Las Fallas: road trip to Valencia

Las Fallas.

It was non-negotiable - we had to go.

After several fruitless attempts to sign-up for the half-priced student bus groups, a couple friends and I rented a car for the trip to Valencia. There was no way we were paying 50€ to take the bus. We knew that renting a car was a risky - what if we couldn't find parking? What if some hooligan reveler trashed our rental car? Would we be able to drive home after a sleepless night wandering the streets of Valencia? It was a tough decision to make, but in the end...


We got a Mini. Isn't she beautiful? I can't tell you how refreshing it was to drive again, after weeks of germ-infested, un-American public transportation. Ah, the freedom of the open road!

How do you like my parking job? We weren't exactly sure this was a parking spot. It was more of a "space by the front door" spot. But in relation to the other parking jobs around us, it seemed perfectly legal.

Anyways. How can I describe Las Fallas? The crowds...


The fireworks...


The burning of massive, stories-high puppets in tiny town squares.



Mounds of churros and chorizo piled high on street carts and carnival booths.


Three million people thronging the city streets, well past four in the morning.



Small children throwing firecrackers right at my feet - you don't expect me to have a picture of that, do you?

No, my friends, I don't think my description could do Las Fallas justice. So for those of you, like me, who are nerds for the working class cultural roots of bizarre traditions, read what "Don Quijote" has to say about Las Fallas.

I will say that we walked at least ten, possibly twelve hours that day/night. We began with a quest to find On the Rocks - a pub that I'm sure does not exist. Once we abandoned (for the first time) our search for On the Rocks, we paused and marveled at the Arts & Sciences museums. They were magical in the twilight, and I had the BEST horchata I've EVER had there.




We never did find On the Rocks, Chemma, Hülya, or any of the other groups we were looking for. But I did run into my fellow San Diegans, Tim and Ajay found a fellow Brit, and Dominic found, um, Rick. Strange things happen in Valencia.

La Cremá, or the burning of the ninots, is a big deal. It takes an entire neighborhood committee nearly a year and tens of thousands of dollars to create these massive figures, all for them to be burned in mere minutes. The firefighters keep the party going, though. Check out the look on this bombero's face, seconds before he blasts the crazy college kids prancing about on the bench:



P.S. After the burning, a polka band surrounded by scores of dancing people played a few swirling, energetic tunes... and at the very center of it all was this adorable little heartbreaker:


We tried to catch a quick nap on the Mediterranean before the drive back to Madrid. The beach was dark and cold. Very, very cold.


When the hypothermia started to set in, we realized it was time to head home. Hasta luego, Valencia!