Salsafreak82's travel blogs:
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La Tomatina experience
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To say that I'm a big fan of Spain would be an understatement. Fans don't pee in their pants listening to people speak their language and enjoying the typical Spanish accent.
Since I first attended the course in Spanish culture and traditions I had this idea that I needed to see all the most important Spanish fiestas in person to be able to merge into the Spanish folklore and be closer to their day to day life. I already went to see las Fallas in Valencia, Semana Santa in Sevilla, Noche de San Juan in Galicia and of course the New Year and Reyes Magos in Madrid.
This trip was dedicated to another remarkable holiday which foreigners have most likely heard about but not everyone has lived for themselves, La Tomatina.
We went in a group of 4 gals.
The itinerary was trivial at first but we went on complicating it and adding more things on the agenda so that in the end it became a plan to visit 8 places in 5 days.
Madrid was on the list, in my own understanding only for the purpose of visiting one disco that I love so much, Palacio de Gaviria. I must mention the circumstances in which the travel began. Number one, earlier that day I had engaged in an embarrassing and shameful correspondence to lure someone into reading good and flattering stuff about myself (why? - to get them to like me, obviously) which went completely wrong after one of us copied the guy in question to another chain of emails which was commenting and discussing the plot. At least now there's no ungrounded hope or confusion about him liking me any more. I felt like shit. As we got to the airport the check-in lady gave us 3 seats together (as requested) ... in the 25th row.... i.e. together with the toilet. As one might imagine that wasn't exactly a mood lifter. I felt like shit. Now, the above mentioned disco, which I specifically wanted to visit that night, and which was the only thing capable of improving my spirits, happened to be closed for reconstruction. The girl at the entrance informed us that for the time being they had moved to Atocha, the railway station, and more precisely had re-arranged a WC common room into a dancing floor where they played my favorite music. Needless to repeat how I felt ... ;-)
We still went there. Most people admit that they sometimes sing in a shower, but it's not every time you get an opportunity to dance in the toilet, after all. Plus we had the flyers to get in for free.
Another interesting feature about this trip, which we only noticed later on, was the number of old farts who followed us throughout the whole adventure. And a 70 year old geezer in a sailor's cap and with sun glasses at that disco was a perfect start. I do have to admit that his generation is much more prepared to cruise girls than the drunken blokes our age who are all about sex and booze. The guy actually prepared and printed out a bunch of poems (of his own production I suspect) that he was handing out to girls who danced with him. Very romantic.
El amor traspasa las fronteras del Deseo
Retiene al corazon en tension desenfrenada
Si llegas a comprender, la vida no vale nada
If he was 40 years younger I might have even liked him ;-) Although, come to think about it, I probably would have thought that he was a freak anyway...
Thankfully, he wasn't the only guy I got to dance with that night. A rueda with 3 amazing latinos, all to my disposal, perfect dancers passing me on from one to another till I was sweaty and dizzy and weak in the knees, that was a real treat.
On Sunday we rented a car and went all the way down to South East, Cartagena to explore a bit more of authentic real Spain. As the drive was long all we had strength (and desire) for was to chill out at the beach when we got there.
I drifted away to sleep immediately as my head met the towel, which is what I always do at the beach, an annoying marmot habit which most people complain about because they would expect to have company while they are relaxing and not watch a motionless body sizzle in the sun. I woke up an hour later, opened my eyes and watched the sea. Nothing had changed in the scenery except for one thing, which I first thought was a fruit of my sleepy imagination or a delusion. A huge fat body (I couldn't even tell if it belonged to a woman or a man at first) was going into the water, topless, together with a friend of hers (it was a she after all) and an ancient ruin, supposedly a husband. Not that I haven't seen topless women at the beach before but they usually are either flat boards who have nothing at all either to show or hide for that matter, or young model like figures who are soo proud of their treasures they can't hold them in. For me this was certainly the first when a greasy 60+ caterpillar uncovered all her wobbly bits and went jumping over the waves, both her breasts scattering in every possible direction. The trio enjoyed themselves in the sea with the innocence of 5 year olds playing in a paddling pool. And then something delightful happened. The old codger who was accompanying the caterpillar suddenly took off his swimming pants and chucked them joyfully into the air in a gesture that imitated a very skillful strip tease action and should have been accompanied by a victorious "yahoo" shout. He was very proud of himself. Now, the emotion you feel seeing an 80 year old scrotum is twofold. Both shocking and fun. From the realization of the fact that you are witnessing smth which you won't probably (and hopefully) be seeing again any time soon. A good laugh though.
