After yet another period of prolonged blog-negligence, I’ve decided to take a new approach. As my posts are normally of epic proportions, for a change I will update you in three bite-size chunks; one for each weekend I have failed to write about. A good idea in theory, but let’s see how the ‘bite-size’ part fares...
So, cast your minds back to the 18th of March. Spring was imminent – longer days, blossoming trees and promising but brief bursts of sunshine – but still not quite delivering the goods. After a depressing spell of almost non-stop heavy rain in Cuenca, I was worried that our trip to Valencia for the famous ‘Las Fallas’ festival (which would involve us sleeping under the stars with only a flimsy tent for shelter) would be, quite literally, a washout.
Luckily for Jaclyn, Krista and I, however, when we arrived in Valencia the sun was beating down and temperatures were upwards of 25 degrees. If that weren’t enough to put us in the mood to party, we were met from the station at Pucol (a small seaside town about 13 miles north of Valencia itself) by our campsite reps, who immediately whipped out 3 crisp, cold beers for us to sip on during the short drive to the campsite. Despite my usual aversion to beer, I gratefully took a few gulps – after all, it was free!
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| Sunset at the campsite (the pool looks deceptively clean here!) |
Back at the campsite, we realised it really was what it said on the tin: ‘festival camping’. Although one end of the campsite still resembled ‘civilised camping’, with happy families and smug retired couples lounging in matching deck-chairs underneath striped awnings attached to their state-of-the-art caravans (one couple even had a colossal satellite dish hooked up to their mobile pad!), the other end was unmistakably meant for laid-back party types. Around the filthy swimming pool, rows and rows of bog-standard igloo tents were pitched like sardines in a can, with sleeping bags and thin foam sleeping mats which had seen better days piled up in front of them, waiting to be claimed by the hordes of twenty-somethings who would soon be arriving. Krista, Jaclyn and I opted to share one tent – as opposed to one of us having to bunk with a stranger – which was cosy, to say the least. The mosquito net of our tent had a large rip in it, which only added to the general amusement aroused by our luxury accommodation.
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| The tents, pitched almost comically close together! |
Eager to take advantage of the sun – not to mention the €5 all-you-can-drink beer and sangria – we dumped our bags in our tent and headed out to the campsite’s play area, where a makeshift bar had been set up. Sipping on sangria in the sun and chatting to an Australian backpacker, all the nostalgia and fond memories of being a ‘real traveller’ when I was in South America came flooding back to me and I realised, as I quite frequently do, how much of a buzz I get from being on the move and experiencing new things.
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| The beach at dusk, with a full moon in the three-tone sky |
Later on, a little bit drowsy from a combination of heat and alcohol, the three of us headed to the beach to watch the sunset. It was breathtaking, and as dusk set in the full moon appeared in all its glory, framed by an almost unrealistic three-tone violet, mauve and pink sky.
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| One of the fallas |
At 9pm, after several more beverages, two coaches rolled up to the campsite to take all us merry-makers into Valencia for the main event. I should probably explain a little bit about Las Fallas at this point: it’s a traditional Valencian festival held every year in March, to commemorate the Valencian Saint Joseph. Each neighbourhood in of the city has its own organised group of people (called a casal faller) who spend all year holding fundraising events and dinners in order to produce an enormous monument (called a falla) which will be burnt at the grand finale of the two-week long festival. The fallas themselves truly are works of art, elaborately constructed out of wood, papier mache and wax, with mind-boggling attention to detail.
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The monuments usually tell a story, and many of them are ‘in-jokes’ understood only by Valencian people, while others are political statements or satirical observations on things like the media or consumerism. The fallas are displayed all around the city for the public to see, and there are prizes for the best ones. Every day and night throughout Las Fallas, the streets are brimming with hundreds of thousands of people. There are huge firework displays and a daily ‘mascleta’, which is a coordinated display of deafening firecrackers, almost unique to Valencia. Falleres and falleras wear traditional Valencian costume and explosions can be heard sporadically all through the day and night. Quite simply, it is a gargantuan celebration of all things related to fire and dynamite!
For five hours, Jaclyn, Krista and I roamed the streets of Valencia, taking in all the sights and sounds and revelling in the genuinely electric atmosphere which the whole city seemed to be awash with. After watching the spectacular fireworks display – the biggest and best of the whole festival, as we were there on the last night – reflected in a window (we couldn’t get close enough to see it for real, thanks to the throngs of people) it was time to call it a night, so we wandered back to our designated pick-up point to wait for the coach to get us at 2am.
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| Streets lined with dynamite, prepared for the daily mascleta |
Unfortunately, the extremely laid-back Australian, Finnish, Scottish and New Zealandish(?!) organisers didn’t rock up until 3am. Most of them were drunk (thankfully they weren’t driving the coaches themselves!) and wanted to carry on the party back at the campsite, but in our sleep-deprived, irritable state we weren’t in the mood for more partying. We finally got back at 4am and collapsed into our tent for one of the worst night’s sleeps I’ve ever had. It felt like we were sharing our tent with about fifty inebriated Californians, a few Australians and a token Scot (who happened to be one of the staff, though he wasn’t behaving like it). If we hadn’t been so exhausted, we might’ve found it funny. Still, everything is an experience and I can wholeheartedly say the fatigue was worth it!
¡Hasta luego!
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