As night falls in Valencia on Spain's Mediterranean coast on this balmy March evening, energy and excitement are palpable in the noisy air. This is the week of Las Fallas, the mother of all parties, even in Europe where festivals and fiestas are a way of life.
Valencia swells to three million people for these festivities every year: they come to be deafened by earth-shaking firecrackers, to enjoy artery-clogging but irresistible street foods, and to wonder at the beauty of Valencian women in handcrafted regional costumes or the incredible, five-storey illuminations of the Tunnels of Light. But most of all, they come to see the flaming demise of more than 700 huge statues in an orgy of pyromania.
Some believe that Las Fallas (literally, the torches, and pronounced FAI-yass) has its roots in the middle ages, when artisans disposed of the broken bits and pieces saved during the winter by burning them to celebrate the spring equinox. Until the beginning of the 20th century, the fallas - there is no decent English term - were tall boxes with three or four wax dolls dressed in fabric clothing. Today, there are professional fallas builders, using cardboard, papier maché, polystyrene and soft cork easily molded with hot saws. These techniques have allowed the creation of fallas more than 12 metres high. Artists work year round on their creations and every falla tells a story, historical or satirical, political or humorous.
We find our first falla and shuffle around it, sardined by the throng, oohing and aahing at its complexity. A dozen or so more fallas and we're still oohing and aahing at every one: mythical creatures from Atlantis and the Titans, fairy tale scenes, even American presidents all come to short-lived life. Short-lived because on the final night of the festival, around midnight, these fallas are burnt as huge bonfires in the cremà (the burning), the climax of the whole gaudy event.
We follow a parade of gorgeous Spanish women in bright brocade gowns, which sweep the ground, making them look as if they are floating along. They are a feast for the eyes: sashes across shoulders, fine aprons of golden lace, elaborate hair styles swept back from haughty foreheads and held in place with golden combs. They are heading towards the Square of the Virgin by the city's cathedral, where a massive floral statue (10 - 12 metres tall) gazes down benignly on the milling crowds. Over two days, thousands of people have brought bunches of red and white carnations, which have been woven into the wooden frame to form a resplendent cloak for the Virgin and Child.
In contrast, promptly at 2 p.m. each day, the mascleta (an explosive barrage of firecrackers and fireworks) takes place in the Plaza del Ayuntamiento, one of the city's main squares. This display is not about colour but about noise, a symphony of noise lasting just 10 minutes with earthquake reverberations that make the entire city shake. Say goodbye to your hearing: the noise is indescribably loud. A pall of grey smoke wafts on the slight breeze. No wonder the most popular souvenir to buy during Las Fallas is a kerchief that can be pulled, bandit style, over the mouth and nose.
This week, all our senses will be assaulted, not just our hearing. We follow our noses to street-side stalls selling churros (deep fried pastries), buñuelos (pumpkin fritters served with thick, hot, chocolate sauce), orxata (a sweet, milky drink made from tiger nuts), and sugarglazed fartons (pastry fingers served with orxata) to get a quick sugar fix. Fires blaze in metal wheelbarrows as cooks toss skeins of large shallot onions called calçots onto the flames, searing them briefly on each side. Great vats of paella simmer on pavement grills. The smells of sweet and savoury foods blend together in the warm air and our taste buds will be corrupted forever.
After dark, with thousands of people all heading for the Tunnels of Lights, we can't get lost. We jostle along the uneven pavements at the pace of the crowd, hemmed in by people and the narrowness of the small streets. We are swept along until, turning a corner, we suddenly see the first gorgeous display. It takes our breath away. Five stories high and a whole block long, the structure puts the U.K.'s famous Blackpool illuminations to shame. We see two separate Tunnels of Light: at the first, rock music pulses out into the night, deafening even with our fingers stuffed into our ears. At the second, classical music blasts out equally loudly. No wonder local residents often leave town during these celebrations.
On the final night, St. Joseph's night, the fallas will burn in a riot of flames in what might be the world's most extravagant legal pyrotechnic display. At one falla, a fuse cord is strung between the effigy and a tree and kerosene is splashed over the entire structure - in two other cases this is done by men who are smoking! Health and safety concerns have no place here, apparently, or maybe the gods of fiesta will protect everyone. The person lighting the fuse wisely stays well back as the flames leap up and great clouds of thick, oily smoke pour up into the night. It's the kind of smoke that will surely blacken not only the facades of nearby buildings but also the lungs of the residents. As the flames really take hold, the audience steps back to avoid the wall of heat that emanates from the fastdisappearing effigy. It's all over in a few minutes and the crowds move on: there are about 700 fallas to be burned tonight.
These fires will purge the sorrows of the previous year, a dramatic spring cleaning to get rid of impurity and negativity. But surely after such hard work, such creativity and such enormous expense it must be hard to see everything go up in flames.
"This festival could not take place anywhere else in the world. Only Valencia would allow it!" Crammed shoulder to shoulder in the darkness, our anonymous new street-side friend is probably right. We have seen things here that would make any insurance company run for cover but it is what we have not seen that is intriguing. We have not seen a single instance of drunkenness or unpleasant or aggressive behaviour. We have not seen a single out-of-control teenager. We have not had our pockets picked or cameras stolen. Instead, we have seen elderly gentlemen tossing firecrackers with the glee of children, families enjoying the mild night air, swaying to the music of the Tunnels of Lights or reverently placing flowers at the feet of the Virgin.
If you are a person who dislikes loud noise and dense crowds, Las Fallas is not the place for you. The five days and nights of this fiesta-to- end -all-fiestas are one continuous, raucous, seething party. But the city survives this cheerful, annual onslaught and, like a phoenix, rises from the ashes each time to face another year. It is, quite simply, unforgettable: just don't forget to bring the ear plugs.
