At dawn, church bells ripple across a countryside older than the steeples that house them. As night settles over central Spain, the streets of San Bartolomé de Pinares ignite - bonfires blaze in deliberate rows, and horses move carefully through the fire, guided by hands steady with tradition.
Thick smoke curls upward into the darkening sky, carrying the scent of ash and pine. What unfolds here each January is both a Christian blessing and something far older—a ritual shaped by centuries of belief, where fire remembers what people do not forget. Here, faith does not replace what came before; it settles into it.

The ritual of Las Luminarias honors Saint Anthony Abbot, protector of domestic animals. The local lore suggests that a mysterious animal plague has swept San Bartolomé and surrounding little villages some 500 years ago, and the tradition of purification by evergreen fire and smoke has started as a response in order to protect the animals from illnesses and evil.

Today, it endures as a celebration of local heritage and a display of intergenerational communal care: guardians of light tend the bonfires, horsemen methodically braid manes, bind tails, and wet their horses’ coats to keep them safe, while villagers share their sangria before assembling for barbacoa as the embers fade. ‘You don’t just go out to get yourself a horse and come ride it at Luminarias’ - our host Louis explains. ‘If you are here - it is because your father did it and your father’s father did it too.’

The cycle of renewal continues.