It’s part and parcel as the job of an English teacher to talk and celebrate festivities associated with English-speaking countries. As a result, when I was teaching in Gran Canaria, I found myself having to get into the Halloween spirit and all its horrendousness. I tried to bring it back to the pagan tradition of Samhain, but inevitably I would find myself dressed as a vampire and creating giant pumpkins out of cardboard boxes (okay, this bit wasn’t so bad for someone who always wanted to be a Blue Peter presenter). But in reality, I loathe Halloween, which is why I was so delighted to learn about the Canarian tradition of Los Finaos.
Coming from the word finados (deceased), this is a celebration – or festival – of remembrance that starts on the 31 October. Families gather together at home and eat roasted chestnuts (castañas), figs, nuts and dried fruits and drink ron miel (honey rum), aniseed or local or homemade spirits (the good but brutal stuff that warms your cockles). The abuela or matriarch will gather everyone together and recant stories and memories of loved ones who have passed on and often light candles for each of those who is remembered. I can just imagine my own grandmother – my Nanna Lena who was a prolific storyteller and had an incredible memory – doing this so well.
In a similar vein to trick-or-treat, children in Canarias go from house to house asking “¿Hay santos?” (Are there saints?) to which they will get a nod and be given almonds, dried fruits or chestnuts to take home for the finaos. I remember teaching in a primary school in the town of Ingenio in Gran Canaria and being amazed when all the children and teachers were gathered in the hall and presented with paper cones of hot roasted chestnuts, and thinking this would probably never happen in the UK. In the staff room at the end of the school day, we had Volcán Daniela vino dulce (sweet wine) from Bodega Elías Santos in Santa Brígida in little espresso cups, and pan de puño (bread made by hand – literally ‘fist bread’) spread thickly with Chorizo de Teror – after making said giant pumpkin decoration.
Later in the evenings on the night of 31st, people take to the streets and you’ll hear ranchos de ánimas – groups of friends or neighbours who go from door to door (these days more likely in a town square) singing simple but powerful laments to honour those who have died, and playing the tambor drum or triangle in a sort of marching rhythm. Some more modern festivities involve dancing and more of a festival atmosphere, but on either occasion, there is always plenty of food to be had, from succulent charred corncobs to sweet treats often laced with anis or matalauva.
I makes me think how much nicer this is than the ghosts, ghouls, frights and screams of Halloween. An evening of memories, laughter, family, music and natural sweets from the autumn harvest seems a frightfully better idea to me.
