Attack of the Killer Tomatoes

For those of you who have not heard of La Tomatina, I have provided the following link for your information.

http://abcnews.go.com/Travel/story?id=5669478&page=1

It has pictures and little background story that every good red blooded American loves to enjoy. Now, I will tell you the real story behind that goes down in this little festival in Buñol, Spain.

ETA of the first thrown Tomato: Wednesday August 26th 2009, 11:00:00


Time: Saturday August 22th 2009, 15:35:09 (yes its a 24hr clock, rookies)

What one must do to begin La Tomatina is to sit around your living room with 6 of your closest boys, keep knocking around the idea of, "Yeah, man, lets effing go to the Tomatina, it'll be effing awesome!! etc... etc.."

This process takes place over at least 4 days. Everyone thinks its a great idea, but no one really makes any progress toward the goal of getting to the festival. Finally, a day before the party, your Austrian friend goes on-line and books two rental cars for 2 days. (Thank you Goose) After the cars are booked, you must go to El Rastro (the huge flea market down the street) to find clothes that you know will be destroyed. This step is optional, but fun nonetheless.

Time: Tuesday August 25th 2009, 16:15:48

The whole crew is assembled. 8 unripened boys heading to La Tomatina to become Marinara made Men. We pile into the Citroen C3's provided by the rental agency and head on the road.

Time: Tuesday August 25th 2009, 20:30:22

Flight Crews
Red: Wildcard, Rod, Goose, Sundown
Blue: Maverick, Iceman, Viper, Hollywood.

Four hours later, and we are still in the greater Madrid area. We have no clue which way is which and the Google Maps we have, aren't very good. We have made several stops for directions to get back on track, which is harder than you think when you haven't driven a car or used the freeway system, and solely relied on the metro for the past 3 months.

A quick bite to eat, some last minute supplies, and we are back on the road. A few crucial double albums are bought for the road trip off the side of the road. (De La Soul and STP) Road antics ensue, two cars packed full of vigor and excitement rage through the Spanish countryside to the coast. There may have been a full moon-ing, birds flying, and a few mama jokes thrown from car to car, but all expected.

Time: Wednesday August 26th 2009, 1:08:55

We arrive. Bodies achey and bladders full from the 5.5hour drive. We make one quick lap around the pueblo in the cars to find the best location to set camp, which took 5 minutes. Get out change into proper tomato attire and head to the drinking holes. 100-200 early revelers are out and about in the square with the same agenda as ours... Stay out until the last tomato is tossed.

Time: Wednesday August 26th 2009, 8:08:54

The sun starts to breach over the Spanish skyline. People who aren't crazy and decided to sleep a few hours start to horde in. The streets that were only littered with people throughout the night start to get full. The crew grab their last beers before the walk to the towne center. Chants, singing, and dancing accompany us as we head to the where all the action will go down. We were looking for the ham pole.

For those of you who don't know about the ham pole, where have you been... its a a greased telephone pole. Thats right a freaking 30foot telephone pole, greased with fat, I'm pretty sure its pig fat, and it has a ham on top of it... yes, a big 15lb ham.

What a ham pole looks like.

The point of the ham pole, is that the festival doesn't officially start until someone gets that freaking ham. We made valient efforts. At one point I had at leastfive full grown humans on my shoulders before the man-pile toppled over. And still no ham. Hours go by. The crew is exhausted. The ham taunts us from atop this over grown 30ft greased toothpick. Exhaustion starts to consume me as my body begs for me to halt my exertions.

Time: Wednesday August 26th 2009, 11:00:00

The water cannon sounds! A second wave of excitement and energy surge through my body. The hair stands on my arms. Like giants lumbering through a dense forest, the massive dump trucks full of tomatoes plow their way through the field of humans. The tiny streets of the small pueblo can barely fit the trucks and the humans. People press each other up against the walls to avoid the large wheels. Like large koopa-troopa transports, the trucks are hold thousands of pounds of tomatoes and about 20 people hurling tomatoes at the bystanders waiting for their chance to hurl there own tomatoes.

When the trucks finally get to their pre-decided spots, they unload. The hordes ravage the pile of tomatoes. The smell of ripen tomatoes is inescapable. Tomatoes without wings learn to fly. Chaos ensues and there is no order, no rhyme, nor rhythm for the next hour. You lose your friends in the following mayhem. Bend down to grab tomatoes, only to stand up and get 3 to the face and one to the chest. I grab tomatoes by the half dozen and look for my next victim. I am hunting. I find Tucker, we exchange tomato melees, and as he reaches down for more ammunition, I fill his face with a virile tomato paste. (He thanked later for this, as he found a nice young lady to remove the paste, with her bra) No one said it was a friendly food fight, just a food fight.

Time: Wednesday 26th 2009, 11:15:00

The second cannon sounds. No one is spared from the battle. No prisoners. We start the long walk back up the hill to find refuge. The locals bring out their hoses to try and rinse off some of the revelers along the way back to reality. The acid from the tomatoes itches the skin and burns the eyes. I see a pillow take flight and explode full of feathers. The feather stick quite will to my hair and I lumber back to the car looking like a bad halloween chicken. Testosterone crazed men try to rip the shirts of peoples backs on the walk back. I find Kevin along the way to they car. I take a second look at him and realize his face is not normal. Two butterfly stitches are attached to the right side of his face.

"WTF" I said.
"I got uppercutted in the face, I've been at the medical/festival headquarters for an hour"
"That sux"

Like I said, it was not a friendly fight.

Time: Wednesday 26th 2009, 4:20:09

Iceman after hours of being faced by tomatoes.

We get to the cars and rinse off as best as possible. I succumb to my exhaustion as we take our crew to the beach in Valencia. The water of the Mediterranean washes over us like a warm salt bath. We find some shade next to a wall and all pass out for an hour or more. We make the long trek back to Madrid and try to recall what we just experienced.

"Did that just happen?"
"Yeah, I think it did."

-Lo

"Every fight is a food fight when you're a cannibal" - Demetri Martin