Light, fire and centuries-old rituals: the ancestral Christmas traditions that still endure

BarcelonaLong before Christian Christmas absorbed pagan festivities, our ancestors climbed the mountains to light bonfires, burn logs, and bring down tiles. They did so not to commemorate any divine birth, but for sheer survival: it was necessary to awaken the Sun, to give it strength so that it could be reborn, and to ensure that light would return to fertilize the earth. Symbolically, humans brought to the earth the light that was missing from the sky to help the Sun gather energy to work again and begin the cycle of eternal return. Fire destroys to purify, and the vegetation—pine, fir, beech—offers itself as a sacrifice and releases the solar energy it has stored up during the summer to return it to the community in the heart of winter.

Today, this ancestral heartbeat still resonates strongly throughout the Catalan Countries. It is a living intangible heritage that has survived centuries of prohibitions and modernity. From the highest valleys of the Pyrenees to the shores of the Mediterranean, passing through the islands, nights still fill with the smoke of burning reeds and repetitive chants that connect us directly to our origins.

We propose a journey where we will seek the ancestral cry of the Fia-faia in Bagà and Sant Julià de Cerdanyola, and feel the sacred weight of the pine tree in Centelles. We will discover how forgotten traditions are reborn, such as the burning of the cart in Organyà, the Soca de Nadau in Les, and the lowering of the tiles in Gurb, and we will cross the sea to see the fire swirling in the Mallorcan Alei Alei or the Valencian faches. All of them are living witnesses to the same truth: as long as there is someone willing to light a flame against the night, life will always ultimately prevail.

The Fia-faia of Bagà and Sant Julià de Cerdanyola

Few traditions can boast of being recognized as Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity by UNESCO. In Bagà and Sant Julià de Cerdanyola, the Fia-faia holds this title, transforming Christmas Eve into an ancestral ritual that connects us directly to our origins. It all begins on the mountaintops, from where the falleros (participants in the festival) descend a fiery serpent made of bull's-foot grass to the town squares. There, the darkness is broken by the hypnotic cry of "Fia-faia, for Our Lord has been born on the beach." It is a chant that comes from Latin. on credit (Let it be done) that links the pagan past with the Christian Christmas to force the return of the Sun. The celebration, however, does not end with the flame: the ritual closes with an earthy flavor, collectively sharing the traditional quince aioli. A living treasure that reminds us that the light always returns.

The Burning of the Cart of Organyà

In Organyà, in the Alt Urgell region, as Midnight Mass is being celebrated, the Plaça de les Homilies transforms into a unique historical spectacle. First, the Cavallot and the Balladora appear and perform a dance with medieval roots, mocking the feudal power that once ruled these valleys, personified in these figures, both solemn and grotesque. Then comes the age-old ritual of burning wood to combat the darkness of the solstice. This primal impulse underwent a curious metamorphosis in the 1970s, when the traditional bonfire was transformed into the burning of the cart. What began as a way to repurpose disused farming tools has become so ritualized that today, the burning cart is no longer just any old piece of junk: it is handcrafted each year for the sole purpose of being offered to the flames, thus preserving this rural heritage. It is a sacrifice of ephemeral art that unites historical satire with the magic of renewing fire.

The Soca of Nothing in Les

If the fire in Organyà symbolically burns away the old to renew itself, in the Vall d'Aran the flame has a more fundamental mission: to warm the soul of the community. In Les, Christmas Eve revolves around the Soca de Nadau, a ritual that has successfully transitioned from the home to the street without losing its protective essence. In the past, in Pyrenean houses without heating, the strain It was literally life itself: a large beech log burned slowly in the fireplace to ensure the cold didn't win during the harshest nights. Today, it's done for the whole village. Days beforehand, the largest beech trunk in the forest is found—it can weigh up to two tons—and planted in the town square. On the night of the 24th, it is solemnly lit and becomes a beacon of warmth as everyone shares the wine (Mulled wine) and hope. A reminder that, when winter is at its harshest, the only way to survive is to gather around the same light.

The Alei Alei in Capdepera

Across the sea, in Mallorca, the solstice has its own soundtrack, one that nearly died out. In 2018, Capdepera decided to reclaim a fire that was rightfully theirs. Here, the torches aren't made of wood, but of carrizo, a humble, rough grass abundant on the island, which is expertly braided to create the faies. The festival takes place the weekend before Christmas, when the streets fill with white smoke and a hypnotic chant: "Aley, alei, hanging from a hair..." No one knows for sure what "Alei" means—it could be a corruption of hallelujah or a pre-Christian cry of joy—but when the gabellinos call out to it while spinning the lit torches, they prove that tradition, like the winter sun, may seem dead but always holds a spark ready to reignite.

The descent of the tiles in Gurb

In Osona, the solstice fire proves it's never too late to revive a tradition. The descent of the pine torches in Gurb is proof that the instinct to light a fire in winter remains intact: born in 2011 from the efforts of a group of parents from the local nursery, the festival has taken root with surprising strength and has already become part of the town's heritage. The torchbearers climb to Gurb Castle and then descend, once darkness has fallen, in a serpent of fire made of pine torches to the town center. There, the small individual flames merge to ignite the Gran Teiot, a large structure that has stood in the square since Candlemas but is burned on the Saturday before Christmas. It's a youthful fire festival with an ancient soul, where the locals assert that being a torchbearer means "loving fire as a symbol of light" and remind everyone that, even in the 21st century, "we are tradition, we are warmth, we are light."

The fascists in Onil

In the south, in the Alcoyano region, fire is not static; in Onil, fire is danced. It's the Night of the Torches, a tradition that transforms Christmas Eve into a spectacle of hypnotic circles of light. The key element is esparto grass, a plant that the locals harvest days before in the mountains: the dry esparto ("totxa") is used for burning, and the green for tying and braiding the structure with artisanal skill. As darkness falls, the main square fills with locals who roll the torches like windmills, creating a galaxy of rings of fire. Although Christian tradition says it's done to "warm the Christ Child," its pagan origins explain it as a light ritual to combat the cold. This dance of sparks, with names like aixamas or chamelas, is also repeated in neighboring towns such as Jijona, Relleu, Tibi, and Torre de las Maçanes.

The pine tree of Centelles

While we have seen how fire is lit to imitate the sun, in Centelles the protagonist is a living being that defies the death of winter by remaining green: the pine tree. Although the Fiesta del Pi (Pine Festival), declared a Heritage Festival of National Interest, has been documented since 1751 in honor of Saint Coloma, the ritual exudes a much older pagan cult of fertility and the regeneration of nature. The main day is December 30th, with a thunderous celebration. The galeadores (firemen) awaken the town with blunderbuss shots that create a cloud of gunpowder that accompanies the procession into the forest. There, the most beautiful pine tree is cut down and transported upright on a cart through the town. The culminating moment takes place in the church: after being made to dance at the door, the tree enters the church and is hoisted up and hung upside down above the altar, adorned with apples and wafers. There it will preside over the sanctuary until Three Kings' Day, like a plant totem that blesses the community and reminds us that life (the green) persists even in the coldest time.