Another "temple festival"

it wasn't actually a temple but a 1200 year old catholic church but I thought I'll approach the celebration there just as I have approached temple festivals in India or Semana Santa in Spain. Well,it wasn't quite that easy. But first things first, today was Max's first day in "school". He marched in like he's been there a 1000 times and started digging through the tool section before anybody could say as much as "hello". He did, however, shake the "maestra's" had for a fraction of a second which I was watching holding my breath. We really wanted him to make a good impression on his first day so they couldn't find any reason to tell us that, unfortunately,they won't be able to accomodate him after all. He looked cool, I have to say,in his "skinny" jeans with a orange, blue, white plaid shirt and a new bag Oma bought for his wholesome snack slung across his shoulders. By the time we were finished talking to the teacher about a few specifics he was already sitting at a table playing a puzzle or some such thing. As usual he waved us a casual good-bye and seemed, if anything, eager to get rid of the prying eyes of his parents. So we left, rather unconcerned and drove to the Reichenau, that little island on Lake Konstanz that also featured in the last post. One of the 1000+ year old churches was having a celebration called "Holy Blood" - don't ask me why and what exactly they are celebrating. Nobody seems to know for sure but appartently there is a drop of blood of some saint or another stored away in the church as well as a little splinter of a bone of an apostle or another and these things, encased in richly decorated and ornate "containers" (for lack of a better word) are carried around the isalnd once a year in a procession. The weather could have been better and when we got there mass had already started. I suspect that this church (plus the other two) are populated by a few little old ladies on a regular Sunday but today it was standing room only at least for stragglers like us. A bishop had made the trip to celebrate the mass, a choir was singing and lots of frankincense was burned. Men in the old-fashioned uniforms of the vigilante group of days gone by with their old rifles plus bajonets were milling about. We saw a largish group enter a restaurant, no doubt having a beer while they should, theoretcially, attend mass. With nothing better to do until mass was over I thought I take a peek inside and shoot some pictures. My mom, who accompanied us, was horrified. It is - at least in her mind - not considered proper behavior to walk around a church during mass and shoot away at the bishop. I was very discreet, really, kind of sneaking around, camera hidden under the large raincoat I bummed from my mom looking like I was part of the crowd which I clearly wasn't as I wasn't singing and saying prayers. Only occasionally would I take the camera out a snap a quick picture with my fast lense. I would never use flash in such situations, that, even I think, shows lack of respect and good manners. The weird thing was that I - who hasn't attended catholic mass in earnest in 20+ years - still remembered pretty much ever line of the entire liturgy. The bishop just had to say the line and I could have fallen in with the required answer or prayer. Even most of the songs were familiar to a point that I could have chimmed in and only occasionally would have to mask my lack of knowledge by a little cough or sneeze. I couldn't do it now, sitting on the couch, without the priest prompting me but as soon as I hear the lines I know what is expected from the faithful and can answer pretty darn perfectly. It was a weird feeling: one the one hand I feel so distant to whats going on, so unattached and untouched by it that it really wasn't very different from attending a temple festival in India and on the other hand I am in some sense so deeply rooted in that tradition that after 20 years I still remember every line of every prayer without even thinking about it. It is just there, stored away in my brain for no good reason and to nobody's benefit. I still remember how I had great trouble remembering data and facts that I thought superfluous and boring when studying biology (I could, for the life of me not remember the molecular weight of topoisomerase II - which after all was the topic of my Ph.D.thesis which is sort of like writitng a thesis about JFK and not remembering his birth date) and here I am flawlessly reciting catholic mass. Once the bishop began his sermon, which began rather unspectacular and very floksy I decided that maybe outside in the rain it was more comfortable after all. So we spend some time looking around, watching people getting ready and when more and more of the uniformed guys showed up we knew that the end of mass and the beginning of the procession was close.
Going into full photoreporter mode again I positioned myself to take pictures avoiding my mother's horrified look and comments "you can't take pictures here, don't stand in front of the procession, people know us here, what will they think?" ... - have long learned that if it came down to my mom nothing would ever be done for the first time. So here went the procession: the little girls in their Sunday best dresses carrying flower baskets and the older ones a couple smaller statutes of the Virgin Mary. Then came the guys in uniforms, either carrying their rifles or playing their brass band instruments polished to a high sheen, checks inflated from playing tromones and tubas. Then came the women in their traditional dresses which sort of resembled the traditional Andalucian dresses with big head-dresses. Then came all the men who are anybody on the island wearing their best suits. The the bishop, the priest, the two monks who now live on the island (a rarity) , the altar boys and girls, the sexton and an assortment of other church officials followed. Then came pretty much the entire population of the island saying Hail Marys. Unlike the tradition calls for on a on nice sunny day.today in the rain they just did the quick route through the village to stay dry. A small crowd of spectators had gathered some waving little yellow-white flags and I am not sure whether they are the flags Baden, our region or of the catholic church - I assume the latter.
As soon as the streets were open we hopped in the car and drove back to collect the "Man". I was very glad that he wasn't with us on that little outing - all the rifles and gloves (his latest obsession) we would have never heard the end of this one.
Max seemed happy enough when we picked him up, bag slung over his shoulder and my question "how was it" was answered with a succinct "good" but no further details were provided. He ate more for lunch than in an average week in India and so I concluded that the whole thing was exhausting and probably fun.
Tomorrow we'll move to our new apartment - when planning this trip we decided that 4 weeks with my parents wouldn't do anybody any good so for the next 2 weeks we'll have our own place near by. I hope we'l have Internet access ....