Imagine, if you can, a small rural town in southern Spain. Mainly industrial. Not too charming or picturesque. Narrow streets. White-washed walls. Dusty and windy outskirts. Now, picture 40,000 people from all over the world descending on this one town for one special day, the last Wednesday of August, every year. These people come with the intent of creaming each other with hundreds of tons of tomatoes for the span of one hour, and then rinsing off and heading back to wherever they came from. One hour of incredible silliness with fellow adventure seekers in a vast pool of tomato puree. Sounds fun, interesting, and quite a bit out of the ordinary, doesn’t it? That’s what I thought ever since I first heard of the festival a few years ago. I continued to think that up until about 52 hours ago when I experienced La Tomatina for myself.
First of all, do you know how many 40, 000 people really is? It’s a whole stinkin’ lot. And do you know how narrow the streets are in small rural Spanish towns? Pretty stinkin’ narrow. And do you know what you get when you force 40,000 people into the narrow streets of a small rural Spanish town? A lot of opportunity for pain.
In theory, the festival works like this: big trucks filled with overripe tomatoes drive through the streets and dump the tomatoes in strategic spots for expectant food-fighters to throw at each other. Everyone must squeeze the tomato and break its skin so that it won’t harm the person who gets hit with it. And there you go. Chaos ensues. However, that is not the way it works in reality. Let me put it all in a timeline so that you may understand better my thought process throughout the festival.
10:30am- We arrive in Buñol in a big charter bus after a 3.5 hour ride from Madrid. Gosh, there are a lot of people and cars along the streets. And we aren’t even in the town center yet. We park at a gas station, get out of the bus, and start following the flow of people to wherever they are going. Hey, they are all heading in the same direction, so they must be here for the same reason we are. We see people wearing goggles, bikinis, tank tops, shorts, and wacky stuff too. Everyone looks like a hippie. I feel like I am going to Woodstock. And my group is dressed pretty much the same. I am wearing a tight, black sleeveless shirt, hiking shorts, and my red tennis shoes, which I think have little chance of getting ruined by tomatoes since they are already red. We are all ready! So where is the festival?
10:50am- Ok, so I have been walking for about 20 minutes, still following the crowd, and it doesn’t look like the hike is nearing an end yet. Oh well, I am with my new Canterbury friends, and we are having a good time chatting and anticipating while we walk. We are all looking forward to heading to the beach at Valencia, about 45 minutes away, after La Tomatina ends. There is a helicopter circling overhead. Maybe it’s the news here to film the festival. Wait…nope, it’s the Guardia Civil, Spain’s police force. Well, that’s encouraging…
11:00am- Still walking. Suddenly, we hear a gun go off. Crack! Signals the start of the festival, I guess. Several guys start running, evidently in a hurry to get to “Ground Zero,” as Canterbury’s director and resident Tomatina aficionado, James, lovingly refers to it. The crowd starts building up as we enter the center of town with its narrow, winding streets and alleys. Well, there’s only one way to continue, and that’s to push our way through. Do I really want to though? That’s a lot of sweaty people and they already smell pretty bad. Hey! Quit pushing me! Wait! Oh man, here we go. I am getting pushed along, and there’s no way to fight the crowd that is carrying me. Best to just go with it, I think. Some guys start chanting “Dónde están los tomates? Los tomates, dónde están?” Me and my friend Biz, who has stuck with me since we got separated from the rest of the group, start laughing and singing along. We are still moving forward as the crowd grows more and more dense…
11:15am- Ok, so… dónde están los tomates? The only thing I have seen thrown so far is water, beer, and sangría. Me and Biz find ourselves near the center of the main street surrounded by so many people, I can hardly believe it. Boy, this stinks. I am pressed up against some guy’s sweaty bare back. There’s no room to move away from him though. I am keeping my arms up in front of my chest so I can push myself away if I need to. Wait…I think I just heard someone say a truck is coming. From what I can tell, the vast majority of the people here speak English. That’s strange…I think I see something coming. Oh yay! It’s a truck! Finally, let’s get this food fight started! Huh. I wonder how it can fit through with all these people in the street. Hey, get your elbow out of my stomach! I gotta get out of the way of the truck. Man, it’s getting tight in here. I can already smell the tomatoes, which I have to say is much nicer than body odor. How am I going to throw a tomato when I can’t move my arms? Wow, ouch, I am getting squeezed pretty hard here. Biz is right behind me, and we are trying to laugh about this situation, but the fact that it’s hard to breathe has kind of put a damper on the whole partying spirit. Oh crap, this really hurts.
11:20am- Whew! The truck is finally past us. The crowd has loosened a bit and it’s easier to breathe now. Wow, that was scary. But we still can’t move. Why didn’t the truck drop the tomatoes? That doesn’t make sense. There were people in the back of the truck throwing some at us, but there still isn’t any for the people in the street to throw. What? Another truck is coming? Oh crap…oh crap…ouch, ow, oh crap…Biz, you ok? Yeah, my ribs are being crushed too. Oh sorry! I didn’t mean to poke you in the eye. I was just trying to scratch behind my ear…
11:30am- Ok, this is officially not fun anymore. It would be so easy to get trampled or crushed to death in this unbelievable mob. But I am determined to survive. Oh #%&*, not another truck! Ah, ah, ah, owww, crap. Please stop, please stop. I want to leave! This hurts so much! Ahhhhhh!
11:50am- Biz and I have worked our way, slowly but surely, to the side of the street, and I am now using my right arm and hip as a brace against the wall to create more room for myself. This poor short Asian girl behind us has pretty much disappeared. There is a fair amount of tomato pulp in my hair now, and my feet are sharing my shoes with about a quart of tomato juice, but I have been nowhere close to being able to throw a tomato of my own. The best I can do is feebly flick off whatever lands on the shoulders of the guy in front of me. Ten more minutes of this madness…
12:00pm- Ok, it’s noon. Let’s get out of here! Why aren’t people moving? Let me out!!!! Come on, guys, it’s over. Leave, so I can have room to leave too. What a stupid idea, this tomato fight. I just want to rinse off, get back on the bus, and never eat another tomato for the rest of my life. Gah! Biz, let’s try to force our way out. Ready? PUSH!!!!!!!
12:30pm- I lost Biz in the crowd and am now walking back to the bus by myself. I don’t see anyone that I know. Man, I am so tired. And I am starting to itch. My hair is crusted over with bits of tomatoes. It’s in my ears, down my sports bra, caked onto my arms and legs…literally everywhere. Freakin’ Tomatina. I’m glad it’s over with. Ok, there’s the gas station. I see some of my friends that have returned and I ask them where I can go shower off. They point at the car wash. I’m like, you’re kidding…
1:00pm- Well, that was weird and a bit humiliating. After inserting my euro to make the water start spraying, and enduring the gross catcalls of the drunk guys who congregated around the carwash to jeer at the wet girls, I am finally mostly tomato-free. My hair is a lost cause though. It is still a tomato helmet. I will just have to wait and wash it off in the sea when we get to the beach. The beach! That is a cheerful thought. Maybe happy times at the beach will lessen my chances of having nightmares tonight, waking suddenly, convinced I am being smothered by tomato people. I settle back into my seat on the bus, and look forward to a perfect, relaxing afternoon by the Mediterranean…
After reliving La Tomatina in the writing of this blog, I am thoroughly exhausted and will have to wait until next time to tell you about all the sand, sun, and boobs that I saw at the beach in Valencia. I need a nap. And a massage…
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