparkle.)

Considering the sun that had taken a vacation from us until this moment, it didn't feel like I was doomed to the inner circles of Hell for all eternity. Leaving church made me feel good about myself, and even better about my friends who all also agreed to wake up early to pay homage to our religious practices in the most important Catholic city behind the Vatican itself.

Soaking in some sun and sangria; the Spanish way.

That didn't change the fact that we were starving and the whole city was shut down to celebrate the finale of holy week. After walking for a good half an hour we stumbled across a little outdoor cafe who must be either in the red or run by heathens that would feed us. Not my favorite paella de tapas, but it did the trick.

I think God is finally as appreciative of us as we are of Him, that's the only reason I can think of that he finally provided us with a beautiful day.