The streets of Buñol, a small town nestled near Valencia in eastern Spain, were awash in a sea of red on August 27, 2025, as thousands of revelers celebrated the 80th anniversary of La Tomatina, the world’s most exuberant and messy tomato-throwing festival. As the sun rose over the town, anticipation buzzed in the air—locals and visitors alike braced themselves for an hour-long battle that has, over decades, transformed from a spontaneous food fight into an internationally recognized spectacle.
According to the Associated Press, this year’s La Tomatina drew crowds from across the globe, with about 22,000 people flooding Buñol’s narrow streets. The festival’s roots stretch back to 1945, when a local parade descended into chaos after a young boy fell from a float and, in a fit of anger, toppled a vegetable stall. The resulting skirmish of flying tomatoes captured the town’s imagination, and what started as a moment of youthful mischief has since evolved into a beloved tradition, held every last Wednesday of August.
BBC reported that a staggering 120 tonnes of tomatoes—grown specifically for the event and trucked in from Don Benito, a town over five hours away—were delivered to Buñol ahead of the festival. As the trucks arrived, anticipation mounted. Revelers, many donning swimming goggles and earplugs for protection, gathered around the vehicles, ready to plunge into the pulpy chaos. The tomatoes, notably overripe and unsuited for eating, were squashed before being hurled to minimize injuries, in line with festival rules that have been refined over the years.
The festival’s official start is signaled by a uniquely Spanish tradition: a ham is perched atop a greased pole, and only once a participant retrieves it can the tomato fight commence. The ensuing hour is a blur of flying tomatoes, laughter, and camaraderie. As Reuters described, participants playfully pelt each other with fruit, slip and slide through ankle-deep tomato puree, and even pause to pose for photos or share a kiss amid the carnage. The event ends as abruptly as it begins, marked by a second warning firework, after which exhausted revelers make their way to communal showers to wash off the sticky residue.
The scene is as much about spectacle as it is about tradition. Buildings along the main thoroughfares are draped in tarpaulins to protect them from the onslaught, and volunteers stand by to ensure the safety of all involved. Over the years, additional rules have been introduced: hard objects and torn t-shirts are forbidden as projectiles, and participants are required to keep a safe distance from the lorries that deliver the tomatoes. These measures, developed in response to the festival’s growing popularity, have helped preserve its lighthearted spirit.
As The Independent recounted, La Tomatina’s journey from local oddity to international attraction was not without its challenges. The event faced a brief ban in the 1950s under the regime of Francisco Franco, sparking protests from Buñol’s residents. Its fortunes changed dramatically in the 1980s, when televised coverage brought the festival to national attention. By 2002, Spain had officially recognized La Tomatina as an international tourism attraction, cementing its place in the country’s cultural calendar. The festival has only been suspended twice in modern times—during the coronavirus pandemic in 2020 and 2021.
“The truth is that it’s exciting because year after year, you can see how ‘Tomatina’ grows and evolves,” Sergio Galarza, the town’s Deputy Mayor, told The Independent. “And you can enjoy a festival that is super wholesome.”
For many attendees, the festival is about more than just throwing tomatoes. It’s a celebration of community, resilience, and joy—a chance to let loose and revel in the absurdity of it all. Adrian Columb, an Irishman who attended the festival in 1999, reflected on the experience, saying, “When it’s going on, it’s just a blur of tomatoes… It was a blast.”
Yet, amid the revelry, this year’s La Tomatina also became a stage for political expression. As reported by Al Jazeera, a group of participants unfurled a huge Palestinian flag in the midst of the tomato fight, drawing attention and sparking conversation among the thousands in attendance. The moment underscored how the festival, while rooted in local tradition, has become a global gathering where people bring their own stories, causes, and perspectives.
After the final tomato has been thrown and the last photo snapped, the clean-up operation begins in earnest. The citric acid in the tomatoes acts as a natural cleaning agent, helping to scrub the pavements of Buñol to a shine just hours after the battle ends. Within a day, the streets are unrecognizable from the chaos that reigned only hours before—a testament to the town’s commitment to both celebration and order.
La Tomatina’s influence has spread far beyond Spain’s borders. Similar festivals have popped up in places as diverse as Florida, Sutamarchán in Colombia, Amsterdam, and Hyderabad, but none quite capture the spirit of Buñol’s original. The town’s unique blend of history, tradition, and playfulness keeps visitors coming back year after year. The tomatoes themselves, grown specially for the festival, are a point of pride—selected for their ripeness and juiciness, they’re perfect for throwing (but not for eating, as the rules strictly forbid).
As the festival continues to evolve, Buñol’s residents remain its heart and soul. The festival is a source of local pride, economic vitality, and cultural exchange. For one day each year, the town swells with visitors, laughter, and the unmistakable scent of tomatoes. And when the crowds disperse and the streets are clean, what remains is a sense of shared experience—a reminder that, sometimes, the simplest traditions are the most enduring.
Eight decades on, La Tomatina stands as a vivid testament to the power of community and the enduring appeal of a good-natured food fight. Whether you’re a first-time visitor or a seasoned veteran, one thing is certain: in Buñol, the last Wednesday of August will always be a day to remember.
