La Tomatina

in
Bunol, Spain
100,000 pounnds of tomatos
35,000 People
2 hours of chaos
My adventures in Bunol almost never took place due to the inability to book a train from France. We were told there was no room on any train that could get us there on time. However, Mark and I vowed to get there no matter what and left early enough to hitchhike the rest of the way if we had to. We made it to Bunol the night before the big tomato fight and ended up sleeping outside on some nice soft grass. We woke around 9 and went to work on what remained of our wine rations. The tomatos do not arrive until the crowd is able to cut down a ham that is tied to the top of a greasy pole. At first young kids try to climb the pole with no success. They manage to scrape off as much grease as possible using their hands and shirts so that you can actually get a grip on the pole. As people get tired of waiting a predictable form of cooperation emerges. Big, strong guys form a bottom layer. Next a layer of taller, more athletic guys. Finally, several layers of scrawny, lightweight guys who are good at climbing. The biggest problem of all is what I call the "hero complex". There is always some fat idiot with no athletic ability who thinks he's going to cut down the ham and be the hero of entire festival. Just when everyone is in place and we are just about to reach the ham two or three of these assholes come out of the nowhere and mess things up. The tower of human bodies collapses from too much weight and we have to start all over again. I spent about 45 minutes on the bottom level of this human ladder working my ass off to lift people who could never quite reach the ham.
At last we had a breakthrough when a young boy made it to the top. The problem was he had no way to get down the ham because you need a knife. Mark had the presence of mind to toss up a lighter. The boy made a one-handed grab that might remind sports fans of a Montana to Rice combination. By now thousands of people were cheering as the ham might come down at any second. Then the boy fell off and we had to start all over again. About 20 minutes later we finally did succeed in getting someone to the top again . . . this time with a knife. The ham came down and Mark and I were among the handful of people responsible for starting the last tomato fight of the century. By this time I was exhausted and bleeding from my shoulders because of all the people who had stood on me wearing shoes.
After the ham comes down there is about an hour of chanting, being sprayed with water, and tearing the shirts off people. The torn shirts are soon wadded up and thrown in all directions as a prelude to the tomato throwing. People chant " Necesito Fruta, damelo tomates," which roughly translates into I need fruit so give me some tomatos. Finally a shot is fired and 7 huge dumptrucks full of tomatos roll into town. For a solid hour there is no place to hide and nothing but pain as tomatos hit you from all directions. This is a fight you can't possibly win because every man is for himself. You get tomato juice in your eyes, ears, nose, and in places I can't talk about. By the end you feel as if you got beaten with a baseball bat and swam through a sewer. All your clothing is ruined, there is tomato paste clinging to all your body hair, and your body is red and sticky from head to toe. You just crave a shower and nap.
Above: Mark and I in France before we left for Spain. We made this sign to help us hitchhike and also packed lots of food and wine.
Right: Mark on the pole in one of our early unsuccessful attempts at bringing down the ham
I ended up taking a shower in the middle of town with a garden hose. We met up with a group of German guys and managed to polish off 5 liters of wine in an hour. In the mean time the city of Bunol was cleaned up by the townspeople. They use fire hydrants, brooms and all sorts of tried and true methods to get the streets spotless again within a few hours.
My final night in Spain was spent sleeping on cardboard boxes outside the Barcelona train station. This was actually fairly safe compared to wandering the streets full of drug dealers and thieves. We had lots of company including other Americans and two German girls who we eventually met up with at Oktoberfest. My adventures in Spain probably cost me less than $100 and were easily one of the highlights of my entire trip.