We traveled with the navigator all the time. A really helpful thing but for the times it brings you to some much unexpected places that I doubt a real native knows they exist. Yet somehow, if there are two places with the same name, like Plaza de la Cruz in Murcia (which is their main square, but, as we discovered to our own surprise, also a tiny crossroads in the middle of nowhere in the Murcian suburbs), well you know where you'll go first. My friend was ecstatic though. How on earth were we to find that place if it wasn't for the little gadget. We would have left Murcia without even knowing there was such a wonderful scary and dark crossroads. Bet no tourist has ever seen it. And we have! It should probably make us feel so special. The stupid GPS made her day that night)))
As we were eating churros with chocolate the next morning, one of the girls solemnly announced that from her experience, if breakfast was good so would the rest of the day be. Turns out, it is actually true. It did indeed turn out to be one of the most relaxing and nicest days of the whole trip.
To start with, we discovered that Cartagena is an amazingly nice little city with its own archaeological places of interest and colonial charm; we found a paradise looking beach in La Manga, at the Mediterranean coast later on, which brought me into the state of such childish excitement, I nearly got a stroke from jumping that much (that's why you are not supposed to get so excited after you are 25); we have bathed in another sea, Mar Menor, just across the road, two steps away from that ideal beach;
and to top it off that day Russia had finally come in 3d in the Olympics so we were ready to celebrate. We sat on the bench facing the old Carthaginian wall and with our backs to the main street to open a bottle of red wine and cheese. It was already dark. Police was right there across the avenue, and for one moment there I thought what it would be like if they'd arrested us for drinking in public places (It would have finally spoiled my impeccable reputation of mama's girl) but they decided not to mess with the Russians. As we sat into the car to drive back home two hours later, we decided to introduce some culture into the masses, and cracked up one of the few Russian songs I had recorded on a CD, Chernyi Bumer, aka the most ridiculous song of all times. We sang along at the top of our voices just to make sure no happy Carthaginian would miss it.
Next day we went to Elche, a city famous for three patrimonies, of which we actually just saw one. The most important and tourist friendly one, because it was the only shady and literally "coolest" place in town where one could hide from the boiling sun. I'm not very good with heat, that's no secret. A stroll through Palmeral, what is known to be the world's biggest palm grove, really saves lives, or at least one life. Mine.
And the next stop was again the beach, but this time the one in Costa Brava, closer to Valencia. From now on I will always remember Benidorm as a) a packed beach full of foreigners from all over the world and b) a place that hosts world's largest community of nudists, most members of it being old bags who just enjoy exhibiting their bare tits. Not a very cheerful sight, trust me. You would think one would try to hide those if they had any sense of esthetics, but no. There they were, a parade of ugliness displaying everything that in fact needs THOROUGH covering up, if you ask me.
The sea bottom is also rocky and the water was not too clean, which is normal for such a commercial and touristy spot, so we really didn't understand what it is people think when they pay money to spend two weeks in such a place. D'oh!
We reached Requena in the evening. We were late as it was for the dinner and were really keen to check in and leave asap, but the friendly receptionist girl was not prepared to let go so easily. Not sure what it was exactly that was driving her verbal frenzy, her Spanish blood or the fact that she runs the place with her mother (and is probably a bit bored from time to time), but she so eagerly jumped at the first opportunity to chat and explain us every detail of the house rules, I felt the conversation lasted half an hour (although it probably took less in reality).
On the other hand, this actually happened to be the best place of all we stayed at during this trip, so I'd really recommend it to anyone who goes. Called Hotel Patilla Ciudad de Requena (don't try to find it on the GPS map, complete waste of time, it's just not there... just follow the road in that direction (or make a few circles around it, that also helps) and the minute you'll get desperate that you can't find it and stop to ask someone, it will be right in front of you). Very Spanish, very cozy, hospitable and friendly. Everything you need. And late check out is not a problem
We went down to Bunol, because I promised them there would be paella cook offs around the main square and we would be able to have a good dinner there. The crowd of course was there and people were eating all over the place, but at a closer investigation all those people turned out to be just locals dining with their families in front of their houses, right there in the street, and surprising as it was no one was hassling to feed us.
