LLB Note #8.5: Hogueras

We took the crowded tram down to the Malvarrosa beach late in the evening. It was Midsummer's night, and small celebrations honoring St. John were cropping up all along the Catalan and Valencian-speaking coast of Spain. Both Ana and Dr. Thompson joined us tonight at our nice bonfire spot, Mediterranean-adjacent.

The light posts of the promenade gave off a yellow-orange glow that bled through the dark and musty summer night. By the time you got to our beachfront bonfire, though, the lights from the far away esplanade had all but faded, leaving only the coarse features of our faces sketched out by our small fire.

Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of bonfires sparkled on the beach, from the nearby southern pier to the dark nothingness of the northern cove. Families, friends; close knit groups all of them, sharing a cup of wine or beer, stories and a laugh. A light sea breeze constantly blew from the east, collecting the smoke from all the bonfires and carrying them inland and upwards, a thick mist that made the night a surreal, magical landscape.

About five minutes from midnight, the talking and laughing dimmed. Silhouettes along the beach were wading into the ocean and waiting for the stroke of midnight. We followed suit and waited as well, as it was customary to jump nine waves at the stroke of midnight for good fortune in the coming year.

In what seemed like a moment, we found ourselves in a group of people our own age, the younger and older groups both having gone to sleep late on a Tuesday night. The pagan origin of the celebration was never as clear to me as when the music hit a sharp crescendo and I found myself holding a magically-refilling clear plastic cup of tinto de verano. 

Four hours later; a large gypsy, a fight, a fat lip, undercover officers with batons, and a visit to the police station capped what would be the single most eventful night in the ensuing 366 days. I must have not jumped the waves right or something.