Spring Festivals Around the World: Sakura, Holi, Semana Santa and More

From Japan’s cherry blossom hanami to India’s colorful Holi and Spain’s heart-pounding San Fermín, discover spring festivals that celebrate renewal, connection and pure joy. 

Spring is the season that grabs you by the hand and pulls you outside, whispering, “Wake up, the world’s alive again!” It’s when the earth shrugs off winter’s weight, and people respond with festivals that feel like love letters to life itself. 

Some of the most enduring spring traditions come from rituals that have been blooming for centuries. The celebration of Ostara at the spring equinox draws inspiration from an ancient Anglo-Saxon festival said to honor the goddess Eostre. This, in turn, influenced early Christians, who created Easter, and is a large part of why we have the Easter Bunny today.  

Spring festivals are raw, messy, beautiful collisions of culture, memory and the kind of joy that makes your chest ache. Let’s wander through a few corners of the globe, from Japan’s petal-dusted picnics to the pulse-pounding streets of Pamplona, each festival a one-of-a-kind story that’ll stick with you long after the season fades.

1. Japan: Sakura Whispers and Stolen Moments

In Japan, spring arrives like a secret shared between friends: the cherry blossoms, known as sakura, bloom in a hush of pink, turning every park and riverside into a fleeting masterpiece. (It’s a perfect counterpart to koyo, the changing colors of leaves in the fall.)

I’ll never forget my first hanami — the custom of gathering to enjoy the beauty of cherry blossoms — in a tiny Osaka park, sprawled on a blanket with strangers who offered me homemade onigiri (rice balls or triangles) and a sip of plum wine. We didn’t need words; the petals drifting down said it all. Sakura isn’t just about the gorgeousness of nature — it’s a gut-punch reminder that nothing lasts forever, so you’d better soak it up. Families, lovers, old friends — they all come together, laughing over sake or staring quietly at the trees, each person wrestling with their own thoughts about time. It’s less a festival and more a moment where the world holds its breath.

2. Spain: San Fermín’s Roar and Reckless Courage

Half a world away, Pamplona, Spain turns spring’s energy into something primal. The San Fermín Festival, brewing through spring and erupting in July, is a beast of a celebration. Picture narrow streets, the air electric with nerves, and the thunder of bulls charging behind runners who are equal parts terrified and exhilarated. 

I stood on a rickety balcony once, clutching a sangria, watching the encierro unfold below: runners tripping, laughing, living on the edge of chaos. It’s the ultimate thrill, sure, but it’s also a nod to history, to Saint Fermín (the patron saint of Pamplona, who was beheaded for his Christian faith), to the days when humans and nature stared each other down. The whole city erupts in a burst of music, dance and sweat-soaked joy. 

If you’re crazy enough to go, keep Flight Refunder in your back pocket — they’ll help you reclaim cash if a canceled flight threatens to derail your adventure.

3. India: Holi’s Explosion of Color and Connection

In India, spring crashes in with Holi, a festival that’s like diving headfirst into a kaleidoscope. I was in a dusty Rajasthan village once, my clothes soaked, my face smeared with turquoise and magenta powder, dancing with a crowd of strangers to a drumbeat that shook the ground. 

Holi is about flinging colors, but it’s also a time to tear down walls — between people, and between the past and present. The story of Krishna — a beloved Hindu god known for his playful spirit — and his soulmate Radha runs through the heart of Holi. Their legendary love, full of laughter and mischief, is echoed in every handful of gulal, the brightly colored powder that revelers throw into the air (and, inevitably, onto other people). 

At Holi, it’s impossible to just be a bystander; you’re part of the chaos, laughing until your sides hurt, feeling like the world could be this free, this kind, every day. It’s the kind of messy joy that stains your skin and your soul.

4. Mexico: Semana Santa’s Soulful Dance of Faith

Mexico’s Semana Santa is spring at its most heartfelt. Holy Week turns towns into theaters of devotion, with processions that weave through streets blanketed in flower petals and sawdust art. 

