I knew I forgot something....

Back in September, when I arrived in Spain, with everything I own and the kitchen sink, I was complaining about lugging over one hundred pounds of luggage through Madrid. Not only did I bring enough tank tops for the entire city but also enough for surrounding pueblos. In addition to an absurd amount of clothes I also felt the need to bring enough cosmetics, accessories, lotions, jewelry, you name it--I packed it, for years on end. However, despite over packing by say, fifty pounds, I did manage to forget to pack one very crucial item...my helmet.

This past weekend we went to Trigueros, a nearby pueblo, for a local festival honoring a Saint. Get this, they celebrate by throwing bread and ham from windows, no joke. I wanted to go just to see this event because I couldn't believe that people would really throw food from their windows in order to honor a Saint. We arrived in Trigueros around noon and it didn't look like any type of festival was going on. Rather, it appeared like your typical Sunday afternoon in Spain...people dressed to the nines, standing around in a plaza and going to cafes for a coffee. Life doesn't get any more exciting than an afternoon in a Spanish pueblo. However, locals assured us that the festival would take place on the main road shortly. We started to see people gathering around one house and figured it was about to start. I couldn't understand why grown men were on platforms nor why they had five or six friends around them with large bags. Ngoc and I made our way down the street and quickly found ourselves surounded by thousands of people. This tiny cobblestone street had room for all of about 3 people width wise but the people were determined to pack it full in order to catch some bread. After some fireworks the festival began....that is....Trigueros was raining bread. I would have preferred some better looking men but beggars can't be choosers. People were jumping up and down, elbows were flailing around in the air just waiting to cause some black eyes and caution and reason were thrown out the window. I could only laugh at the fact that people were going nuts to catch some bread when mind you, bread costs all of 18 cents at the grocery store and there is NO shortage of bread here. You can't walk down any given street and not find a few bread shops. You would've thought that people had never seen nor eaten bread in their life. This is not to say that Ngoc and I didn't join in the tradition and go nuts to catch as many loaves as we could. We were very disappointed after all the bread had been thrown out and we were still empty haded. However, our spirits quickly brightened when we learned there were ten more houses which would be participating.

I was enjoying the festival very much until the injury occurred. From the very beginning I thought this was dangerous due to the sheer number of people in such a small place and the potential of being hit by the flying objects. Moreover, the people are up high, chucking bread down and by the time it reaches you the bread has gained momentum and is traveling pretty fast. Haven't they ever heard of the word, "loft," a simple toss would've have been apprecaited. While jumping up to grab a loaf of bread I got nailed in the right cheek, right underneath my eye. I immediately felt a sharp pain on my right cheek and could feel blood start to trickle down my cheek. Now, I have to say this is a first for me, being hit in the face by a loaf a bread, much less, having it break the skin. I turned to Ngoc with teary eyes and quivering lips but all she said was "suck it up" in a tone that would have made the toughest drill sergeant proud. I decided to turn to someone else, hoping for sympathy, and justifying some tears, because my cheek really hurt. A man next to me took pity and started handing us everything he was catching...although nice, it didn't make my poor cheek feel any better. Ngoc was also hit in the head by bread and sustained a substantial sized raspberry. I guess it was for the best though, we wouldn't have wanted to go and not been able to truly experience the real feel of the Trigueros festival.

I proudly wore my battle wound to work the following Tuesday to which all the other teachers asked how I managed to have cuts under my eye. I proudly told the story of Trigueros, with embellishments, like always, and assured them I was not in an abusive relationship....although they should have known because who am I going to be in a relation with....I'm in Spain afterall.

Besos

Ally :)