Quite a spectacle.

Last night I went to meet a friend of mine for a drink down on the Alameda. When she arrived she proposed going up to Castrelos Park where there was going to be some kind of “espectáculo”. Neither of us had strong feelings either way but a couple of friends of hers had asked if she was going and if she could give them a lift. So, always game for a bit of local colour, I said OK. 

Local colour it was: a “history” of Vigo with acrobatics and aerial displays thrown in. The stage of the little amphitheatre in Castrelos Park was dotted with burning torches and I mean proper, old fashioned burning torches, pre-technology style. No health and safety concerns here then. The stone steps were full of people. Due to start at 10 o’ clock, it finally kicked off at 11 after a series of pictures on the big screen of the Castro Musealizado, the reconstructed Roman and pre-Roman settlement in Vigo and a droning talk about all the “castros”, the above-mentioned settlements, all around the area. 

Then we were off. The floodlights went off and a group of witches, “meigas”, came on stage, together with a selection of jugglers all flinging fire-brands around, some stilt walkers and fire-eaters. An important-looking chap in a long greenish robe told us a lot of stuff about “Celtic” magic, the usual stuff about “terra, auga, lume e aire” – land, water, light and air. So far so good. All in gallego, of course, but via a rather poor sound system. 

Then came the drama: the “Celtic” magic and peace was disturbed by the arrival of the Romans. A small legion marched onto the stage, all in good order. They re-enacted a battle on the Islas Cíes. The Romans won and a cry of “¡¡oooooh!! went up from some of the crowd. It was all fine, however, as the Romans left some time later, our patriotic friend reassured us, and Galicia remains Galicia to this day and Vigo is still Vigo. There was a lot of patriotic shouting about “our” identity: “¿Qué somos?” Answer: “¡Vigueses!” (What are we? Vigo people!) 

My companions were two ladies from Pontevedra and a French girl so we felt just a little excluded. However, the general enthusiasm was impressive. Maybe it wasn’t just that little group behind us who were smoking something other than straight tobacco! 

There was some quite spectacular, and occasionally frighteningly daring, trapeze artistry, accompanied by a song in English, oddly enough considering the avoidance of Castilian Spanish throughout. Some kind of deus ex-machina descended from the sky in a winged chariot, courtesy of a huge crane. 

I was just thinking that the (self-)important, patriotic chap in the green robe was going on a bit and wondering what I could say diplomatically to my companions when one of them leaned across and whispered: “Este me parece que es un poco pesado, ¿no?” – This chap seems a bit boring, doesn’t he? Phew, it wasn’t just me! 

Anyway, the patriotic chap eventually told us that all the brave gallegos who died in the battle on the Islas Cíes were going up to heaven. And so they climbed onto a creation not unlike a lightning conductor and, courtesy of the huge crane once more, they were transported, arms outstretched and with fireworks fizzing above their heads, into the darkness above. 

After that, some fabulous fireworks closed the proceedings. Goodness knows how many Euros went up in smoke. Crisis? What crisis? Bread and circuses! Keep the people happy with free entertainment. Oh, and give them a dose of Galician patriotism to boot. 

We stopped for a drink on our way home and chewed the fat a little. Our collective verdict? Good fireworks and some impressive trapeze artistry but the patriotism could have been quite seriously reduced!