HARVEST festivals are as old as time – but the communities of Andalucía do harvest festival in their own special way.
First of all, in southern Spain, it’s very much a spring celebration, rather than the English autumn version. Flowers are in bloom, lambs are being born. Andaluzes are rejoicing in the return of the warm weather and the earth’s fertility, and in addition, Spring is traditionally the seaon of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
You may say – and you’d be right – that this all seems a little pagan.
For thousands of years, village communities have walked in procession into the countryside, to pay respect to places that held importance for them. Ancient Britons used to throw small carvings into wells. Maybe a spring which provided villagers with fresh, clean water needed ‘thanking’, or the place where Paco fell out of a tree but was unharmed should be honoured, or a cave where a god once appeared to Maria’s mother must not be forgotten.
When Christianity came, it kind of ‘adopted’ these old customs, and incorporated them into its own rituals.
Indeed, the holiest thing a non-priest could do, back in the Middle Ages, was to go on a pilgrimage to Rome.
Since people had very little leisure time, it was an impossible dream for most of them, but the few who made it – they had to beg for food along the way – became known as ‘romeros’: and that’s why this local pilgrimage is called a romería.
It once had heavy religious significance, but over the years it has morphed into a sort of mobile party. It’s really a picnic, in costume.
Perhaps a brief mention of the Brotherhoods is appropriate here.
The Romeria del Rocio in Huelva. Photo: Cordon Press
When Freemasonry first appeared in Europe in the early 1600s, it quickly became associated with the Protestant, Reformed version of Christianity.
Consequently, various Popes have banned it.
The Catholic world has evolved its own masonic-style societies, called cofradías.
It is these ‘brotherhoods’ (also known as hermandades) who organise the Holy Week processions – and the romerías.
Everyone gathers early in the morning, and the procession sets off.
There are certain songs that have to be sung, and you can be sure that guitars and tambourines will be in evidence. Oh, and lashings of wine.
At the holy place, everyone stops to eat (and drink).
The bigger, more elaborate romerías have a train of ornate caravans, and people park up and stay overnight. In such a case, there will be bonfires, dancing – and, of course, more wine.
Then the procession heads home.
Though everything is nominally under Church control, everyone is free to have fun, and no restrictions are imposed.
One is reminded of those lines of Hilaire Belloc: “Where the Catholic sun doth shine, there’s joy and laughter, and good red wine.”
Men tend to wear the broad-brimmed flat sombrero cordobés hat, and a lot of women put on their flamenco dresses.
It’s considered good form to carry a wooden staff.
The ‘heart’ of the procession is a small statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary, always carried reverently and always bedecked in flowers.
She should have her own oxcart, but in our modern prosaic age a tractor often does the heavy lifting.
One Málaga Brotherhood, Matríz de Almonte, has been told by the bishop NOT to carry its banners into the countryside on 26 April.
These banners, known as “simpecados”, (free from sin), form part of the Holy Week rituals, and should not leave town.
BY the time most European cities were still dumping chamber pots into the street, Cordoba was quietly revolutionising urban living.
Between the 10th and 13th centuries, this Andalucian jewel – then the beating heart of the Umayyad Caliphate – pioneered a sanitation system so refined, so seamlessly integrated into civic life, that its sophistication wouldn’t be matched in Europe for another 700 years.
Now, a groundbreaking study by archaeologists Rafael Blanco-Guzman and Jesus Atenciano-Crespillo, recently published in Al-Mas?q: Journal of the Medieval Mediterranean, is shedding light on just how forward-thinking Córdoba really was. Drawing on over 300 archaeological excavations and Islamic-era manuscripts, the research paints a vivid portrait of a city that placed urban hygiene at the very core of its identity – alongside beauty, intellect, and order.
