Those cute little cafeteria food fights from middle school got nothing on this. The fruit flinging festival hit my radar maybe a couple of years ago when I was researching events around the world looking for my next getaway. The internet is full of pictures of happy participants making it all so appealing to join in the more than 70-year long tradition. I had to go and kick off my Spanish journey proper! Full immersion into the culture, y’all, and ohhh, boy, I was immersed alright… let me tell you how it went down. (Useful pro tips at the end of this very long story!)
My La Tomatina experience began with a 3AM departure on a bus with no toilet and zero sleep since the night before. I was comforted by everyone else in the same predicament. Honestly, the 3-hour ride wasn’t bad at all and everyone I talked to was super friendly. As for the toilet worry, we made a pit stop at a convenience store with plenty of them. We arrived in Buñol on time, but wound up waiting in the parking lot for over half an hour for, well, I don’t know why exactly. All Around Festivals was a touch disorganized, but I liked the coordinators and, besides freezing my ass off, it wasn’t a big deal once we finally got on festival grounds. Also, the wait gave us time to pair off, so I found a buddy! We were greeted by loud party music and swarms of street vendors selling sunglasses, purse pouches, food and the like. We followed the coordinators downhill through the town for a mile or so until we reached a plateau, I dub ground zero, where the rest of our All Around Festival goers had already gathered with sangria in hand. The walk down had lovely views, but being alert was paramount. Townspeople were equipped with hoses and buckets of water straight away. Luckily, some bus peeps were way ahead of me and my buddy so we watched them get splashed allowing us a chance to safely stow our phones into waterproof cases. Her and I spent the morning like everyone else at ground zero drinking sangria, talking, and dancing to a line of talented drummers getting us pumped, further enhancing the exciting anticipation of the event. Pre-tomato throwing of booze commenced as people let loose their inhibitions and sangria cups.
After a bit I hopped into the porta potty line thinking myself clever while loads others were still distracted dancing to the drummers. 45 minutes later I got to pee. There was a total of 1 porta potty per gender next to the stage and another set of solo toilets a short walk back up hill. That’s it. You can bet there’s more than just tomato juice filling up the streets every year.
There were a few girls ahead of me when they announced it was time to make our way up to the tomato zones. My festival buddy found me still waiting and was sweet enough to grab a cup of sangria when I told her how parched I was as I had nothing to drink the whole time I stood in line. Finally, we got to join the crowd and entered where a banner hung proclaiming Zone 1. It was madness, like cattle corralling into a narrow, fenced queue. By Zone 2 there was barely a line moving. Hordes of people had gathered from every which way procuring their spots while townspeople above dumped buckets of water from windows and sprayed us with hoses. Giant blue tarps covered the buildings now, completely transforming the charming looking town into what I thought akin to Ninja Warrior. The obstacle of carving a path through the crowd without getting wet was impossible. I had already put on my goggles to protect my contact lenses from being washed away when a bro dude suddenly threw a bucket of water at my face. My goggles lifted upwards when I got hit a second time. I guess he had two buckets. He cheered with his other bro dudes before turning around to refill from a spicket jutting out from the side of a building. I smirked and thanked him and hastily got the fuck away from there.
Closer to Zone 4 my buddy and I had a great view of the climbing pole. Tradition says someone has to climb up the slippery pole and reach the ham at the top for the tomato throwing to officially start. Although, it starts promptly at 11AM with or without this accomplishment. There were a couple of contenders very close to grabbing it, but I’m sad to report no one claimed el jamon de 2019. With less than 10 minutes to go, we decided to move away from the center where there was no longer a path, but just people shoving each other to get by. We planted our feet a bit uphill next to some Europeans who sat atop a window ledge a couple of feet off the ground and partially covered by a tarp. A gun fired soon after and cheers erupted from the top of Zone 1. We could see the first truck slowly making its way down and it wasn’t long before tomatoes rained upon us by people tossing them out of the truck. The smell was overwhelming. I thought perhaps it was my repulsion of tomatoes that I smelled, but then the Europeans behind me started gagging. I laughed at them and hoped they’d keep down the sangria.
