For a number of days beforehand, families fly a black and red squared flag from their balconies and houses. This is the flag of Pollensa town and represents the Christians. Some also fly a yellow flag with a white crescent moon and star on - this is the Moorish flag. We wanted to join in and discovered that there is an old-fashioned haberdashers in Pollensa which sells not only these but the costumes for the festival. On entering it was like we'd travelled back in time and I half expected a Mallorquin Mrs Slocombe to emerge and ask if we were being served (¿te están sirviendo? for the linguists amongst you, although don't ask me what it would be in Mallorquin!). There were wonderfully colourful Moors costumes all hanging up in readiness and a lady was pinning the hem of a simple white cotton shift dress being worn by a young woman. The Pollensa townsfolk wear white and the women all wear pretty much the same simple shift dress. The shop also sold the espadrilles for the event - the Moors wear ones of all possible colours, the Christians wear white ones. All of them have sort of ribbons to lace up the leg in the manner of a ballet dancer. This is apparently because a normal espadrille would be likely to just come off in the melee. This was an indication of the mayhem to come. In any event, we bought our two flags and flew them proudly from our balcony. When in Rome (or indeed Pollensa) and all that.
The actual event is chaotic, hot, noisy, messy and completely devoid of any concerns about Health & Safety so a refreshing change from any event you are able to experience in the UK! We watched the gathering of what seemed to be eleventy billion Moors in the square first - all young men, many of whom had been enjoying quite a lot of alcohol beforehand which might have been a recipe for disaster in UK but not here. You could practically smell the testosterone as they fired themselves up but we didn't see any fights or trouble whatsoever. I had thought that being a Moor ie. a 'baddie' would be less popular, but it seems that being a Moor is what all the young men choose as it gives them a chance to wear much more dramatic costumes, cover themselves in face and body paint and run riot, just like the pirates that the Moors in fact were and did. A band with drums as the main instruments works it's way through the crowds of young men and every now and again everyone works themselves up into a frenzy, singing a sort of football chant type song and whirling their T-shirts around their heads. This is when they're not throwing footballs or their friends around! I saw some of them give their friend the 'bumps' which was fine the first time but the second time they got distracted unfortunately after they had let him go on his upward trajectory: his downward journey was therefore rather further than both he and certainly I, were expecting and he disappeared out of sight. I could hardly watch but up he jumped to carry on the party, goodness knows how! In any event, all the young men (and a very few brave young women) moved off to get kitted up in their colourful costumes and paint and we headed off for a good vantage point for the battle in the streets.
It was by now so hot and humid that we felt like we'd been swimming fully clothed but we found a good vantage point and waited. The crowds gradually filled up around us and we people-watched as somewhat 'merry' Moors made their way to their start area. Many of them were extraordinarily keen to kiss any young ladies they could find even if they were Christians, all in the interests of global solidarity and friendship I'm sure. Older men and women + little children seemed to be dressed as Christians but women and children mostly watch from the sidelines which seems to be a wise move. The lovely girls dressed as Christians behind us advised a German family to move further back as they had small children with them and they said it wasn't safe. And as THEY were behind US we braced ourselves accordingly. And, in due course, it all kicked off and along the street they came. A lot of them. The Moors with face and body paint sliding off them in the heat which gave them a certain scary authenticity. A number of older male Christians (thankfully not the testosterone and alcohol fuelled young Moors!) were noisily firing shotgun blanks at regular intervals and the cartridge cases were dropping everywhere, including one on me. Near us they also fired a canon several times so loudly that the ground shook and my fillings rattled in my head. And, in due course, we found that the girls behind us weren't joking - I held on to a metal railing next to me for dear life as the crowds all surged and I'm very tall and perfectly fit. So if you are lucky enough to be in Pollensa for this festival and have mobility issues or younger children with you, we would strongly advise you to stand well back! But don't let it stop you, it really is a great spectacle. The whole event ends in a battle on the local football field but we were so hot we headed home. That part can wait for another year!
As I type, it's 31st August and we can hardly believe that tomorrow is September and the month we arrived here a year ago. It seems that time has flown. I'm heading back to the UK for a few days for the first time on 8th September, so it will be interesting to see how it feels being a visitor to the UK rather than a resident. I suspect it will seem rather chilly plus I will have to wear jeans for the first time in four months 😱 ¡Hasta luego!