I wandered San Miguel de Allende one April, caught in a crowd following a statue of the Virgin Mary, her face serene under a crown of roses. The air was heavy with incense, marigolds and the soft hum of prayers. 

Every town does it differently — some with mournful silence, others with bursts of brass bands — but it’s all so alive, blending Catholic roots with ancient Mexican spirit. You feel it in your bones: This is more than religion; it’s about a community stitching itself together, step by sacred step.

5. France: The Soft Spring Embrace of Easter in Provence

Then there’s Provence, France, where spring feels like a warm breeze. Easter here is less about grand spectacles and more about the small, perfect moments: a village square strung with lights, a market stall piled high with crusty baguettes and jars of lavender honey. 

I spent one Easter in Gordes, a storybook hilltop village of stone houses and winding lanes in Provence, nibbling on almond-studded nougat while a parade of kids in flower crowns skipped by. The hills were just starting to green, the air sharp with herbs and promise. Provence’s festivals are simple, soulful and so generous with their beauty. You leave feeling like you’ve been let in on a secret about how to live well.

The Joy, Chaos and Charm of Spring Festivals

Spring festivals are the world’s way of saying, “Hey, we’re all in this together.” Whether it’s Japan’s quiet awe under cherry blossoms, Spain’s reckless sprint through Pamplona’s streets, or India’s color-soaked chaos, these moments are where humanity shines — flawed, vibrant and so damn alive. Traveling to them is like chasing sparks, each one lighting up a piece of who you are. –Erik Ilin

What Are Torrijas? Spain’s Easter Dessert That Puts French Toast to Shame

Sweet Jesus, they’re good! This once-a-year Spanish Easter treat is soaked in milk or wine, fried to golden perfection, and steeped in centuries of tradition.

Let’s get one thing straight. Torrijas may only show up for a month or so a year in Spain, but they are serious business. And they’ve been showing up for a while — since Roman times, in fact, when they appeared in a cookbook attributed to the glutton Marco Gavio Apicius. 

So what is it that makes torrijas so special? Why is it blasphemous to call them French toast? What’s their connection to Easter? And why on earth were they part of a staple diet for expectant mothers?

Torrijas: Spain’s Simple, Sweet Easter Dessert Explained 

Torrijas, a simple Spanish dessert, consists of slices of stale bread dipped in milk, egg, honey and cinnamon. Or trade out the egg for sweet wine. Now I’ve got your attention. Once the bread has soaked for a while in this mixture, fry it in hot olive oil. Pack your bags, French toast — torrijas are in town. 

If you live in Spain or have visited during Easter, you’ll know what I am talking about. If you don’t, add this to your must-eat list for when you’re next here. Put it high up. And if you can, visit my favorite place in the world for torrijas: Maru Jara in Seville.

You can tell when Easter is just around the corner in Spain from the waft of incense in the streets emerging from church doorways and the faithful’s windows. Another sure sign is the huge queue that forms outside of local bakeries and patisseries, where a different kind of devoted crowd waits in line for their favorite dessert. 

Despite the svelte figure that many Spaniards boast, they eat a lot of torrijas. In 2024 alone, Confitería Aparicio in Málaga, who’ve been in business since 1941, sold 80,000 torrijas. You do the math. Like I said, torrijas are no joke. 

The History of Torrijas: How They Became a Holy Week Tradition

At the end of the 15th century, torrijas made their way into a Christmas carol, thanks to a Salamanca writer, Juan de la Encina (1468-1533). While the biblical association is still alive and well, shortly thereafter, torrijas swapped out Christmas for Easter. 

Devout Catholics abstained from eating meat during Lent, especially during Semana Santa (Holy Week) in the leadup to Resurrection Day. To sweeten the deal, torrijas took center stage, providing the obedient with the energy they needed during this frugal period. Not only did this sustain appetites, but it also used up day-old bread — waste not, want not, as the bible says. In case you needed another reason, eaten with wine, together the two were said to represent the body and blood of Christ. Amen to that, I say. 

