A group member and I circled the ninot cluster before its demise. The ardor and significance compressed into its final moments of existence. This architecture was incredibly intricate, with the zeal and diligence of teams of artisans. My friend pointed out a political joke embedded in the statues, but I didn't understand the satire, just the immense amount of thought funneled into the art. Firemen (bomberos) surrounded the ninot, shooting test fires of water and jokingly targeting people perched on nearby apartment porches. There was designated splash zone, packed with teenagers singing "agua, agua."
Because the Spanish are laid back, the scheduled time for firing the ninots passed without a single spark. After anticipation, the ninot exploded into a giant star. Fireworks burst in the sky and on the ground by the ninot cluster. The sparks became angry orange flames with the hand of the melting ninot reaching out of the smoke, and the colorful, surreal art melted down to a bare metal frame.
The sky rained embers and ash and I felt raindrops of heat and charcoal tapping my head. My friend migrated to the splash area in which she and the crowd of tispy teens dripped in hose water.
My arms and clothes dotted in ashy remnants of Hogueras and my friend dripping with precious water savored for this night (Alicante rains about 4 inches per year), we departed, as did the most of the festive atmosphere. Hogueras lingered a little longer among the masses of people heading to bars for celebration of the fires, but I took a taxi home.
I woke up the next morning back in the city Alicante (instead of the recreational park Alicante), with people going to and from work, stopping for a brief trip to the beach or an heladeria. After just one night, Hogueras had departed in a final blaze of glory.
Because the Spanish are laid back, the scheduled time for firing the ninots passed without a single spark. After anticipation, the ninot exploded into a giant star. Fireworks burst in the sky and on the ground by the ninot cluster. The sparks became angry orange flames with the hand of the melting ninot reaching out of the smoke, and the colorful, surreal art melted down to a bare metal frame.
The sky rained embers and ash and I felt raindrops of heat and charcoal tapping my head. My friend migrated to the splash area in which she and the crowd of tispy teens dripped in hose water.
My arms and clothes dotted in ashy remnants of Hogueras and my friend dripping with precious water savored for this night (Alicante rains about 4 inches per year), we departed, as did the most of the festive atmosphere. Hogueras lingered a little longer among the masses of people heading to bars for celebration of the fires, but I took a taxi home.
I woke up the next morning back in the city Alicante (instead of the recreational park Alicante), with people going to and from work, stopping for a brief trip to the beach or an heladeria. After just one night, Hogueras had departed in a final blaze of glory.