A city beneath the city
At the centre of Cordoba’s sanitary marvel was an extensive and highly engineered sewer system, threading through the ancient Medina like an invisible lifeline. Believed to have been launched under the reign of ?Abd al-Rahm?n III and expanded during the era of Almanzor, the infrastructure was visionary. Constructed from thick ashlar blocks, sealed with lime mortar, and capped with precision-cut stone slabs, the network efficiently whisked wastewater away from the city and into the Guadalquivir River – all quietly, cleanly, and underground.
The level of coordination suggests centralised, possibly even caliphal, oversight – a sign that cleanliness in Cordoba was more than just a personal virtue. It was policy.
Designing for dignity
Inside private homes, latrines and cesspits became common by the 10th century. Unlike many of their European counterparts, Cordoba’s residents enjoyed thoughtfully positioned latrines near streets, linked by ceramic pipes that blended practical engineering with architectural grace. Soil filtration systems ensured groundwater remained untainted. In newly developed suburbs, latrines were part of the original blueprint – a rarity in the medieval world, where sanitation often played catch-up to construction.
In shared courtyards and family compounds, neighbors collaborated on waste disposal logistics, with decisions often made communally and guided by a blend of Islamic legal norms and pragmatic good sense. Cesspits were located carefully, away from water sources, and with full buy-in from everyone affected.
Civic cleanliness as a cultural ideal
Cordoba’s streets didn’t just appear clean – they were. Regulations required that property owners keep the areas in front of their homes spotless, while city officials such as the mu?tasib (market inspector) and the local judge wielded real authority to enforce public hygiene standards. If cesspits became a nuisance or a water source was at risk, the law acted swiftly.
And though the work of cleaning pits and drains often fell to society’s most marginalised, it was not ignored or undervalued. The city paid for it, recognised its importance, and regulated it – an early example of essential labour being both acknowledged and institutionalised.
Legacy in stone (and soil)
Long after the Christian conquest in 1236, Cordoba’s sanitation system continued to function – a silent, subterranean testament to its resilience. Even centuries later, elements of the infrastructure remained operational, astonishing archaeologists with their endurance and elegance.
But perhaps most striking is the cultural legacy left behind. Cordoba’s approach to hygiene wasn’t just technical – it was communal, legal, and deeply ethical. It was a city where infrastructure reflected ideology: where the physical cleanliness of the streets mirrored a societal aspiration toward harmony, order, and public good.
A Medieval marvel, reconsidered
This new research repositions Cordoba as a dazzling outlier in the history of urban planning – a medieval city that treated sanitation not as an afterthought, but as an essential expression of civic pride. It reminds us that progress isn’t always linear and that innovation can bloom in the most unexpected eras.
So next time you’re sipping wine in the shadow of the Mosque-Cathedral or wandering the narrow lanes of the Jewish Quarter, remember this: beneath your feet lies one of Europe’s first great feats of urban hygiene – a story not just of stone and sewage, but of enlightened living.
Meet Gibraltar’s New Guitar-Strumming, Filmmaking Media Director Who Will Bring ‘documentary Know-How To Government Storytelling’ – Olive Press News Spain
GIBRALTAR’S mercurial new government media director would quite like to be playing the guitar or indulging his passion for cinema and documentaries.
But instead, Anton Calderon, 43, will be leading the drive to bring the government press office out of the ‘analog world’ and into the brave new one unfolding before us.
Already a garlanded documentary-filmmaker with his own production company, Calderon has been tasked with ‘crafting a voice for the government of Gibraltar to tell the stories we want to tell.’
“Some of the issues which we would consider to have quite a solid consensus about liberal democracy and the way our society should function are coming under fire a little bit and being questioned,” Calderon told the Olive Press.
“So one of the first things we have to do is reaffirm the role of government, of public services, and the civil servants; the value and the importance of these being robust and strong and trusted by the public.”
Calderon is planning a new form of communication that will extend beyond the old realm of the hallowed government press release.
It means utilising social media channels, crafting videos – even TikToks – that showcase Gibraltar’s institutions at work to ‘inform people of what we are doing.’
“Gibraltar’s institutions are extremely valuable things that we have created, and they provide super high levels of quality of life and care and support to citizens.
