Food fight! The running of the tomatoes in Spain

By Andrew Selsky Associated Press

BUNOL, Spain - The throng around me jumps up and down in unison, working itself into a frenzy, screaming, "Tomato! Tomato!" I am wearing standard uniform for the battle that is about to begin - shorts, T-shirt, goggles. A man nearby wears a firefighter's helmet with plastic visor. Onlookers on the balconies above, wasting no time in adding to the excitement, hurl buckets of water on those of us packed body-to-body in the streets below. With the boom of a rocket, one of Spain's fastest-growing - and weirdest - festivals is under way. I'm here to report on the annual Tomatina festival, which this year has attracted journalists from as far away as Japan and South Africa. The crowd is mainly teen-age and 20-something, and ready for action. The first of the six trucks carrying 137 tons of tomatoes rumbles down the street. A half-dozen people in the truck scoop up armloads of tomatoes and dump them into waiting hands. In seconds, hundreds, then thousands, of soft red missiles are whizzing through the air. One smacks me on the side of the head. Then another hits squarely on my forehead, splattering my face and hair with pulp. The goggles protect my eyes from the acrid juice. Everyone is being pelted, but I realize my height - 6 feet 2 inches - makes me a prime target. I duck down, and fumble for tomatoes to throw. They are quickly being trampled into salsa. I grab a hunk of juicy tomato, rise up, and throw it randomly at some guy I've never seen before. In a wild cross-fire, I am pummeled by tomatoes in return. My hands scrabble on the pavement to snatch up more tomato. I want to get my licks in. I've got the fever now. There is a constant squish-squish sound as tomatoes hit flesh, sending up volcanic spouts of red pulp. Then someone notices I still have a shirt on. "T-shirt!" he yells. Several hands grasp the shirt and pull in different directions. It comes off in pieces. Women, knowing they will lose their shirts, wear swimsuits underneath. The Tomatina started a half-century ago when young people from this working-class town, 25 miles west of the Mediterranean city of Valencia, hurled tomatoes at some rich kids whose parents had vacation homes nearby. About 20 years earlier, the town fathers had canceled bullfights held as part of annual festivals, believing them to be cruel. Throwing tomatoes at each other seemed like a good alternative. Over the years, word of Bunol's food fight spread. Spaniards from elsewhere in the region, then from afar, joined in. But since the international media discovered the Tomatina in recent years, its popularity has boomed. Russians, Americans, Britons and other foreigners who had seen TV coverage on the Tomatina were elbow-to-elbow with Spaniards on Wednesday, flinging tomatoes. About 30,000 people attended this year, a third more than last year. Town hall spent about $14,000 on tomatoes. After an hour, another rocket explodes, signaling an end to the town's tomato tumult. The muck is ankle deep. Everyone is so covered in red that it looks like some hellish disaster had occurred. "It's fantastic! Wild! It's unique in the world," exclaims Sam Armour, a 26-year-old Englishwoman who, on normal days, works as an advertising executive in London. Hoses spray down the spent revelers and the stained walls. The red hour is over - until next year.