Vice article: La Pintura de la Flor

Nestled in a valley high up in the Sierra Nevada, the town of Beso de Rocío is known for its sun-drenched streets and seemingly unlimited supply of beautiful women. The latter, or so the locals say, is due to a tradition that has taken place here for the last 600 years or more, since the martyrdom of Saint Rocío Matutino herself: La Pintura de la Flor.

I travelled to this isolated town to meet Alba, a young woman on the cusp of her adulthood, who will be undertaking La Pintura as does every girl in town on her 18th birthday. In the early hours of the morning, before sunrise, I clambered up from my hotel to meet Alba and her closest friends and family; who have gathered at a natural spring above the town for the first part of the ritual. Only women are allowed to attend this section of the proceedings, and I arrived to find a warm atmosphere of comradery and gentle teasing. Most of those present- Alba’s cousins, grandmother and a few high school classmates, are all dressed in simple white dresses… or as near to white as could be found in preparation for this moment. Alba herself though, along with her mother and two aunts, are completely naked; already submerged in the small, shallow pool of the spring.

The star of the day is scrubbed pink from top to bottom. Every inch of her skin cleansed and exfoliated in the mineral-rich water. Despite the hustle and bustle I managed to catch a few words with her at the side of the pool, while her hair was being combed. I asked her if she was nervous at all, about what was to come?

“A little…” She admitted. “But I’m also excited to be taking this step, like my Mama did, and her Mama before her…”

“And she’s also excited because Mateo might be taking part!” Blurted in one of her school friends, setting off a ripple of giggling through the rest of the teenage contingent. Alba herself blushing bright red as she tried to wave away and deny this accusation.

“It makes me proud, to take part in La Pintura.” States Alba, trying to take control of the conversation once more. “It’s a tradition that brings our little town together and stops us being scared of our own bodies and desires!”

I can still see a nervous embarrassment to the young woman’s features as she says this, as if she is half trying to persuade herself as well as this foreign intruder. Yet there is conviction there as well: enough to get her to pull herself from the icy waters and stand dripping in her birthday suit, even as her mother and aunts wrap ceremonial robes around themselves. La Flor is not permitted to clothe herself again now, until the sun sets behind her mountain home. She walks barefoot down the well-worn path toward town, flanked on all sides by her white-garbed entourage… and one slightly awkward-feeling journalist.

As we enter Beso de Rocío the sun has still not yet risen, though the growing light indicates it won’t be long now. A thick morning mist billows through the narrow streets, coating everything in glittering pearls of moisture. It is disputed whether it is this common morning occurrence that earned the town its name, rather than lurid connotations with the ritual I am now taking part in. Likewise there are ever double-entendres as to whether the ‘Jewels of Beso Rocío’ refers to these glistening water droplets, or the famed supply of beautiful women. As an outsider stumbling along behind with only my camera and notebook, I am treated to the glory of both. Though only Alba herself might be completely naked… the now dampened thin white clothing of the rest of her companions does very little to hide their curvaceous, mediterranean forms either. Whatever your axis of attraction, or feelings about the rest of the day’s activities… it cannot be denied that this procession is striking.