Torrijas and Childbirth: Their Strange Role in Spanish Medicine 

Never mind epidural anaesthesia, back in the 16th century torrijas were just what the doctor ordered. As well as being a staple at Easter, they were dispensed to pregnant women before giving birth since this calorie-packed fare was thought to revitalize energy. 

While the custom no longer survives, its legacy lives on in the name. In Galicia, torrijas are known as torradas de parida, and in the Balearic Islands, they’re sopes de partera — both loosely translating to something like “post-childbirth toast,” a nod to the pastry’s former role in postpartum recovery.

Why Torrijas Vanish After Semana Santa

As popular as torrijas are, they don’t stick around for long. Typical desserts that sell all year in bakeries aren’t to be found at Easter, as there’s no time (or space on the shelves) for them. Yet, search for torrijas after Easter Sunday, and you’ll be out of luck. 

If you can’t wait that long, you can find torrijas on menus in high-end restaurants year-round. Some chefs dare to make them with fresh bread instead of day-old, trade it out for brioche, stuff them with cream and chocolate, or add a dollop of ice cream, or even worse — a mousse. That’s sacrilegious, if you ask me. I’ll wait til next spring for their resurrection. –Joanne Batten

Saints, Statues and Semana Santa: A Tour of Iglesia de Santiago Apóstol’s Treasures

The oldest church in Málaga has a Picasso connection and is home to legendary Holy Week statuary, including El Rico, who pardons prisoners, and El Cristo de Medinaceli, who grants wishes.  

This figure depicts the Immaculate Conception of Mary. She stands atop a crescent moon and the world. Her left foot crushes a serpent, symbolizing the original sin assigned to all humans since Adam and Eve—except, of course, to the pure Virgin. 

You could easily walk past the exterior of the Parroquia de Santiago Apóstol without realizing the wonders that lie within. The church, which is dedicated to Saint James the Apostle, is located on Calle Granada and was under restoration when Wally and I visited our friends Jo and José in Málaga, Spain in 2015. We strolled by it multiple times, completely unaware of its spectacular interior and ended up buying a few whimsical wire and black glass marble ants from a street artist who had set up shop on a mat across from it.

The church’s wooden doors feature vieras, or scallop shells, the symbol of Saint James. 

Eight years later, we were back in Spain, and Jo and José suggested adding it to our itinerary. We’re fortunate to know some locals, and we’re never disappointed by what they share with us. Plus, Wally and I love visiting old Catholic churches. These places are not just architecturally stunning; they’re usually brimming with vivid devotional art. And it goes without saying that Spain takes this to a whole other level.

The pointed brick arch of the central doorway framed by tiles arranged in a geometric pattern is all that remains of the former mosque.

From Mosque to Gothic Church 

After digging around a bit, I found out that this particular church was the first and oldest of the four parishes commissioned in Málaga by the Catholic Monarchs, Isabella and Ferdinand II. In fact, it dates back to 1509. The structure fuses Isabelline Gothic (a late Gothic/early Renaissance style) with Mudéjar elements and was established on the site of a mosque during the early stages of the city’s Christian conquest. Remnants of the former mosque were incorporated and are visible in the façade, particularly in the central doorway, where a pointed ogee arch is framed by tiles arranged in a geometric pattern that reads as floral. This arch would later evolve into the distinctive Gothic rib vault. In keeping with Islamic tradition, a minaret was built adjacent to the mosque, which was converted into the church’s bell tower during the late 16th century.

A view of the ornate central nave, dome and altar. The carved central altarpiece holds a likeness of the church’s patron, Santiago Apóstol aka Saint James.

the Interior of the Church of Santiago 

Inside, the Gothic style reveals itself in the vaulted ceilings and chancel of the central nave, which comprises the sanctuary, altar, choir and main chapel. The late 18th century saw the addition of two more naves, embellished in the Baroque style. The handsomely carved altarpiece is fashioned from polychromed (painted in many colors) and gilded wood, and the central niche holds a realistic statue of its patron saint, Santiago Apóstol (Saint James).

A depiction of Mary as the Queen of Heaven

Legend has it that following the death of Christ, James traveled to Galicia in northern Spain to spread the word of Christianity. However, things took a dark turn upon his return to Jerusalem — he was beheaded under King Herod’s order, becoming the first disciple to be martyred.

