Before you attend Les Falles de València (that isn’t a typo, it’s in Valenciano this time instead of Spanish) you need to ask yourself a few questions. Are you agoraphobic? Afraid of crowds? Bothered by loud explosions? Reluctant to stay out until dawn wandering the streets from one huge block party (called Verbenas) to the next? These are all legitimate excuses for avoiding Valencia during Las Fallas (pronounced fa-yas), the city’s most important festival of the year and the biggest celebration I have ever witnessed first-hand.
I have never been one to make lists about places you should see or things to do; as if life can be reduced to a check-list and when you cross off that last item you can throw yourself on a sword or something. I have never really been a big fan of events of almost any sort, preferring to avoid the crowds and the exaggerated claims of the organizers and friends who insist that I simply must see this or that. I didn’t have much choice in this matter seeing how—in a fairly literal manner—I lived right in the middle of Las Fallas. I can safely say that Las Fallas is something that you simply have to see to believe, although I will stop short of saying that you must see it. However, if you have a friend who is still living in Valencia next year and you don’t get over here for Las Fallas you are a truly world-class fool.
Las Fallas is a huge event taking weeks and weeks to set up, and the official program marks the beginning with a very inauspicious crowning ceremony for the hostess of the festival, but for me it began on March 3, 2007 with the beginning of the daily, 2 p.m. percussion firework displays in the Plaza de Ayuntamiento called Mascletà in the local dialect. Each and every day until the finale on Monday march 19th, the Plaza fills up with people like a bottle to overflowing. People who live on the square can charge visitors up to 150€ per person to watch the event from their balconies. On some days the there are so many people that all of the arterial streets are also full. Promptly at 2 o’clock the huge crowd is treated to about ten minutes of loud explosions finishing with a tremendous flourish. The audience applauds like at a rock concert and everyone dashes to find a table in a downtown restaurant for lunch.
Las Fallas
The festival revolves around the construction of large, cartoon-like satirical structures called fallas. The themes of the fallas are supposed to be critical in nature and often address issues like government corruption, waiting lists for hospital stays, local politicians, and a favorite this year, the money being spent to host the America’s Cup sailboat race. Each neighborhood builds its own falla which vary in size from modest little ones the size of a mini-van, to enormous structures ten stories high. The fallas are the center of each neighborhood’s celebration and the parties surrounding them also vary in size and intensity. The size of the falla does not dictate the size of the block party hosted by the neighborhood. My block had a modest falla depicting the female mayor of Valencia but the four nights of block parties were completely outrageous, but this street has a reputation for heavy nightlife.
The fallas really need to be seen as photographs do them no justice. It is impossible to get a sense of the scale of some of these creations from pictures because they are jammed into narrow streets or tiny plazas. Although they are all different, they all adhere to pastel colors and use the same materials; they are variations on a theme. On Wednesday evening in this last week of Las Fallas all of the structures must be finished and ready for judging. From this point on, hordes of people wander the streets admiring the works and taking pictures. I suggest you do this on a bicycle in order to cover more ground.
Things really start to heat up on Thursday. There is a fireworks display set off from the center of the Turia Gardens, which is the main park which runs from one end of the city to the other. After the final flourish, the huge crowds (on one evening there was an estimates 800,000 onlookers) descend upon their respective street parties which last (at least officially) until 4 a.m. On the first night of the parties I divided my time between the live band at the Aragón block party and the DJ on my street called Polo y Peyrolón. We very unwisely finished by closing down a local hangout along with the employees who were more intoxicated than anyone they were serving.
Hangover
Getting in past four in the morning shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll just shut the blinds in my bedroom making it pitch black and get seven hours of uninterrupted sleep. Another tradition in Las Fallas is that no one is supposed to sleep…ever! At 7 a.m. Friday they do something called the despertà, or wake-up call in English, or assholes with fireworks is also an acceptable translation. People walk through the streets lighting off incredibly loud firecrackers. In fact, firecrackers are one of the overriding themes of the festival and you will be assaulted, day and night, by explosions both small and deafening during the entire festival.
Because of the noise, sleeping is all but impossible so you may as well just get up and go outside and enjoy the fine weather. The city looks as if it was destroyed the night before. The little courtyard park outside my door was the setting for a party for hundreds of people the night before and is now filled with empty bottles, plastic cups, and every other item needed for an all-night bash. There is a wall around the Aragon Metro station that is about chest high, just the right height for a bar. The morning after the first party the wall was completely covered with the detritus from thousands of people who came to see a rock group called Pato Daniel perform at the Aragon block party. The city looks as hung-over as you feel. You go out and get a cup of coffee or two while the cleaning crew army arrives to scour the neighborhood from top to bottom. By the time you are ready to start all over again so is Valencia.
