By Tess Jewell-Larsen
(Article previously featured in the AHA International Newsletter “News from Abroad”)
Walking through San Francisco Park, coming from the west near Plaza de España and the government buildings, I could hear a slight wail of bagpipes. A woman in front of me rushed towards the ever increasing chatter of people and sing of bagpipes. Was I too late? Had the Royal 
Family already gone through? I thought as I watched her clip-clop in her three inch heals across the stone walkways of the park. When finally I turned the corner, around a great tree on the edge of the park, the volume of people surrounding the streets shocked me. They had to have come from all over Asturias just to see the procession of the Premios Príncipe de Asturias into the Teatro Campoamor.
Between me and Calle Uria there stood hundreds of people eagerly looking about. On the edge of the road, following all the way up from the Hotel Reconquista down to the Teatro Campoamor, stood one thousand bagpipers (I found out the number the next day), all piping 
away merrily to welcome the Prince of Asturias, his wife, and the Queen of Spain. Pushing through the crowds to get a better view, I noticed the bagpipers stood in groups, each group wearing slightly different traditional outfit with different colors. I assumed the differences showed the different regions of Asturias they came from, especially when I noticed one person per group holding a flag with a name written on it.
rwhelm the ears of the fellow viewers, which I appreciated—bagpipes can get a little overpowering. As I stood there, more and more people jammed their bodies closer, cramming more and more people into places where they might get a glimpse of a waving hand within a car—or maybe just see the car itself. After a minute or two of being pushed around and nothing really happening on the streets I realized there was time to spare. I decided to push my way out of the crowds and to go sit down at a nearby café with friends for a few minutes.
r look at the happenings on the street and in front of Campoamor. A line of young woman stood, giggling, on the edge of the fountain admiring the crowds around them, obviously pleased with their positions they secured. I walked around trying to find an opening on some ledge myself. I ended up squeezing into tiny spot on the top of a bench in the plaza, looking out over the street towards Campoamor. Camera ready, I waited. On my right, a huge screen showed close-ups of the parade of black cars coming towards us, towards Campoamor. Suddenly, the black cars come into view. Bagpipes start wailing all around; people are clapping, laughing, and waving to the occupants within the cars. One car, a black BMW I believe, in the middle of the procession held the Royal Family. I could only see them waving if I looked at the screen to my right. From my position on the bench, all I could see was the tops of people heads and the tops of the cars as they passed. My hand held high, I blindly took pictures of the procession, hoping that maybe one would come out.
themselves. Most of the people who stayed to watch the awards were older adults. Very few young people stayed on to watch, and most of the bagpipes were silenced. Many of the bagpipers, however, stayed on the edges of the streets, conversing, waiting, for what I did not stay long enough to find out. I watched as speakers gave their opinion about issues in the world, or about their projects they have devoted themselves to. I laughed when the two American men, Martin Cooper and Raymond Samuel Tomlinson, receiving awards for their contributions to the improvement and investigation of technology, gaily walked out to the crowd, arms waiving ecstatically. We Americans are much more open to showing emotion in public, and I never noticed it so much until right then.