El Mar hid behind the soft haze of the city’s bright
lights and night time smog. It seemed if
you leaned over the railing it would be almost visible from the top of the
tower, hiding behind the soft brush strokes of the distant high-rises and tenement
buildings. The city couldn’t stifle the stars however. They shone bright and
clear overhead, broken only by the occasional plane or stray firework either
cast by accident or by too eager revelers, straining to cut loose from the normal ties of
daily life and take part in their week of debauchery.
If he turned
he knew he would see the distant foothills and not-quite mountains in the distant
countryside purple and majestic against the Spanish sky. They slept silently,
unaware of the growing and seething turmoil that was about to be unleashed
beneath them. Voices from below reached up
from the distant ground. A smooth glance down revealed a growing crowd, drunken
shouts and stumbles were matched side by side with dignified and ancient
Falleras garbed in the dress of their ancestors, all eyes were turned to the
night sky. Twelve times the church bells rang , proclaiming the storms arrival.
The hush that followed was ripped open with screeches, whistles and screams as
the still and blank night sky was painted with joyous explosions. Fallas had
come to Valencia.