Having lost every hope to taste paella that night we decided to sit wherever we would find and it happened to be a small yard in front of the living blocks where both locals and foreigners gathered to eat and drink before the big day. The waiter saw us immediately and was very quick to serve. I think we challenged his brain having changed our order 5 or 6 times in a row and with my friend checking out flirtingly every single plate he brought, he was enjoying us just as much as we did him. Food was good, weather was nice and the waiter was cute. We wend to sleep after 1am that night.
And finally the culmination. We got into Bunol at 10am an hour before the carnage was set to kick off, parked the car just outside the town and walked all the way down to the main square. As the crowds walk the couple of kilometers to the town there are stalls selling anything that this event could require - shirts, swimming goggles and of course beer. The streets around Plaza del Pueblo were already packed and people were chanting Ole ole ole as the locals threw water on us (by the bucket, hose and all that).
At 11am a banger was fired off and it all started. Well not immediately as it takes a while for the truck with tomatoes to get through the crowd. 6 guys in the truck throw tomatoes into the masses and then it's just tomato sludge you are hurling at the others. There is no opportunity at all to swerve them, as you cannot even move. So whatever flies into your face is basically yours.
The main rule is that you need to squash the tomatoes before you throw them. Well, tomatoes get squashed indeed, but so do people. I thought my poor feet didn't deserve to fall victim of the bungalow built enthusiasts around me who were bouncing and swaying in a dance as they waited for another truck to bring more, so I lifted up my feet every now and then, also in an attempt not to lose my flip floppers. Turns out you can perfectly trust the crowd to hold you (the only thing it's difficult to breathe when you hang in there, between them). My ribs gave that cracking sound from time to time and as it became more difficult to breathe I had to start pushing the bodies apart. My arms hurt for two days after the Tomatina because of all the exercise it took to stay alive. Physically very challenging I must say.
I looked back at the crowd and noticed my friend, already far away from me, sticking her neck out as far as she could to get some air, her eyes growing notably bigger when someone squeezed her more, it reminded me the face of that squirrel in the Ice Age when he got stuck between two glacier plates. She kept smiling all the time as did the rest of the freaks around her. It's interesting how the old principle "the worse, the better" works with some people ;-)
The one and probably only difference this makes from the Moscow tube situation is that it's a positively charged crowd. And it's fun to see. The moment you are there you don't realize it's risky, you just laugh.
We agreed to meet up back at the parking lot in case we got lost, so I ended up walking the 1 km back all by myself. Well, not entirely by myself, because I met another Spanish guy who was in the same kind of situation and decided to walk me to the car as a real gentleman. Funny that in normal circumstances dressed decently and smelling like Tiffany I'm not attractive enough to pull a guy in the street, but with tomato pulp all over my hair and face and stinking like proper ketchup, there we were...
The guy was cute and offered to buy me a coke (3 times!!!) which I really didn't expect from a non Russian. As the walk was long and up the hill, I did concede in the end. After all, I'm a girl, why not work it???
He also invited us all to the party they were gonna throw over at his place in Valencia, but it was already too late as we had to make our way back. Such a shame. As I said, the guy was cute... and he spoke Spanish ;-)
Still stinking like tomatoes gone bad, singing "baila morena" with Julio Iglesias and filling in the postcards we were planning to send from the airport just before we left, we set off back to Madrid.
It was then that I realized that in a short span of just 5 days we actually managed to:
- travel 1500 km by car
- dance in two discos, one of them being a toilet
- swim in two seas
- visit an archaeological dig and have a walk through a palm grove
- witness both men and women over 60 naked
- visit both an ideal and a hell place for beach holiday
- try most of Spanish food, including paella, churros, horchata, sangria, churrasco, tapas etc
- get a tomato in the face at one of the most popular food fights ever
- and just enjoy ourselves....
Not too shabby for a long weekend, is it?
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