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Fires are burning all over Valencia. I cannot glimpse an intersection that is not ablaze.
Bombaderos , firemen dressed in black turnout, stand by just waiting with tanker trucks full of water, and portable pumps. I inhale the acrid smoke with gusto, awakening the latent pyromaniac within. My heart races as I turn left and head down Calle De Trafalgar. An elaborate archway of carnival lights, designed like the onion tops of a Russian Orthodox Church, frames the narrow entrance to Falla Parotet. The ninot at the end is smaller than most, but it has not been set afire. I push my way assertively through the crowd.
I want a front row seat. I want to feel the burn.
I am in La Nit del Foc - the night of fire.
An unseen hand tosses a burning carton at the base of the twenty-foot high purple-clad mermaid.
The pack cheers and jostles forward. It is only minutes before the whole statue is in flames. The inferno makes my face feel sun burnt as I stare into the fluorescent orange serpent. It engulfs her blonde hair, revealing a timber skeleton. She bends forward, and then summarily crashes to the ground. The nearest spectators flinch from the sparking embers. With a whoosh, the collapse sends its dragon breath, a foehn wind,rushing past me down the alleyways. The crowd stays late, watching as the fire withers into embers, the dark of the night sneaks in and covers what once was a roaring inferno.
I arrived in Valencia, Spain the day before hoping to get to Plaza del Ayuntamiento by 2:00 p.m. when the daily mascletas are lit. At the bullring, Plaza de Toros de Valencia, I join the mob. It carries me along shoulder-to-shoulder like a molecule in the ocean. Seemingly without my feet touching the ground, I am swept along by this human wave moving towards the plaza. I hear the pops, then the echo and rumble of large firecrackers, mascletas. I am still six blocks away. Hundreds detonate at once, and then silence. I am too late.
The press of flesh is already dispersing. I escape the last of the horde on the next side street past the Estació del Nord. In front of the Farmacia, a rotund bride carrying off a drunken, skinny husband faces me. Cupid makes sure there is no mistake. It is a silly sight. They are here for Las Fallas, a five day festival in honor of St. Joseph. Celebrated each March 15th , paper-mache ninots like the bride and groom are sacrificed at the end of the week in a blaze called cremà.
I return to the casal early the next day. The Caballeros FX (pyrotechnicians) deftly handle little explosive sausages, scissors in their hands and brown paper fuses in their mouth. They secure the colorfully wrapped mascletas to the grid. These “clotheslines” drape across the streets with barely enough room for cars and pedestrians to glide comfortably beneath.
Little boys, not more than eight years old kneel purposefully next to a car’s bumper arranging their own fireworks in an intricate pattern. Nervous hands holding a piece of smoldering rope spark the fuse. They take a few steps back and cover their ears.
The day yields to dusk as I walk along Paseo de la Alameda. The fireworks will be ignited in the main plaza, but the best viewing is from the bridges that span the dry river bed. I select a spot on Pont de Monteolivet. This bridge is near Ciudad de las Artes y las Ciencias, an incongruous campus of ultra-modern architecture set in this medieval city. The City of Arts and Sciences houses a museum, an aquarium and a domed cinema.
What the nightly pyrotechnics lack in variety is made up for in quantity. It is an inexhaustible grand finale right from the start. The skyline lights up in crimson bursts for over an hour. The smoke eventually muddles everything to a pastel nacarat glow. The city parties long after the echo of the last titanium report fades away.
The next day I amble to the beach. The smoke has cleared, but in the air there lingers the distinct sulphurous scent of gunpowder.
The Night of Fire is part of Las Fallas,a festival that happens during the week leading up to March 19 each year. Make your plans early.
[Contact me if you would like prints or cards with any of these images]
Photos and text by Jim DeLillo
http://jimdelillo.viewbook.com
http://jim-delillo.artistwebsites.com/
http://istockphoto.com/jimd_stock
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