Tomato Soup

What do you get when you put truckloads of tomatoes and tens of thousands of people together in a small town of population 9000? 

Human tomato soup.

Let's start from the beginning. 

In 2008 I had embarked on my big travel adventure and eventual move to London. Part of that adventure was to attend Spain's annual festival, La Tomatina.

La Tomatina is Spain's annual tomato fight festival. The festival happens every last Wednesday of August in a small town called Bunol, located about an hour from the seaside city of Valencia. The tomato fight has been a tradition in Bunol since the mid 1940's for an unknown reason, but was so enjoyable, it was brought back every year. It has now grown so much that people from all over the world make their way to this small town each year to participate. 

Most tomato fighters stayed in Valencia, and I was no different. On the morning of the festival, dressed up in the costume decided between myself and my friend E (white shorts, white singlet and a white apron with red polkadots), we headed to the train station with 2 other friends we'd met in Ibiza a few weeks previously. 

As with any large event in any city, public transport was the primary option to get to the destination. So we pack ourselves onto the train for an hour long ride. Once we get to Bunol, we follow the thousands of people already there through the spiralling streets of the town and slowly make our way to the town centre. As we walk through the town, I notice that most of the locals have opted to be out of town during the festival and have left their homes locked with their windows boarded up. However, some locals have chosen to stay and watch the crowd flood their home town as they spray water from hoses out of their windows. This later becomes a blessing as it gets so hot and dirty that the water is welcomed by all.

Making our way to the town centre

Once in the town centre, we stake our claim on where we want to be positioned for the fight. This is so much harder than it sounds. It's near impossible. There are so many people that there's hardly any room to move. It's basically a planned riot. Think of a moshpit. Now envision the moshpit extending through every street in a small town. The fight has not started yet, but people are getting their T-shirts ripped off as they try to fend their way through the crowd. You can't choose which direction you move, you just go where the crowd takes you. You can't fall over in this mass of pushing and shoving because there is no room for you to fall into. You just get pressed up against multiple someones in every which direction and hope you don't lose your friends.

Playing sardines in the town centre

The festivities begin in the late morning with the Palo Jabon. The Palo Jabon is a leg of ham on the end of a 10 foot pole which is covered in grease. The goal is to climb to the top of the pole to retrieve the ham. The successful person wins the ham. I was lucky to be central enough in the town square to witness this part of the festival. Man after man is seen trying to climb up this slippery pole. As one fails to succeed, another is already on his back trying to gain extra elevation to reach the top for the prized ham. When the ham is finally claimed, gunshots are fired to signify the beginning of the tomato fight.

Where are the tomatoes? That's what I'm wondering as I'm pretending to be a sardine in a can. I've already described how crammed together we all are, well it gets worse. Soon we see where the tomatoes are. They're in fruit trucks. Fruit trucks slowly making its way through the streets of the town. The streets that we are standing on. Now we all have to squeeze onto the sidewalks so the trucks can make its way through. I don't know how it was done, but it was done. Numerous times throughout the fight. 

As the trucks drive through, numerous people in the back of the trucks pelt squashed tomatoes (squashed to minimise the pain caused)  into the crowd. Basically you catch or pick up the tomatoes and throw it back out to anyone and everyone. Luckily as a girl, all I had to do was hold open my top and let the tomatoes eventually fall into my cleavage. No hand and eye co-ordination required (which in my case, does not exist). Catch and throw. Catch and throw. Pull tomatoes out of boobs and throw. Aim for the people in the trucks or aim for no one in particular. The fight is a frenzy of flying tomatoes, jets of water spraying over the crowd and shouts of joy, frustration and confusion. There are tomatoes everywhere! My white clothes are now orange. There's clumps of tomato in my hair. Tomato juice is running down my face. The goggles I wore to keep the juice out is fogged up. The ground is covered in tomatoes. In some parts of the city, the mixture of tomatoes and water are up to our knees. 

Nice and clean before the fight

During the tomato fight

BANG BANG BANG!! Gunshots are fired to signify the end of the tomato fight. That was one of the craziest hours in my life. Everyone soon stops throwing tomatoes, start looking around for their friends and inspects the damage done to their clothes. 

Post tomato fight. Take note of the tomato staining on the cleavage (not mine)

MmMmm Soupy goodness

 Slowly, everyone starts making their way out of town and back to the train station. The locals who have stayed around for the spectacle offer a free shower from their garden hoses to help clean out the tomatoes. I couldn't be bothered lining up for these impromptu showers and decide to try to get on the train as soon as possible and head back to my hotel in Valencia. 

It is only lunchtime and the sun has just reached it's peak for the day. It is also smack bang in the middle of summer, so temperatures are in the 30's (degrees). Our clothes start to dry up. So does the tomatoes. This is going to be painful to wash off and out. 

The trains are packed and people are pushing their way on to get back to their accomodation as soon as possible. By the time we are back in Valencia, my clothes are dry and crusty. My body is tomato stained. The clumps of tomato in my hair is dry. And best of all, the heat is cooking the tomatoes so I don't need to worry about bad body odour. I smell much worse. I smell like sour, over riped tomatoes. Getting back on the city's metro trains, the locals attempt to stay away from the tomato stained, cooked tourists. They also attempt to be subtle about their appreciation of our smell. Some fail, as I notice sour, puckered facial expressions. It's hard not to laugh about the situation. So we laugh freely.

We finally find ourselves back at our hotel. Once there, it's a mad dash to the hotel room we're sharing - the prize being the first to use the shower. Unfortunately I didn't make it there first. So it was a relatively long wait before I got my chance to smell and look normal again.

This was one of the craziest experiences in my life. I don't think I'd ever go again, but it's an experience I'll never forget.

**Please excuse the poor quality of photo. These were taken with a disposable camera :)**