The guys and I hit up CarreFore in Valencia, in search of some necessities (cheap back pack and ziplock bags) but, in true Lydia style, left with way more than I needed.
We were up and out the door by 6:30am and after the 45 minute train ride (and the 45 minutes waiting to get on the train) we were finally in Bunol, ready (or not-so-ready) to embrace what lie ahead.
I had never seen so many tourists in one place. I think that 10% were locals (Spainards) and the rest were English-speakers hailing from all over the world. And they were all WASTED. At 8am in the morning, the sangria and beer were flowing. As we started the walk down the mountain-town, I began to realize what was in store for us. Tens of thousands of people crammed into the tiny streets of Bunol waiting to get creamed in the face with tomatoes.
I was mentally prepared for the tomato-to-the-face part, but I don't think I could have been ready for everything that came along with it.
The story goes that at 10am, someone (usually a local) attempts to climb a greased flag pole. The goal is to free the ham leg that is suspended from the top. Regardless if he makes it up there, at 11am the canon sounds symbolizing the beginning of the "fight". Clearly, we would have waited all day because apparently no one gets to the top of the pole.
Like clockwork, at 11am, the canon sounded and all hell broke loose.
Not tomato-to-the-face madness, but pushing and shoving madness. Teeny tiny streets already crammed with people had to move to the side to let huge trucks holding tomatoes pass through. Thank God the guys were there, I am a midget compared to these people and could have easily been trampled. (That sounds dramatic, it was not that bad) And it is a really great thing that I made friends with the cute Aussie to throw my arms around. But I digress.
So 3 trucks pass and we still have no tomato action. All we are left with is other peoples sweat and the feeling of claustrophobia. And then that 4th truck comes slowly up the street. At this point, we are desperate. All we wanted to do was deck someone with a tomato, and if we had to go to the fruit stand and buy some, then so be it. So as the 4th truck is creeping up the street, I am mentally preparing myself for 2 things: 1 being that I am about to be crushed into this yellow wall again, with sweaty people all around me. The other reality was that there were tomatoes on this truck that was quickly approaching. As that truck crept up towards us, I could see that we were about to get what we came here for.
(can you see the truck coming towards us in the mass of people?)
All in all, the 4 hours of standing around, sweating our asses off , being pinched into corners of the streets of Bunol were worth it for the 10 minutes of tomato-pelting fun. The truck passed and the people atop slathered us with tomatoes and for the remaining time, we threw tomatoes at each other, laughed and took photos. It was worth it in that moment.
(cute Aussie was almost as short as me!)
I could not have prepared myself for the long ride home. The smell of beer-soaked 20-somethings, combined with crushed and dried tomato mixed with sweat--I don't think I will ever forget how gross that smell was. I showered for a straight 45 minutes and still had tomato left in my hair. I don't think it was until today that I finally got the last of it out.
Overall verdict? Happy I did it, but never, ever, ever again.
Music to Blog by:
The National: Boxer (album)
Mumford & Sons: Sigh No More (album)
No comments:
Post a Comment