Monday, August 5, 2013


The final, climactic day has arrived. The knights are clothed in historical uniforms, the horses draped in finery, stepping high and proud through an admiring crowd. The band plays. The trumpet blares. The crowd holds their breath as the knight thunders toward the alka. A roar through the crowd, a cannon blast— u sridu! — 3 points!

I was again standing toward the start of their run, this time because we would have needed tickets for the bleachers. That said, I really do prefer it there. I don't catch the dignitaries and the moment of pierced alka, but I do witness other aspects that are wonderful, such as those moments of tremendous potential energy before the horse sprints down the dirt path, or the knights in repose. It's the cheap seats, but rich in liveliness and earthy joy.

And, when it's all over, we then sprint down the path and into town, to sit at a cafė and toast the knights one last time.

The cannon blasts up above, on top of the hill, and in the distance the procession begins

With historical guns, swords and knives, the 'boys' - knights helpers - soldier past

The knights parade

His name called, the knight mounts his steed and confidently tests his skill

In between rounds, the knights relax and gossip while a young boy holds a horse
Through the crowd, a blast of speed and power

He is like a heartbeat, running through the crowd

"u sridu!!!" a cannon blast, the crowd thunders applause - 3 points!

Through the town center, the winner is celebrated one last time.  Bok Alka sijnska!

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