Pyromania: The people's passion

Dangerous in inexperienced hands

Search for long enough in my blog and you'll stumble across articles describing the fun of the fiesta and the Spanish national obsession with dangerous things like matches and fireworks. What I forgot to mention, accidentally on purpose but for a good reason I'll come to presently, is that once a year the city of Alicante has a bit of a shindig involving both. Think about that for a quick second while I just add that the United Kingdom can only be trusted to play with bonfires and fireworks on one evening a year.

A typical Hoguera

For quite a few weeks now some incredibly talented and artistic citizens of the provincial capital have been hard at work preparing exquisitely detailed papier mache caricatures of fictitious, and sometimes famous, people which will all be painted with the same love and attention to detail in all manner of pastel shades.  Financed by neighbourhood collectives, Comissió's,  these fabulous monuments, Hogueras, some of which are 15 or 20 metres high, will then be strategically placed at important road junctions and plazas throughout the city on the evening known as La Planta. This, in order to be inspected by a local judging committee and admired, photographed and generally swooned over by the passing public.

Alfresco dining? certainly Sir!

In keeping with fiesta week everywhere else in Spain, various different events take place during Las Hogueras de San Juan, (the city's homage to Saint John and the coming of the summer solstice), which run from June the 20th until the 24th. For seven nights the second category Plaza de Toros is put to good use as bull fight aficionados enjoy the best corridas of the year in Alicante. Glance around and you'll see marquees and sound stages being erected, beer pumps being polished and the outdoor caterers begin to see euro signs. Meanwhile, the clock ticks inexorably onward to the 24th!!

Smell that gunpowder

In and around Alicante city, the 24th of June is the biggie; all fire brigade leave would have been cancelled months ago, burns units at local hospitals are on red alert, (have you figured out yet where I'm going with this?) and nearly every major thoroughfare is closed to traffic. The day starts just like most others and slowly gains momentum, until, by early afternoon, the real fun kicks off with a mascleta competition, which, the official guide book describes thus.   .....an explosive display of the concussive effects of co-ordinated firecracker and firework barrages, where people catch the pungent smell of gunpowder smoke and feel the earth shaking beneath their feet.....    Not a bad Spanish to English translation at all I'd say.   You like??
Read on then because that's just the start of all the mayhem.

Sometime around midnight, a few hours after the last bull fight of the week has finished, a sparkling palm tree rises from the highest part of the city, Benacantil Mount, atop which sits the imposing Santa Barbara Castle. This signals the start of the burning of all those street monuments, La Crema, the part of the evening the thousands and thousands of people, who by now have thronged the streets. eagerly await. One by one the simply brilliant Hogueras are burnt down to their skeletal wooden frames under strict instructions from those ever so attentive officers of Blue Watch, who I'm reliably informed, douse the millions of spectators with their hoses as each blaze dwindles away.

Alicante city map with the location of each Hoguera

This year, my sixth Spanish summer, I'm going to make the handy five minute walk from my house to Elche railway station and leap on the train for the twenty five minute ride to Alicante. Very thoughtfully, those jolly kind RENFE folk have laid on return chuffers round the clock so I'm going to make good use of their generosity and invest 3.50€ of my hard earned on the very comfy return trip. Assuming I make it there and back, look out in the coming days for a post script to this blog entry. If you don't see one immediately you can rest assured I'm being given expert medical attention at the Spanish equivalent of Holby City.

Alicante's beautiful Esplanada on a quiet day

POSTSCRIPT - SATURDAY JUNE 25TH 2230 HOURS

Well, we made it there and back unscathed and with nothing important singed off. I would just add though that my faith in RENFE, the national rail operator, was badly misplaced. Their promise of a return train every hour turned out to be when they fancied sending one, invariably at a random departure time only when the things were full, rather than anything close to a scheduled service. Maybe that's just me being churlish. Whatever. Alicante city centre and waterfront on the night of the Hogueras really are the places to be and busier than I've ever seen them; with visitors squashed into the usually large, open spaces shoulder to shoulder, the evening is a pickpockets heaven and a demophobics hell.

Fireworks, as always in Spain, start things off.

So difficult is walking from place to place with that number of people, the girlyfriend and I quickly realised our intended viewpoint, somewhere near to Alicante town hall close to the historic old town, was going to be out of the question. Instead, we settled for a spot at the northern end of the Esplanada, an exquisitely tiled walkway lined on either side by palm trees that runs parallel to the yacht marina. We'd been here a few days earlier on a leisurely stroll to admire the impressive Hogueras and could see immediately the lines of masceleta's strung around the model specifically for tonight. A short time later, an ear shattering racket from these strings, accompanied by plumes of grey smoke, fireworks and a huge roar from the crowd, signalled the start of the burning.


It was all over within moments, the flames licked hungrily skywards as weeks and months of detailed work caved in on itself, sending showers of sparks and dense black smoke skywards. Sooty smuts then headed in the opposite direction, covering my immaculate white polo shirt in unwanted black extras. Almost immediately, I was struck by a feeling of intense disappointment, a mammoth anti-climax in real time exacerbated by narrowly avoiding being soaked from the jet of high pressure water sprayed in my direction by an over eager fireman playing to the gallery. We sloped away, with me deep in thought or dismay, quite probably both, wondering what all the fuss was about and feeling somewhat underwhelmed.

Beautiful works of art were soon reduced to a water soaked pile of ash