A Floral Tribute in Faro
There are precious few nations that do a festival as well as the Portuguese, and Faro’s Festa das Tochas Floridas is one of the very best…
“Ter cuidado, cobble!”
It’s an overcast but cool Sunday morning in the small town of Sao Bras, and there’s a very strong scent of lavender in the air. But quite what the concerned locals are trying to warn me about, I can’t begin to fathom.
Pointing to the ground, it’s no wonder they want me to look down. Beautiful floral tram lines snake down the middle of the old Roman road, marking out a mile-long circular route in front of the church, Igreja Matriz, from where Portuguese hymns can be heard.
The colours are vivid, the patterns intricate and the variety quite something. There are red roses, pink carnations, white lilies, bright orange marigolds, big yellow sunflowers and smatterings of violet lavender, Portugal’s national flower. They form an eye-catching arrangement. Even faces and Bible passages are formed using fresh flowers and ground vegetables. It’s a real feat of artistry, dedication, and faith.
Today is Easter Sunday, and for the 11,000 residents of Sao Bras (pronounced “Sow Brash”, like a bad Sean Connery impression) it’s the biggest day of the year. The Festa das Tochas Floridas (literally the Torch Festival of Flowers) is one of the Algarve’s best-known festivals and has been held here annually for hundreds of years, celebrated by generations of Sambrasenses.
Symbolising the community spirit of the event, groups of volunteers, including the local scout troop, have spent hours before daybreak decorating the streets. Thousands of wild flowers, leaves, and herbs have been collected for weeks in advance of an influx of around 6,000 visitors.
Nestled high inland, offering spectacular views of the coast to the south and the mountains of the vast Serra do Caldeirao in the north; this small municipality is a breezy 20-minute drive north of Faro. Once famous for its cork, sourced from the nearby Serra and produced in some 60 factories, the Episcopal Palace was also a favoured retreat of 17th century bishops.
I know all this, because the pamphlet I’ve been handed provides plenty of information on the history of the festival, not to mention what lies in store for the rest of the day.
After morning mass, the town’s well-dressed gentlemen will emerge and lead a procession through the flower-strewn streets. There’ll be parades, a marching band and a chance to try some traditional delicacies. I’ll hear cries of “Christ is risen!” from Father Alphonsus and replies of “Hallelujah!” from the congregation. Yet nowhere does it provide a translation for “cobble”.
Then it dawns on me. All the while I’ve been snapping away at the Spring bloom, I’ve not noticed what it’s covering. A cobblestone road. It turns out the locals just want to make sure that newcomers stay on their feet. And that’s before anyone has even touched a drop (though not too long before).
The 20km road to Faro used to be cobbled, and though the inevitable repaving has left only the short stretch between the church and the Episcopal Palace in their original guise, the residents retain a particular fondness for their pavement. They’re also well aware of what can happen when it gets wet. And while the clouds are behaving themselves so far, even permitting the occasional wink from the sun, the previous evening wasn’t awarded the same courtesy.
But it’s not simply the rain that gives the streets an edge. These cobbles have a history of bringing down more than just unsuspecting tourists. The story goes that 400 years ago England’s marauding seafarers Francis Drake and Walter Raleigh, having already sacked Spain’s port city of Cadiz, headed to Faro as their ruthless plundering continued apace. With an insatiable appetite for looting, a breakaway group from the 3000-strong English army headed north. On 25th July 1596 they reached a little town called Sao Bras — and soon wished they hadn’t.
The people were not as welcoming as they are today. Armed with only clubs, farming equipment and branches, the Sambrasenses successfully defended their homes. The English, struggling with the terrain, were sent running back to their ships empty-handed. In celebration, the townsfolk decorated their makeshift weapons with flowers, and a mass was held to give thanks for their victory. A festival was born.
At 11am, the church bells ring and the procession prepare to file out, prompting those of us lining the narrow Rua Gago Coutinho to take final photos of the flowers in all their glory. With the streets soon bustling, the floral displays won’t look this good for another year.
Those not spilling out into alleys or the aptly-named Avenida da Liberdade are watching from white-tiled houses, draping their best robes and bedsheets over Juliet balconies. The men emerge, proudly holding aloft their handmade flower torches. Wearing dark suits and black shades almost to a man, they look like an ironic Banksy interpretation of Reservoir Dogs, wielding bouquets instead of guns.
Their torches are raised as they respond to the priest with three shouts of “Hallelujah”, the in-joke seeming to be that the third recitation should be in the deepest tone possible. Another tradition prompting giggles is the ‘secret’ swig from a hip flask each time the priest turns his back. Medronho is the ‘forbidden’ liquor in question, a strong brandy made from the fruit of the strawberry tree. It’s said that it clears the throat and allows the men to shout all day. Yet at 48% proof, I find that one gulp keeps me quiet for most of the afternoon.
The smell soon perks me up. For all the vibrancy of colour, it’s the fusion of scents that lingers long after the displays have been trodden on. Along with the pervading aroma of lavender, I’m getting rosemary, camomile, thyme, maybe a hint of fennel? The atmosphere in the parade is certainly jolly. Despite their early start, the uniformed scouts are singing loudly as the marching band drum away relentlessly. Small children (and dads who should know better) play-fight with their torches, which now resemble Star Wars lightsabers designed by Eighties hippies.
There are representatives from the fire service and even the motorcycle club. Everyone is happy to pose for photographs, keen to show off their metaphorical beacons. The best three torches will receive awards from mayor during the ‘cultural evening’, which takes place at the Museum of Trajo, a house built for 19th century cork baron, Miguel Dias Andrade.
As a folk band strums away in the background, the mayor praises the younger generation of Sambrasenses. “Some of you have come all the way from France, America and Canada to be with your families for Easter. Even the younger ones, although they do not live here, carry on the tradition.” Next up, a poet raises a few hearty chuckles. Not understanding a word, I do my best to laugh at the appropriate moment but decide to cut my losses and trot off to try the food instead.
Sugared almonds appear to be the flavour of the day, but there are no chocolate eggs in sight. Instead, the egg theme is taken more literally here, with Folar de Pascoa cake. Sweet and moist, it can be flavoured with lemon, aniseed, or cinnamon but its most notable feature is the hard-boiled egg, still in its shell, that is buried within it. Unlike the cobbles, I wasn’t pre-warned about this hidden menace.
The celebrations go on late into the evening. There’s plenty more cake and Medronho to tuck into. But I’ve had enough firewater for one day, and I don’t fancy picking any more eggshells out of my teeth. In a dash to catch the 5.30pm bus back to Faro, my right flip-flop catches a small divot and my last act as an Englishman in Sao Bras is to land flat on my face. I blame the strawberry booze, but the laughing locals know better, “careful, cobble!”. Four hundred years on, some things never change…
Summer festivals in and around Faro…
Silves Medieval Festival, Silves, July
Been a while since you donned your favourite chain-mail? Then step back in time to when Silves was the capital of the Kingdom of the Algarve and experience Moorish and Christian traditions on display inside the castle. Snake charmers, jugglers and the finest medieval costumes will keep the kids enthralled.
FolkFaro, Faro, August
Grab your fiddle and flute as Faro showcases the best folk music and dance from Portugal and around the world. This year over 300 acts from Egypt, India, USA and Venezuela will be among those folking around for nine days in the Algarve’s capital.
Sardine festival, Portimao, August
If there’s one thing the Algarve does well, it’s seafood. Particularly in the former fishing village of Portimao, where the local grilled sardine takes on an almost divine status.
For more information on festivals and events around Faro and the Algarve, head to http://www.visitalgarve.pt
Originally published in Monarch Passport magazine
