A Spanish Halloween

Unlike in the UK, where simply the mention of Halloween is enough to arouse images of the most ghoulish creatures, here in Spain the holiday is far more dignified. However, with every year it does seem that the ghosts, demons, witches and wizards that we harbour in Britain as well as America, are creeping their way into the country. In fact, this Halloween – for the first time ever – my Spanish home recieved a set of trick o treaters. “Truco o Trato!” screeched the three witches standing at the door, causing a near heart attack from the unsuspecting grandfather and much excitement from myself and the children.

However, on the whole Halloween is a passing novelty and the real holiday is the day that follows: El día de todos los santos. It’s a day where one must visit family, attend mass and remember lost loved ones. So, it saw me wrapping up warm and heading off with the family into the mountains beyond Leon, to carry out the necessary duties of the holiday. Despite the 23° C heat in Madrid the previous week, the rain had set in on Monday, casting a grey bleakness over the sheltered village cemetery and as I stood between the handful of decorated graves, I couldn’t help but shiver. After the mass we all bundled into the car once more and headed to another isolated village: Pinilla. There we met the children’s abuelitos and were also greeted by the sun, which had managed to push it’s way through the heavy clouds.

After being taken on a tour of the tiny village’s ‘must-see’ sights (namely a bar, a bridge and the family’s pet rabbit), I enjoyed a delicious lunch of chicken cooked in an outside oven together with slow-cooked, home-grown roasted peppers. As afternoon rolled into evening I found myself curled up in front of the fire reading an engrossing novel and suddenly the day seemed perfect. There were no pumpkins, parties or poltergeists, but instead a  sense of peace in the air, evoked by the gentle remembrance of loved-ones lost.