During Hogueras, Alicante has transformed into an amusement park. Street vendors walk around with light-up gadgets for little kids, snack and food stands line the streets, smoky aromas of firecrackers perpetually hover in the air, looming caricatures greet us with almost satirically vibrant colors and wide grins. This is Universal Studios but better: the paraders march with fresh and genuine appreciation for audience entertainment, the stands fill streets with rich aromas and quality meals (though the prices still match the high expense of American food stands), and pyrotechnics fill the night skies with bursts of gold and green and red and pink and silver stars.
Today, unaware of the giant portions at food stands, I inadvertently ordered a 23 euro (about $30) lunch of anchovies and two kabobs atop a foot-long loaf of bread. While the rich flavors of the kabob and the enormous take-home leftovers I acquired caught me by surprise, the most memorable aspect of lunch was the richness of the people. No matter how fluent my Spanish grows, how talkative I become among people I know, I have always and most likely always will struggle when I try to speak to an unfamiliar face. I awkwardly hovered among the food stands until a waiter greeted me but rather than simply handing me a menu, he showed me each available entree and explained each plate's ingredients in English and Spanish. I asked for water, and another guest immediately struck a vivid conversation with me about Spanish wine and progressed into discussing our homes (he was from Northern Spain) in comparison to Alicante. Later, when the parade passed through the neighborhood while I returned home, a parader waved me over to watch a string of firecrackers burst. He chuckled at my entertained but surprised flinch at the sounds, and before the smoke formed a wall between us, he waved me goodbye. (Paraders at Disneyworld would never create such genuine connections with individual spectators). More often than not, people in the US become disinterested in me after I react confusedly to extroverted gestures, and I would never experience such insistent hospitality as I do here.
As I kept exploring, admiring the hand-made, intricate traditional dresses of paraders, I learned that Las Hogueras grants visitors the freedom and smiles of a recreational park, but maintains the value of rarity- it occurs for one week in a year, then all evidence of the celebration except one ninot burns in midnight bonfires. Las Hogueras celebrates that along with the incineration of bad things, most good things end too. The short life of the Hogueras celebrations and arts doesn't cast a veil of gloom on the city as I had anticipated, but instead concentrates all jubilation into a final blaze of glory.
Respecting the Hogueras schedule, I depart from (host) home much later than I'm accustomed to. I stepped outside the apartment with my breath held tight. Instead of eerie corridors of thieves and alcohol-poisoned partiers, a cozy, lively evening greeted me. Alicante from 10 to early morning is like Georgetown from 6 to 9 pm. Elderly men and women take a calm walk and neighbors share a paella while their children play nearby. The city remains alive but tranquil until 1 1, when Las Hogueras's evening shows take flight. I've attended the fireworks show, in which the sky rained stars by Corte Ingles. Verbenas (Google translate informs me that these are orchestras?) supposedly occur on the beach, which I have yet to experience.
I admit that Alicante's nocturnal, extroverted ambiance is a like tide that is both exhilarating but also unsettling. I had anticipated that a "small city" meant suburban with two-lane streets, calm inhabitants, and mild traffic. I thought the sea and mountains would filter out the loud crowdedness of urban life. But Alicante is urban, equipped with complicated (in my opinion) city bus and tram systems and packed bars on nearly every street. The noise and alcohol aroma weathered me at first, but now I start to see that in these crowds and sounds are a celebration of the sheer joy of living, as bright as the fireworks.
Today, unaware of the giant portions at food stands, I inadvertently ordered a 23 euro (about $30) lunch of anchovies and two kabobs atop a foot-long loaf of bread. While the rich flavors of the kabob and the enormous take-home leftovers I acquired caught me by surprise, the most memorable aspect of lunch was the richness of the people. No matter how fluent my Spanish grows, how talkative I become among people I know, I have always and most likely always will struggle when I try to speak to an unfamiliar face. I awkwardly hovered among the food stands until a waiter greeted me but rather than simply handing me a menu, he showed me each available entree and explained each plate's ingredients in English and Spanish. I asked for water, and another guest immediately struck a vivid conversation with me about Spanish wine and progressed into discussing our homes (he was from Northern Spain) in comparison to Alicante. Later, when the parade passed through the neighborhood while I returned home, a parader waved me over to watch a string of firecrackers burst. He chuckled at my entertained but surprised flinch at the sounds, and before the smoke formed a wall between us, he waved me goodbye. (Paraders at Disneyworld would never create such genuine connections with individual spectators). More often than not, people in the US become disinterested in me after I react confusedly to extroverted gestures, and I would never experience such insistent hospitality as I do here.
As I kept exploring, admiring the hand-made, intricate traditional dresses of paraders, I learned that Las Hogueras grants visitors the freedom and smiles of a recreational park, but maintains the value of rarity- it occurs for one week in a year, then all evidence of the celebration except one ninot burns in midnight bonfires. Las Hogueras celebrates that along with the incineration of bad things, most good things end too. The short life of the Hogueras celebrations and arts doesn't cast a veil of gloom on the city as I had anticipated, but instead concentrates all jubilation into a final blaze of glory.
Respecting the Hogueras schedule, I depart from (host) home much later than I'm accustomed to. I stepped outside the apartment with my breath held tight. Instead of eerie corridors of thieves and alcohol-poisoned partiers, a cozy, lively evening greeted me. Alicante from 10 to early morning is like Georgetown from 6 to 9 pm. Elderly men and women take a calm walk and neighbors share a paella while their children play nearby. The city remains alive but tranquil until 1 1, when Las Hogueras's evening shows take flight. I've attended the fireworks show, in which the sky rained stars by Corte Ingles. Verbenas (Google translate informs me that these are orchestras?) supposedly occur on the beach, which I have yet to experience.
I admit that Alicante's nocturnal, extroverted ambiance is a like tide that is both exhilarating but also unsettling. I had anticipated that a "small city" meant suburban with two-lane streets, calm inhabitants, and mild traffic. I thought the sea and mountains would filter out the loud crowdedness of urban life. But Alicante is urban, equipped with complicated (in my opinion) city bus and tram systems and packed bars on nearly every street. The noise and alcohol aroma weathered me at first, but now I start to see that in these crowds and sounds are a celebration of the sheer joy of living, as bright as the fireworks.
La ofrenda de flores a la Virgen del Remedio. Wikipedia informs me that these flowers are laid by the cathedral, which I hope to visit later.