Agricultural Tourism

Sure, they look happy now, but wait
till the buzz wears off.

Mack Brown came to Texas while I was still in undergrad. The Longhorn Football program had been in a funk for some time, so they brought an out-of-stater in, to shake things up.

That first year, the football team had a slogan that went (something like) *Come Early*Be Loud*Wear Orange*

If I was to advise folks on how to attend the Tomatina, it'd go (something like) *Come Early*Be Drunk*Wear Goggles*

Come Early: in order to be in the mix, you gotta be close to the trolleys, and to get close to the trolleys, you gotta be at the front of the parade route. Oh and all the bars (wisely) close by the start of the Tomatina, and you need to make sure you
Be Drunk: it makes the details like your lack of sleep, minor assaults and mob-like overcrowding seem way funnier.
Wear Goggles: you may not be able to see much during the event, but you'll still be able to see afterwards. And, after all, cultural food fights be damned, you've still got a test tomorrow.

I got into a fight with Frenchie before the Tomatina. He didn't see the point in throwing down 50 euros to take an overnight bus to some middle of nowhere town to hurl tomatoes at strangers for a few hours. (THIS is why it could never have worked out...)

To me, it was a no-brainer. Merely another (and more literal) step in the immersion experience.

Turns out, the highlight of the event may have been the beginning.

As discussed in the last post (seems like yesterday) the tomato slinging can't begin until somebody pulls a ham down from a 30 foot high greased pole. Use teamwork, Sin problema? right? Nope. Rarely have a group of drunken dudes been poorer equipped to perform a task.

Any and all progress/ascent is torn down by the actions of envious also-rans. Its a parade, its a mosh pit, its a really messy opera. And its got a cast of characters:

Crazy Rugby Guy: green t-shirt, all neck and biceps this one. He'd barrel his way up the base of the pole, attacking it, and his fellow climbers, with equal ferocity. He never made it too far up the pole. He was too busy settling scores along the way.

Eric the Wanker: Lanky blond haired kid. We knew his name because it was written on the back of his shirt...right above a bulls eye. He was lighter and better suited to scamper up his fellow climbers and made decent progress. But, he lost all of the crowd's support, and earned his title (which was
chanted at him) after he grabbed by the throat and tossed down...

Brave Girl(s) 1-3: I think in total we had three girls give the greased pole a go. And none of them until a half hour in. My guess is that the girls needed to be waaaay drunker to decide this was a good idea. All of the girls were crowd favorites, and actually got some support (among other things) from their fellow climbers. But, after Eric's heinous and bloodthirsty act, the girls rarely made it past the first rung. (Maybe it was the lack of sensible shoes).

The Banana: My personal favorite. A guy in a banana suit. He was literally carried on peoples' shoulders thru the crowd and toward pole. Chiquita raised a whole host of new questions: What's with the banana suit? Attention seeker? Mockumentary Filmmaker? Laundry Day?


Now, I've seen a Twinkee go skiing and a Bear take an Intro to Marketing exam. Hell, I've even worn a cape for good luck (but not in a long time...no, really, months). Someday I'll have to stop that banana, halfway up a greased pole, and ask him "what makes you tick" Or, I could just lay off the acid.

And finally, The Cow: Another costumed character, but this one (somehow) seemed less elegant than his fruity counterpoint. But what the bovine lacked in class, he made up for in skill, as he made it up quite high.

There was actually a moment when we had the cow, 30 ft in the air, dangling from the ham at the top of the pole...legs flailing, udders exposed; receiving such helpful advice from the crowd as "MOOO!" and the occasional flip flop tossed at his head. I'm sure there was some cultural insight to be gained then, but I was too busy shouting "come mas pollo!" while pounding warm San Miguels.

Sadly, this gang of jokers never managed to actually bring the ham down. They just managed to unwrap its netting. But, the day wasn't getting any cooler, and the crowd wasn't getting any soberer, so the powers-that-be deemed the ham "gotten" and so the cannons sounded and out came the trolleys.

[Helpful tip, if you hear the chant of 'camiseta, camiseta' in your vicinity, take your shirt off, or have it ripped from your body. Now, if you hear the chant of 'pantalones, pantalones' RUN! You're at the wrong festival!]

People do get their shirts ripped off, the reasoning behind it isn't clear. What IS clear is that when those shirts get wet, they can be used as some seriously stinging whips. Why are the shirts getting wet? Oh yeah, because there are a cluster of enormous water cannons, indiscriminately spraying the crowd...ostensibly to keep us from overheating, but really, just trying to knock folks over.

So here's how the Tomatina works. After the canons go off, 5 gi-normous trolleys (dumptrucks, really) drive thru the choked streets (how no one get run over here is a miracle). The dump trucks stop at predesignated spots along the street and 10-15 people in the back of each trolley dumps loads, and loads, of just-past-prime tomatoes on the cheering crowd. The whole thing is reminiscent of the musical numbers performed along a parade route...but much harder to wash out of your hair.

These early stages are hectic. Everyone is pressed along the sides of the streets. Although climbing walls/telephone poles is considered, anyone at a higher elevation is a natural target, with further to fall. The main goal here is to stay above the fray, flinging tomatoes that are tossed your way, and acclimatizing to the conditions (like scuba).

All of these trucks eventually dump their remaining tomatoes (and passengers) into the middle of the road. This is when the real war commences. You see, by now, the above mentioned water cannons have been spraying the entire street for almost an hour. So when the contents of the trucks come pouring out, we've got more of a V-8 River than a Street.

Once the battle gets going in earnest, everything speeds up. You're struggling to see thru foggy goggles, getting knocked silly with pulp and trying to respond in the general direction of your assailants. At some point you have to make the call, stay on the sidewalk, or dive into the river with the crazies?

So, into the river you go, fishing for tomatoes in the red soup, ruining that pair of $10 sneakers you bought specifically to ruin, half wishing you were bald and loving every slightly acidic minute of it. The laughing sloshing romp continues until the second cannon fires. You pull off your goggles and squint in the bright sunlight.

You and your fellow tomatina-ers look like extras from 28 days later: Tattered clothes, dazed expressions, lots of fake looking gore.

Taking the whole scene in, you shake your head, starting to chuckle at the madness of it all--until WHACK! the first soaked t-shirt smacks you in the face. Time to get the F out of here.