Málaga local Picasso was christened in this baptismal font, located near the entrance of the church. 

Fun fact: Pablo Picasso was christened in this church on November 10, 1881, and his baptismal certificate is kept here. Although his family moved to A Coruña in the Galicia region of northwest Spain when the artist was 9 years old, he always considered himself a malagueño, that is, someone from Málaga. 

This diminutive likeness of the Virgin Mary, Nuestra Señora del Pilar (Our Lady of the Pillar), stands atop a small column. You can’t see it because it’s covered by the red and gold mantle. 

A Tour of the Art and Semana Santa Statues of Parroquia de Santiago Apóstol

Among the significant religious artworks that can be found in the church’s naves is the Virgen de las Animas (Virgin and the Souls) by Juan Niño de Guevara, a large oil painting depicting the Mary comforting souls condemned to Purgatory. According to popular tradition, the faithful offer prayers to the image and leave bottles filled with lamp oil to keep the flames of the glass votives burning in perpetuity for the souls doing penance before being able to enter the kingdom of Heaven.

This oil painting, Virgen de las Animas (Virgin and the Souls) by Juan Niño de Guevara depicts Mary seated on a throne of clouds, comforting souls condemned to Purgatory. 

Additionally, the statues of the Cofradía del Rico and Hermandad de la Sentencia religious brotherhoods are kept inside this church year-round, except during Semana Santa (Holy Week). That’s when they’re placed on massive tronos, quite literally thrones, weighing up to 2 tons and are carried through the streets of Málaga by penitents and members of their religious fraternity.

This nave holds the processional images of Jesús de la Sentencia (Jesus of the Judgement), María Santísima del Amor Doloroso (Holy Mary of Sorrowful Love) and San Juan Evangelista (Saint John the Evangelist) which belong to the religious brotherhood of the Hermandad de la Sentencia. 

There are the venerated mannequin-like processional figures of María Santísima del Amor Doloroso (Holy Mary of Sorrowful Love) and Jesús El Rico (Jesus the Rich). To impart a heightened sense of realism, glass was used for the eyes, hair for the eyelashes and ivory for the teeth. 

Jesús El Rico (Jesus the Rich) hides behind María Santísima del Amor Doloroso (Holy Mary of Sorrowful Love), which belong to the brotherhood of the Cofradía del Rico. El Rico pardons one prisoner each year.

The Ultimate Get Out of Jail Free Card 

El Rico has extended pardons as an act of grace every Holy Wednesday, a tradition that traces its roots back to 1759. The practice of extending a second chance to a prisoner originated during the plague epidemic that swept across Europe during the reign of Carlos III. 

It’s said that a riot erupted after inmates learned that Holy Week processions would be canceled due to contagion fears. In response to the news, prisoners mutinied, broke out of jail and carried the life-sized statue of Jesus through the streets of Málaga, praying for salvation from the plague. Rather than fleeing afterward, they chose to return to prison. Impressed by their act of piety, the king decided to grant the Cofradía del Rico brotherhood, the guardians of El Rico, the right to release one prisoner every year. To this day, El Rico symbolically performs this act.

On the first Friday of March, the venerated figure of El Cristo de Medinaceli is taken from his niche, redressed and placed upon a gilded platform. Devotees kiss his feet, leave three coins and make a wish for each — only one of which will be granted.

Make a Wish Foundation

If these treasures in this historic church aren’t enough to pique your interest, there’s one more notable devotional figure worth mentioning within the Iglesia de Santiago Apóstol: El Cristo de Medinaceli (Christ of Medinaceli). It received its name because the original was owned by the Duke of Medinaceli.

Every first Friday of March, devotees queue up outside the parish doors and wait their turn to kiss the statue’s feet. They also place three coins — they have to be of the same value — at his feet and make three different wishes. Be careful, though: Only one of your wishes will come true.

One of the most dramatic aspects of the Iglesia de Santiago Apóstol (and that’s saying something!) is the blue hue of this elaborate dome. 