Everywhere at Once
Because Las Fallas is broken down very democratically into dozens and dozens of local celebrations, it is impossible to see everything that is worth seeing. Everywhere you go there are parades and processions, music and dancing, food and beverages, and crowds. I was standing in line at the Mercado de Algirós, minding my own business when a procession of men and women in traditional garb marched by accompanied by a brass band. Something you don’t see every day—except during Las Fallas.
You can make it to most of the main events if you hurry. The daily fireworks in the main plaza is something you should witness at least once, if for nothing else than to see the spectacular crowds that show up for the ten minute bombardment. The nightly fireworks in the Turia Garden are a great way to start off the evening block parties. You should probably make it to the flower procession in the Plaza de la Virgen in which women in traditional Valencian dress bring in wreaths of flowers that are used to create a five story depiction of the Madonna and child.
Don’t you people have homes?
Valencia’s population more than doubles in size during Las Fallas with the majority of the tourists coming from Japan, followed closely by Britain and Italy. The hotels are booked far in advance but from all of the people on the streets at all hours of the day you wonder if anyone actually spends any time in their hotel room. The headline in one of the local newspapers asked, “¿Nadie tiene casa?” This loosely translates as, “Don’t you people have homes?” For the last four days of the festival all automobile traffic is banned in the center historic district of town. Even without cars I had to walk my bicycle through the huge crowds flowing through the streets like a swift current.
The trains that service the surrounding areas of Valencia, called cercanías, are full to the point of bursting, causing breakdowns and delays. The same is true for the subway and bus systems. I had to take the metro at 6 a.m. one morning and I’ve never been on a train with more people before, and never with so many people drunk or hung-over—but they all seemed happy.
Eat, drink, and then drink some more.
The traditional thing to do in Valencia, and especially during Fallas, is to drink a glass of horchata, a smooth milkshake made from tiger nuts (I’ve never heard of them either). There are horchata stands everywhere and usually right next to a stand selling buñuelos and churros which are fried pastries covered with sugar. These stands all pop up like mushrooms during the festival and then promptly disappear, probably off to find another celebration in another city.
Almost all of the block parties have their own concession stands which sell food and drink but at rather inflated prices. In spite of the high prices there never seem to be enough places selling drinks, especially the hour or so before the nightly fireworks. Everyone gets a cocktail and heads towards the park. One popular drink that I noticed was a big seller all over town was the cubalitro which is a play on words for Cuba libre which is a rum and coke but in the super-size liter variety.
Most of the younger kids just bring their own booze and mixers to the block parties. They set up little mini bars close to the action and avoid the high prices and waiting lines. For all of the alcohol that is consumed you don’t seem to notice many intoxicated people, at least not obnoxiously drunk, but I didn’t look in any mirrors when I was out.
Now that’s what I call an exit!
All good things come to an end, but some good things come to a better end than others. The last official act of Las Fallas is the burning of all of these beautiful creations that have been the object of admiration these past five days or so. It seems almost tragic to commit these masterpieces to the torch. There was a picture in the paper of a group of young girls in their Fallas costumes all crying as their beloved falla went up in a tower of fire. It also seems like an incredibly fitting way to close this wild celebration. What a better way to mark the end of the festival than to reduce the objects of the celebration to ashes?
I was able to watch the demise of my neighborhood’s falla from the comfort of my apartment. It wasn’t until almost 1 a.m. on the final evening when it began with an impressive fireworks display made even more impressive by the fact that my street is a claustrophobic narrow canyon. The falla is doused with lighter fluid and a string of fireworks is then lit which acts as a fuse. Soon the depiction of the mayor of Valencia was engulfed in flames and a huge billow of smoke made the clear night completely black. I was thankful that I was watching from a closed window in my back bedroom.
The next morning the city is eerily quite except for the army of clean-up workers attempting to restore the city to some degree of normalcy. As much fun as it was I think that everyone is glad it is all over and life can return to everyday life. I think that the intensity of the celebration is programmed so that when the ashes of last falla have been extinguished everyone is ready for it to be over; one more block party or one more fireworks display would be too much. I may miss the festive nature of a procession marching through the market when I am shopping, but I can definitely wait another year for five days of staying out all night and sleeping very little.
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