Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • It was an hour after noon and the sun was relentless. In the heat of the afternoon, the tiny Spanish town of Bunol smelled distinctly of Bloody Mary and looked like the scene of a massacre.

    The whitewashed buildings were shrouded in acres of polythene sheeting adding to the crime-scene atmosphere of the place whilst hordes of bloody zombies staggered through the ruined streets, Except they weren't zombies, they were sangria-fuelled revellers. And it wasn't blood but gallons and gallons of very squishy tomato.

    The four of us who had made it to Valencia had just survived the legendary Tomatina festival: the biggest, messiest food fight on the planet. For over an hour Bunol had become a maelstrom of pulpy crimson grenades and greasy bodies and now the streets were ankle-deep in tomato juice. We were all slightly shell-shocked.

    It had been fun, definitely. But there had also been a darker edge to the festivities that we hadn't been expecting. Within seconds of the tomato fight starting the crush had begun in earnest. Within half a minute our quartet had been broken up and absorbed my the crowd. Ten minutes in and my female friend and I had been forcibly stripped to the waist by a posse of pissed-up Spaniards and I had to bear-hug my bare-breasted companion out of the melee until we found a discarded T-shirt to save her dignity.

    Meanwhile my fiancée and her partner-in-pulp were seeking sanctuary from the madding crowd in an underground car park where some other girl was having a panic attack. Outside the crush was getting unbearable.

    And then it was over. The streets were hosed down, the gang was reunited and sangria flowed again. And we all laughed and giggled about how much fun we'd had. And we all secretly thought that maybe, just maybe, we might be getting a little old for all this.
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.