“We want to help people to engage with the public services and help them understand their value.”
Social media will play a key role.
“Social media has been used for quite some time as the provider of feedback to government of the way people feel about policies and changes – but I don’t think it does that job anymore.
“It often becomes a bit of a boxing match where the most forceful and extreme views fight it out.”
One fresh idea is to rely further on polling – both quantitative opinion polls and qualitative focus groups, which take inspiration from previous award-winning work he has done.
“The Needle, the documentary I did for GBC, was basically a poll.
“We asked people about how they felt about a series of issues, and then we had debates about the data and interviews.
“You have a lot of perceptions and a lot of subjects in that program. The poll ran only for like a week, but it had more than 3,000 or 4000 entries.”
Ultimately, the citizens and residents are going to see more streamlined government communications, incorporating not just the various government departments, but the unsung heroes of public infrastructure and the civil service.
“Soon, we’ll move on from the government press office to the government communications department.”
SUN, sea and sangria – for many Brits, that’s the dream.
But for Daniel Efford, a British expat who’s spent nearly four decades living in Spain, the fantasy often clashes with a far more sobering reality.
In a TikTok video that’s racked up more than 100,000 views, Efford offers a blunt truth bomb to would-be expats: “It’s brilliant, but not easy. Let me explain.”
Efford, an operations manager for GRSA International based in La Cala de Mijas on the Costa del Sol, isn’t new to this conversation.
He also runs a YouTube channel with friend and co-host Mark called Life in Spain Unfiltered, where the pair share their combined 60 years of experience navigating Spanish life.
They describe the channel as ‘unfiltered and honest’, promising to tackle everything from bureaucracy to cultural clashes, with ‘nothing off limits’.
His TikTok video strikes a chord with many, particularly those considering a permanent move to Spain based on week-long holidays.
“I think one of the biggest stumbling blocks that people have, is that when they come to Spain, they come as holidaymakers,” he says.
“They look at life from the holidaymaker view and don’t really consider what happens behind the scenes.”
And it’s those behind-the-scenes realities – dealing with Spanish bureaucracy, securing stable housing, finding a job, and learning the language – that often catch new arrivals off guard.
“So they come for a week, see how it works or see the way of life, and think ‘I can do that’. It’s just a mistake,” Efford warns.
For Efford, the key to making a life in Spain isn’t just good weather or cheap beer – it’s preparation and perspective.
He urges those thinking of relocating to dig deeper than the beach bars.
“If you’re thinking of moving to Spain, first you can check out what happens in Spain by asking local people,” he says.
“Do a bit of homework, speak to locals – I’m not talking about the Brits at your favourite bar – talk to local Spanish people who speak English or who you’ve been able to build a bond with.”
Efford highlights how the tourist lens often clouds reality.
“We have this problem that the tourist view clouds common sense. It clouds it because we see a lifestyle that we enjoy because we are a tourist.”
It’s a sentiment that’s echoed across the comment section of his video.
One user, who moved to Lanzarote in 2020, shared: “We did our homework. One thing for sure is you don’t want to be living in tourism areas.”
Another commenter offered a tip that Efford fully endorses: “The best thing anyone can do is learn the language. A huge number of doors will open to you as an English speaker with Spanish! And you’ll make friends who will help you settle in.”
Efford encourages people to step outside the expat enclaves and get to know the day-to-day Spain that isn’t found on postcards.
“Talk to the local people and take into account what they say, how they say it, the information you’re getting… And not just from one person – listen to as many people as possible, because there’ll be some scary stories. I can share a few…”
Despite the cautionary tone, Efford isn’t here to kill the dream – he just wants people to go into it with their eyes open.
“You just have to find the right ingredients for that life to be livable.”
And for some, those ingredients have already been found.
As one TikTok commenter puts it: “I absolutely love it, the best move we ever made! Visiting the UK now, weather is nice but people are miserable, struggling financially, shops run down etc. It’s such a shame.”