EL ROCíO, Spain — It was hard to make out the face through all of the dust, but the man’s old-fashioned clothing gave him away. A flat-brimmed sombrero Cordobés sat on his head. He strummed a guitar from atop an Andalusian horse. There was no question why he was here trotting the road to this village between Seville and the Gulf of Cádiz on this day in May.

       In front of the rider, in the back of a covered wagon adorned with colorful flowers, a group of women wore traditional flowing dresses adorned with polka dots and floral patterns. They drank manzanilla wine as they sang and clapped in a hypnotic rhythm.

       A foreigner’s thoughts of Spain are often populated with the potent and romantic imagery of Andalusia: flamenco, the magnificent horse culture, processions and the seductive sound of the canto profundo. The El Rocío pilgrimage embodies all of that imagery.

       Despite some wagons now being pulled with tractors, it still feels as though you have stepped into a traditional piece of Spanish literature.

       Every May or June, brotherhoods that plan and participate in religious processions flock to the region in southern Spain for this pilgrimage that dates back to the 17th century. Spanish festivals are a huge draw on the European tourism circuit. The running of the bulls in Pamplona, Seville’s Semana Santa and the Fallas festival in Valencia come immediately to mind. Others, like El Rocío, are sparsely attended by foreigners but still command a large following of Spaniards.

       The majority of pilgrims that converge on El Rocío come from cities and towns in the south of the country. Some come from as far away as Madrid.

       The songs they sing honor La Virgen del Rocío, a Catholic icon that is also known as the “Paloma Blanca,” or White Dove. On this day in May, many had traveled, via oxen-pulled cart, on horseback or on foot, for many days from throughout southern Spain to reach the village that bears her name. The peak days are either side of the Sunday before Pentecost, usually late May.

       The “village” of El Rocío is more a series of buildings that house the various brotherhoods than a functioning town. Restaurants, bars, markets and places typically found in a Spanish village are scarce.

       The power of El Rocío lies in the passion and devotion of the participants. Fruti Guerrero, a towering 25-year-old from the Andalusian coastal city of Huelva, has been participating in the pilgrimage since he was 2. He has no memory of it, but he says there are “countless photos from those days” in his family’s house.

       The amount of young people making the pilgrimage, and the fact that they know every word to the many songs, speaks to the multigenerational nature of the event.

       “It is a tradition that comes from my great-great-grandparents,” says Guerrero, who works as a construction administrator back home.

       The warmth and generosity of the groups making the journey leave a lasting impression. If you stop to ask someone on the route where the rest stop is for lunch, they will hop out of the car to ply you with jamón serrano and cold beer or water. If you pass by a wagon that has stopped for lunch, you are beckoned to a table to sample some fine Andalusian food.

       If you do decide to come see the spectacle, be sure to wear comfortable walking shoes. If you want to follow the carts for a bit, you will be walking in soft sand and under a searing sun, though the numerous stone pines offer shade.

       A mask is a good idea for those who are sensitive to dust, as the mule teams, horses and oxen can kick up a substantial cloud. It is also advisable to hire a car in Seville (and perhaps a driver), because the roads heading into Rocío are easily choked with all the livestock and wagons.

       Singing voices float on the breezes across the encampments. The devotion and emotion to the pilgrimage and rituals are palpable and powerful.

       “The truth is that everything that revolves around El Rocío means a lot to me,” Guerrero says. “Many vivid memories, family members who are no longer there that you always remember, many sincere friends who are with you, and, above all, the Virgin of El Rocío, who, for me, is the greatest inheritance that my elders left me.”

       As Guerrero speaks, all around him, songs fill the air, and food, beer and wine cover the table. Being Spain, a lot of attention is put into the journey, especially when it comes to the food. At the lunch stops, tables are overflowing with jamón, tortilla Espa？ola and gambas (shrimp).

       Emotions are especially apparent when the pilgrims return to their respective towns and cities. Crossing the Guadalquivir River into Seville’s famous Triana neighborhood for the pilgrims’ return is not to be missed.

       This is also a very easy spot to witness the pageantry, as, unlike around Rocío itself, there is no walking through soft sand and clouds of dust. Instead, the oxen ply past numerous bars, flamenco taverns and restaurants, all of which are overflowing with customers.

       Some of the pilgrims embrace, others weep, as the journey comes to an end. Until the next year.

       It is impressive to see the number of younger people learning the tradition, especially in a country where church attendance is on the wane. I asked Guerrero whether he feels as if the Rocío will live on.

       “Of course, I will pass it on to the next generations and to everyone who wants to experience this wonderful pilgrimage,” Guerrero says.