Fiesta de las Migas
morning lie-in, but a buzz begins to build from the square below
us. A sound system is being tested as the two bells ring (clank)
for mass. We go down to the square as the Music Academy Nuestra
Señora de las Nieves begins to play. It's the 21st Torrox
Fiesta de Las Migas.
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is a mix of olive oil, garlic, water, semolina flour and salt mixed
in a large pan. Everyone who attends the fiesta gets a plateful,
as well as a glass of vino dulce, a sherry wine, straight from the
barrel. We partake: it's a couscous-like texture, rather dry, interesting
but not earth-shattering (though obviously meant more to some locals,
who went back for seconds), but probably a good accompaniment to
salad or another, more flavourful food.
hundreds of people crowd into the village by the bus- and coach-load.
There is a lot of cheerful drinking, spontaneous song accompanied
by tapping of glasses, catching up with gossip and news, laughter
and banter. Greatly outnumbered, tourists wander about looking paler
and more foreign than usual, and taller than the locals who are
here to enjoy themselves.
stage has been erected in the main square, and dancers and singers
entertain into the late afternoon. Young women have squeezed into
their tightest jeans, tighter even than normal in this country of
buttock-hugging trousers. Young men are being brasher than usual.
Their parents and grandparents dance unselfconsciously to whatever
music is going, traditional or modern. There are lots of wrinkles,
men with hands made huge with hard labour, old ladies with missing
teeth and wide grins.
South Americans who seem to be everywhere in the world now are selling
woolly sweaters and fake panpipes. Gloomy hippy types with unhealthy
pallors sell the instantly-forgettable stuff that hippy types sell
the world over.
four o'clock the market square is empty of migas-eaters and full
of the residue, and a steady stream of smiling people is heading
back to the coach park.
amplified music booms on in the square until 10ish, but after the
power has been switched off, we can still hear drums being beaten
in corners of the town, and the occasional burst of laughter into
the small hours.