This relief depicts a crowded take on the Last Supper. 

If you’re in the neighborhood, and you don’t stop by and admire the Semana Santa statues here, you’ll wish you had. –Duke

Iglesia de Santiago

Calle Granada, 78
29015 Málaga
España

 

Santa Semana Bar Crawl

Holy Week is a big deal in Málaga, Spain. Learn all about the bizarre celebrations featuring humpbacked and hooded figures in secret brotherhoods.

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La Dolorosa (Our Lady of the Sorrows). Resin teardrops, glass eyes and actual clothes add to the realism of the pained expression of the Virgin Mary, featured at Puerta Oscura in Málaga

Tucked away in the narrow Calle Mosquera and situated near the historic Málaga Centro, Taberna Cofrade las Merchanas is a local bar with an unassuming exterior that belies what awaits you inside.

Here, the interior is a quirky tribute to the Santa Semana celebration (Holy Week, which starts on Palm Sunday and concludes on Easter). The bar is filled with holy relics, photos and memorabilia associated with the traditions of Santa Semana. The establishment belongs to the cofradia (brotherhood) and although it was opened in 2011, it has the feel of having existed for decades.

“Local belief holds that the bigger the hump, the more pious the man.”

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Relics pertaining to Santa Semana fill the walls at a bar in Málaga, Spain, owned by one of the Holy Week brotherhoods

Semana Santa traditions in Spain are a serious affair — and Málaga is no exception. They include processions in which an elaborate ceremonial trono paso, literally a throne step or float, is carried by costaleros, or “sack men,” so named for the padded headdresses they wear to support the float. Because they’re hidden beneath a cloth, the trono paso looks like it’s floating through the air.

The platform of the trono paso holds life-size effigies made of wood, wax and wire depicting scenes from the gospels related to the Passion of Christ. There are up to 40 costaleros underneath each trono paso. These men bear the weight of the float on their necks and shoulders. Many are left with a humpback for several days after. Local belief holds that the bigger the hump, the more pious the man, our friend Jo informed us.

The pasos are followed by nazarenos, or penitents, dressed in colorful tunics and conical hoods and masks called capriotes to render the individual unidentifiable — they’re all equal in the eyes of God. Americans might be alarmed at first, confusing the hoods for those of the Ku Klux Klan, or KKK, who also adopted the medieval attire, though in white.

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A shelf filled with nazareno figurines at Taberna Cofrade las Merchanas in Málaga. The different colored robes indicate which hermandad (brotherhood) the individual belongs to.

The sound of slow, rhythmic drum beats traditionally heard during the procession provide the soundtrack in the bar, which is a stop on the pilgrimage circuit during Holy Week — and serves up good tapas year-round.

RELATED: In Seville, the jubilant Feria de Abril begins two weeks after Semana Santa, while in Málaga, it’s typically held in August.

Taberna Cofrade las Merchanas

Calle Mosquera, 5

The Devil’s in the Details

After visiting the Soho district, a street art mecca, our friends Jo and José led us to the café/bar Puerta Oscura, or the Dark Door.

Upon entering, the dimly lit interior resembles a Baroque-period salon: pale powder blue walls, ornamental plaster embellishments and cut crystal chandeliers accompanied by furnishings upholstered in a burgundy and gold stripe.

The main room of the café serves as an exhibition space for museum-quality polychromed devotional sculptures, and at the time of our visit last spring was featuring the work of Ramón Cuenca Santos.

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The intricate process to create the sculptures includes clay and polychromed cedar.

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Jesús Cautivo (Bound Jesus), a life-size (and amazingly lifelike) seated Christ with wrists wrapped in real gold-colored rope.

It was fascinating to see the prototype sculpture first conceived in clay and subsequently polychromed cedar. These expertly handcarved and painted sculptures appear as if they might just move when you’re not looking.  

We ordered coffee and perched on stools while classical music played, and Wally and I took photos of the sculptures.

The process of creating these lifelike sculptures is truly amazing:

Puerta Oscura

Calle Molina Lario, 5