La Tomatina is a festival celebrated on the last Wednesday of August. Every year, Buñol, a small town outside of Valencia, invites 40,000 people to let havoc have its way. It is said to have started due to a brawl that happened during the Gigantes y cabezudos festival (paper maché head parade). Where a group of men got into a scuffle and the nearby vegetable stand was demolished. The police had to break up the fight and those involved had to pay for the damages incurred. The following year the fight was repeated except that the participants brought their own vegetable-like ammunition. Repeated in subsequent years, the party was unofficially established.
La Tomatina is your typical food fight with the commencement displayed by the lucky/talented person who climbs to the top of a greased pole
"palo jabón" to claim his leg of ham. This year was the first in 5 that someone had managed to climb the human pyramid and reach the top. The centre of the festivities was rammed by the high paying tour groups. Prime dollar means prime position. They were the ones that left on their air conditioned bus with acid in their eyes and a tomato stench that will remain with them for weeks. In the surrounding streets locals from their balconies and rooftops were throwing buckets of water over the hooligans below. We were 4 innocent girls, dressed in white and just so happened to walk through the middle of the main street and be bombarded by an aggressive group of Spaniards. We were previously made aware that not a single item of clothing worn on this day was ever going to be wearable and so considering our clothes were going to be ruined, men were inclined to aid the process of destroying our cheaply purchased apparel. We weren't fooled, our preparation was adequate and our black secured sports bras and scouts tying knots skills saved the day. 2 out of 4 girls' tops were ripped by this mob.
The tomato trucks arrived and after being attacked by the t-shirt rippers we retreated to safer ground. Along with the red slushy fruit came its smell. Everyone had tomato everywhere! In the summer sun it crusted in your hair and left our white outfit a textured red. After an hour of picking up splodgey tomato flesh and throwing it at who ever, the masses headed to the communal fountain to rinse themselves from the dried red slush before the partying begun. Sangria and Nanna's home made pizza slices were sold on the street and the local bakery displayed some fine spanish pastries.
The long day ended with the poor smelling pleb on the train and returning to the civility of Valencia.
I feel sorry for the town of Buñol, tomatoed as can be. Although, apparently the acidity of the tomatoes disinfects the cobblestone streets. I just wonder how long it takes for the horrid smell to leave. Why didn't those silly boys just have a water fight instead?
