APOCALYPTIC HORSES


I remember opening the month’s National Geographic Magazine and glancing at an image which fascinated me. It was a horse jumping through a fire - typical of Spaniards I thought, and my mind began wondering. I know Spain and the Spanish spirit pretty well especially the Andalusian region as I had photographed some of their major festivals. I remember with great emotion the very well-known Semana Santa of Seville, which led me to the Feria de Abril and eventually to the most exalting of all, the pilgrimage of El Rocio. All very much in the spirit of Hemingway’s Death in the Afternoon and Fiesta - whilst the latter was as if I had fallen onto a set in a Sergio Leone Western movie (in fact he shot his Dollars Trilogy starring Clint Eastwood with Morricone’s haunting music on a film set in the same region where the Festival takes place, that of Huelva). Possibly nobody knows how to have a great time more than the Spaniards do, especially in the Mediterranean area, where every occasion is a reason to celebrate. I love that nonchalant, slightly gypsy spirit where nothing is really planned and spontaneity makes the atmosphere bubbly, real, unexpected and exciting, very much in league with my character.

I instantly made logistical plans for the following month to arrive to the nearest city of Avila. As always despite the research, until you arrive at the place you really do not know what to expect. Upon arriving I discovered the only way was to get there was by car, therefore, I got a taxi which took me through the narrow and swerving mountain road. Occasionally I could also see cows in the middle of the street, a thing I thought had become obsolete in these areas - my excitement grew as I thought I would fall onto something which is rather rare and hidden.

Preparations were ongoing for the feast when I arrived in San Bartolomé in the afternoon - loads of small branches and twigs of around a storey high were placed every 200 meters or so around the two streets which made the majority of the houses in the village. I had thought I might be one of the few professional photographers around but upon entering what seemed to be one of the main bars I spoke to several from the local or international press. I was the only one to document the mass in the small church tough. Later I followed the locals around parts of the village who all seemed to have fallen out of something like Robin Hardy’s movie The Wicker Man starring Christopher Lee - in fact this was very much a pagan like tradition under a religious cover - alongside their parish priest they wanted to give benediction and pray for their animals, mostly sheep, goats, dogs and some pigs as the festival celebrates the feast of San Antonio, patron saint of animals. The fire which was to come, symbolizes the purification of the animals - as the horse is central in traditional farming, this spectacular festival turns around the horse as the dominant beast and it is the highlight of the evening. Night fell and the temperature dropped dramatically being January the 16th with the village situated in high altitudes - the fire was finally lit. I love photographing these types of festivals which are still very raw and unique, thus not manipulated by tourism and external laws. A great number of horses and their riders began trotting and jumping through all the bonfires which were lit - with the flames and excitement the cold weather dissolved into nothing.

Whilst photographing one takes every precaution and common sense prevails in not putting himself or anyone else in danger. I was mostly shooting with a telephoto lens, trying to eliminate clutter and focus on those apocalyptic moments when the horses jump through the flames - at these crucial instances, we trigger the acute hunter’s instincts. I was totally focused onto getting the perfect shot. Everything happens very quickly and although the route is the same, situations change constantly. Through a telephoto lens one’s vision is usually limited to the focused point - I placed myself relatively close to the bonfire to shoot horses coming towards me, jumping sideways at the last second. Excitement escalates at these moments of danger. On one occasion I could instantly hear four hooves instead of two yet I focused only on the horse trotting directly towards me - I was calculating distances only through sound. I remember in the same split second, thinking I got the shot and hearing the hooves of the invisible horse reaching me onto my left-hand side and in no time and without any warning I felt the horse’s hind leg hitting me slightly on my left shoulder which with immense power flung me to the opposite side. A few centimeters closer would have meant disaster, yet it resulted in one of the great memories of my travels on the verge of danger.

At the bar and in between shooting I had made friends with some locals who were amateur photographers originally from San Bartolomé but now living in Madrid. Every year they came to the feast and met all their relatives and friends from all over Spain. I was naturally invited to join the after-party in front of one of the houses, with bountiful local wine and great Spanish tapas - what can be more enjoyable?

Early next morning I was one of the few around following and documenting three horse riders in the mist through streets in the mountains visiting every house and getting a gift from the elderly community of the village.