Jo Chipchase explores how Halloween in La Alpuarra, with its roasted chestnuts and village barbecue, turned a party-loving reporter into a ghost of her former self…
IN SPAIN, Halloween and All Saints’ Day are a time for families to gather together, enjoy roasted chestnuts, and local wine. Villages organise communal barbecues and castañadas (chestnut roasting events) and most people seem to eat well. Unfortunately, the reporter somehow spent the past weekend of Halloween in La Alpujarra struggling to find a proper meal and eventually resembling a character from Day of the Dead – without even trying. This is a cautionary tale for the upcoming puente (bank holiday) weekends and Christmas season.
The problem started on the evening of Friday 30 October. After the aim of a “quiet, early night in bed” was unexpectedly derailed by a friend in need, the resulting hangover on Saturday morning made a trip to the supermarket seem unappealing. What… with parking the car and all those nasty checkout queues! It appeared easier to head home and eat in one of our two local bars. However, it’s easy to forget that puente weekends cause dozens of visitors to converge on small villages, filling hospitality venues and available tables.
Upon arriving in our village, I found that one village bar had a large, family lunch in full swing. This involved a selection of hamburgers, tapas, and other dishes. It looked like a food-judging event, or even a mukbang. I eyed the spread with envy, but it was difficult to get served. It would be easier to try the other bar, I thought.
Here, the wine was emerging with generous tapas. Ordering wine with tapas is arguably cheaper than buying a ración (plate from the menu), I thought. The pattern was starting to establish itself. Wine, insufficient food, then whine!
And that was even before the rave on Saturday night…
Rave revival (briefly!)
I was due to attend a Halloween rave, for which having enough “fuel” in your body is a good starting point. But was this happening? The Halloween “life decisions” were showing gaps in judgement.
After lying in bed for hours, I eventually dragged myself to the rave at midnight in my “spooky trousers”. Better late than never, I thought. The idea was to see my DJ friend, Alimental, playing Breakbeat Andaluz. This music genre is great for leaping about on the dancefloor, ignoring the “running on empty” feeling.
As the event ended early (at 3am), the village bar was open when I returned home. The locals were so drunk that even I found them terrifying – with or without their Halloween costumes. At some point, I skulked back home. After sitting in my own kitchen, playing with my phone, I eventually went to bed at dawn. This was a bad idea, bearing in mind that the village castañada started at 1pm.
I would hate to miss the traditional Day of the Dead event, even while resembling a complete zombie myself.
Castañada conundrums
My first attempt to join the castañada at 1pm was largely unsuccessful. I looked ghastly. My face was grey, and some locals appeared to find my appearance amusing. Bruno, my large dog, wasn’t helping the situation – pulling me around and attempting to do his “business” in inappropriate places, before running off.
I went for another lie down, having consumed just two small Lindt chocolates from the village shop (it was lacking stock), and a cup of orange juice. Hunger forced me back out an hour later, determined to find proper food. However, I made it approximately two metres into the village plaza before one of the old-timers intercepted me with a glass of his “homemade ecological wine”. It seemed rude to refuse, although I was trying to reach the barbecue, where about 200 people had the same idea simultaneously.
The queue stretched across the plaza, with visitors from neighbouring towns waiting for grilled meat. I eyed it with horror. I’m awful with queues at the best of times. And this was not a good day. Standing in such a thing could make me keel over.
Instead, I let someone pour me another vino and actively tip it towards my mouth, while the mayor looked on with a mix of horror and amusement.
The battle for the barbecue
Upon closer inspection, was I really that excited by the BBQ anyway? The food was heavy on morcilla (blood sausage), chorizo (a bit fatty for me), assorted grilled meat, and bread containing gluten, which I don’t eat. I wanted one of the nice-looking chuletas (pork chops) and wondered, out loud, whether someone could serve me one directly from the barbecue.
Some of the older men, standing beside two 30 litre cartons of vino costa, had their own ideas. They repeatedly helped themselves to plates of meat, apparently without buying tickets. The women running the BBQ tried to maintain order. One eventually emerged and shouted at a man about the food, with an additional comment that his wife was waiting for him.
The men gave me some pieces of meat. Eventually, I procured two of the chuletas and ate them with glee. Realistically, a couple of pork chops isn’t sufficient sustenance after dancing around to breakbeat, and walking a large and lively dog around town.
The scene was increasingly interesting, from a people-watching point of view. Several women tasked with selling the BBQ tickets (that I genuinely could not spot anywhere), serving food, and dealing with the crowd. Several of the men looked dishevelled after the previous night’s celebrations. The man roasting the chestnuts had been in the bar until 6am, and the finished castañas were all black. I made some TikTok videos with slightly rude captions about people being hungover – missing the irony that I was one of them.
The mayor and the goody bags
Really, the event was turning quite jolly. The mayor was standing well away from most of the locals and talking to three smartly dressed visitors who were holding goody bags. I went over to investigate. What was inside them? Were the visitors from the Diputación de Granada? Might there be one for me? My questions emerged in dodgy Spanglish as the mayor tried to shoo me off.
Yes, they were dignitaries from the Diputación.
I went back to where the old guys were standing, and obtained a few blackened chestnuts, which you need to peel with your bare fingers. What a mess!
At least the dog got his dinner
Bruno had a better afternoon for eating. I spotted a large plate of barbecue leftovers, carried it to him beside the nearby bar, and dropped the treat in front of his big mouth, full of huge teeth. He was delighted. People sitting on the bar terrace had delicious-looking plates in front of them, and my mouth was practically watering. At least I could order some chips or patatas bravas, I thought.
I found a seat on the terrace, and watched guests at a neighbouring table tucking into six full plates of food. More dishes were constantly arriving – for them. Croquettes. Yum! After about 20 minutes, the waiter finally arrived, and said that the kitchen had just closed. I was given a tapa comprising a small piece of costilla (lamb ribs) with a couple of chips.
I took a siesta and tried again for dinner at 10pm, only to find the kitchen had closed a second time round. The bar owner brought out pizzas for the customers, but they all contained wheat. By that point, I was losing the will to eat anything anyway.
The town soon empties
Just as quickly as the hordes of hungry people arrived, they all returned to their own towns and cities.
By the Monday lunchtime, when I was almost ready to eat dog biscuits, there were only seven guests in the bar. It was easy to obtain whatever you liked from the menu. And the menu is quite appealing – with its range of salads, meat dishes, and desserts.
I tucked into some pork fillet with creamy, peppercorn sauce and a slice of pistachio cake. I was then presented with an unpaid bill from the rest of the weekend!
What do we take out from this? That it’s more sensible to shop in the supermarket than rely on a small and overstretched village to feed you during a busy public holiday? Or make sure you have enough sleep not to resemble the local ghoul in public?
And there is a chance to do it all again with the Soportujar Noche de Brujas on 7 November. Although, this time, the wine will be turning into water and the only witches and zombies will be those in the town parade.
