La Tomatina & Valencia, Spain

It was pitch dark and quiet, so quiet that all we could hear were the soft sounds of our shoes hitting the pavement as we ran. The street lights were dim and we could only smell the warm bitter scent of coffee coming from our own breath. It was early, very early on the morning of the last Wednesday of August. The sun was still hours away from rising but it was already almost 30degrees. We were running through the streets of Valencia to catch the Regional line to the small village of Bunol, running because we stopped on the way out of our hotel to enjoy a small nibble of breakfast, running so we weren't late, running to what was going to be one of the craziest things we've done in Spain, yet. 

Hahahahaha! Fish face... Kara fish! 

Matching tomato man! 

Back-tracking ten hours we arrived to the Mediterranean seaside city of Valencia, Spain's third largest city, after spending the afternoon in Barcelona. That morning we had waved goodbye to Rome, completing our amazing summer in Italy. Valencia is one of the oldest cities in Spain and strategically located, it boasts being the birthplace of one of Spain's most famous cuisines- the Paella (pie-yay-a). There are also two major events that happen in Valencia annually, Las Fallas and La Tomatina. 

John's in the ...ahh.. red... (top right)

What is La Tomatina? Perhaps the craziest - of epic proportions - food fight in the world. Not for the weak, faint-hearted and small of stature the annual event is like putting yourself through a blender. Originating in 1945 when several young people who were watching a town parade either purposely or accidentally knocked a musician, who so enraged begun throwing tomatoes. Returning the following year with tomatoes of their own the festival (much to the authority's displeasure) begun.

Look close... see the pole

And so there we were running to the train station to participate in this year's, the 70th anniversary of the largest food fight in the world. Arriving into Bunol, the town was pumping. Music was playing loudly and in the doorways party goers from the night before lay resting. All down the main road local residents were selling sangria and boccadillos and busloads of excited partygoers were arriving. We effortlessly collected our entry bands, took a locker and bought sangria by the litre as we waited for the other 35,000 - 45,000 people to arrive.

Yes! Part of the gang! 

The town had one main narrow road and as the morning progressed thousands jammed their way in focusing on the centre to Plaza del Pueblo where on a large greased wooden pole hung a heafty leg of jamon. As with tradition people attempt to reach the jamon, which would then signal the beginning of the hour long tomato assault. What we saw though was a frenzy of people climbing, jumping and hanging off each other, liken to a zombie attack they looked ravaged, clothes ripped and clawing up the wooden pole.


The pole was quickly forgotten though when at 10.57am we were suddenly caught under a ferocious onslaught of water pulsating out of fire hoses. Blinded, disorientated, drenched and scrambling for our goggles the first siren went off signalling the start. Within moments the first tomatoes were flying, smacking us on the heads. The goggles fogged up fast and there were masses of arms, legs, flying shirts and tomatoes. As the first truck honked its way through we were squished against everyone else. Bodies stacked alongside each other, hip bones digging into thighs and with absolutely no room to move anything we swayed like one. The Roma tomatoes, long oblong shaped and not exactly at all soft or over-ripe shot like bullets tearing off goggles and exploding on impact. Trucks continued to pummel through the crowd and through it all the fire hoses shot ice cold water at a bloodthirsty level. For sixty long minutes there was nowhere to go and try as we might, we were too far into the depths, with caught-in arms and legs. We threw, we caught we smashed and we took painful hits and the tomatoes kept coming. All 170tonnes of them and soon the juices covered our feet, our ankles and shins. We were nothing but pasta caught in a thick sloppy sauce.

Exactly one hour later the siren signalled the end, the trucks drove off empty and we waddled, slipped and sunk in the blood red streets. 

Kara by Plaza de la Reina

Drenched in our soaking-wet, itchy clothes we boarded the train back to the city. Returning to our hotel wasn't an easy task, everything looked so different, shutter doors that were closed earlier now were open. With no GPS it took us a long time to manoeuvre the five kilometres back to our hotel under the midday sun.

John by the Agora, Centre of Arts

One of the things that they don't tell you or you don't really hear people talk about La Tomatina is that after the event you're quite likely to get sick and that tomato is really, really, hard to get out of your hair. Festival goers stand for hours in the street, waiting, drinking, singing and when the tomato comes raining down and the mulch fills and floods the streets its full of body fluids, urine, vomit, alcohol and your normal street dirt. The tomato acid certainly smooths the complexion but if you have sensitive skin, like Kara or half of everyone attending, the infamous 'pimply, itchy tomato rash' will plague you for days. Your eyes, will expel stringy yellow and green mucus for hours, fighting the gunk that went in them and as your body does the motions fighting toxins your lymph nodes swell so much that you can hardly put your arms down. So would we do it again? Hell yes! 

La Tomatina was our highlight in Valencia but we also spent the next two days enjoying the bilingual (Catalan and Spanish) city and recovering from the festival. 

Unidentified church

View from Plaza Ayuntamiento 

This included our walk to the beach (la playa) where we stumbled across some friendly kiwis when we were awkwardly climbing up the side of a bridge after taking a wrong turn. Valencia actually has the closest beach to Madrid. Huge and sandy we were surprised how big it was and the sea, a little rough, smelt amazing. 

Palm trees? Check! Sand? Check! Good to go! 

Plaza de la Virgen

We walked and jaunted through the central district and across from our hotel was also the futuristic Centre of Arts (Ciudad de las Artes y las Ciencias). 

Catching some sun at the
Palau de les Arts

In the Umbracle

Overall Valencia surprised us with what a liveable city it was! Surrounded by parks, the beach and mountains there was something for everyone. Even savoury gelato? 

Tomato? Salmon? Potato omelette? Anyone... 

Via Barcas, City Centre

Inside the central market

We couldn't leave without trying the famous local dish though and so on our last evening we went out for Paella! Actually considered a lunch time dish and never eaten at dinner it wasn't easy to come by. Through share fortune we came across an Arroceria (rice restaurant) and here they prepared us the traditional Paella Valencian. This hot pan of golden grainy yellow goodness is served under a huge slathering of green beans, buttery white beans, purple tinged artichokes, land snails in their striped shells and knobbly legs of rabbit, succulent pieces of chicken and warm duck. All the flavours fuse together with spices of turmeric, paprika and saffron creating what was a 'que rico' and delectably delicious dinner! 

Us and our Paella

Paella Valencian close up

Tot siens,

John and Kara