People spilled into the street after the truck passed and the fight had officially begun. I spilled with them collecting fruit from the ground and squishing before chucking them all around me. Pretty much the only rule was to squish before you throw. I wasn’t aiming at all, just throwing them as far as I could. It was fun, every part of it; the squishing and throwing and ducking. A few minutes later the second truckload was nearing so we had to retreat back along the buildings to allow it to pass. I was unarmed and obliviously waiting for the truck when my face was struck so hard I saw spots for a split second. I was stunned wondering what the fuck hit me. I couldn’t believe a tomato could hurt that much. I turned to the Europeans to ask them if a bruise was surfacing. We exchanged ooo’s and oh my’s for 2 seconds before a tomato slammed against the wall between their own faces. My head whipped around to see a group of dicks directly across the street from us cheering and laughing. Those party fouling motherfuckers were throwing unsquished tomatoes as hard as they could like baseballs. The truck started creeping by creating a barrier before I could get too angry.
I protected my face from the downpour, newly aware of the hurt potential. The last thing I wanted was to take another to the face. Took some hits from above before it felt like a brick thudded square on my elbow and leisurely rolled off instead of bouncing away. After the truck passed, I looked at my arm to see it scraped and bleeding. I think a rock hit me and that was about the time I tapped out. I checked on my festival buddy who I had forgotten in all that time and she evidently tapped out much sooner. The Europeans had snuck away and she was sitting on the window ledge avoiding the onslaught. I stayed in the street near her, the both of us trying to use the tarp for protection.
An Australian couple approached us soon after and I showed off my face and elbow to explain why I was hiding. The guy showed me one side of his face smeared with blood still freshly trickling down from a wound above his hairline. It looked a lot worse than my boo-boo. They cowered with us for a hot minute, but testosterone overcame the guy and he eventually ran back out there to pummel.
A few more trucks passed all the while me and the ladies remained underneath the shelter of the tarp. I didn’t like that I was missing so much of the fight, but the unabated pain of my injuries kept me from further participation. I was mid-sentence talking to Aussie when someone from behind us kicked a mass of splattered tomatoes upward in our direction. Tomato jizz got in my mouth. It was funny, but fucking gross. That same someone kept kicking. Aussie was not having it and ran away yelling at him to stop it. She was adorable. My buddy and I decided to vacate shortly after. We were encumbered by a river of squashed tomatoes and lingering festival goers happily scooping the mess to throw at shower retreaters. Someone got me good right over my head.
We evaded down an open alley and stopped to take pictures of ourselves before coming across a fountain where our Aussie friend happened to be cleaning up. The gun went off again signaling the official end of the festival, hallelujah. We all helped each other get as clean as possible before parting ways. My buddy and I needed to change back at the bus where we left our clothes, so we didn’t bother going in the opposite direction to ground zero for showers. We didn’t know if the wait would be anything like the porta potty situation. It was a good call as there were plenty of townsfolk willing to hose us down. We got turned around for a while trying to figure out how to get back to the buses, but finally, the nth person we asked for assistance was able to point us the right way. The city wasted no time washing away the tomato massacre. Clean streets unveiled, tarps disappeared and it looked more like the charming town we first encountered.
We got changed and had an hour to kill before buses departed. Another member of our group walked with us back into town to a restaurant serving €5 plates of paella. We danced to the loud entrance music while devouring the paella and it was the best way I could imagine the festival ending. (Because there seemed to be no end in sight when it was raining rotting fruit.)
Would I do this again? Fuck. No. The fight was my worst experience with food ever. And I fucking love food. Everything else was a shiny beacon of merriment. Special shout out to all of the wonderful people I met who truly elevated the experience. Cheers to you all and safe travels!
Pro tips:
- Wear white, but more importantly, wear an outfit you don’t give a shit about. Extra pro tip: my buddy brought a shower cap which did a pretty good job of protecting her hair. As you recall, though, she hid through most of the festival.
- Bring water and a snack for the bus ride. They give you nothing.
- Bring a change of clothes. If you forget a change of shoes, you can buy chonclas from a number of stalls for €8 or just wear your disgusting tomato tennies for a few hours and deal with it like I did.
- Bring a waterproof something to protect your phone, ID and money. I took my driver’s license – some people had copies of their passport. Either is fine if it’ll fit in the bag.
- Don’t bring anything valuable you can’t carry into the tomato fight in said waterproof protection. Small lockers should be available if you don’t want to leave anything on the bus.
- Wear swim goggles for protection against tomato acids.
- Drink sangria, but beware the toilet situation.
- Dance with the drummers and fellow festival goers.
- Be prepared for buckets of water.
- Beware shirt rippers; wear two tops or one top with a bathing suit underneath. As far as I know, only one of our bus mates had his shirt ripped off by someone who politely asked him first. Might have been a fluke.
- Don’t get hit in the face.
- Get dirty.
- Take pictures and videos.
- Don’t eat the tomatoes.
