Author: Leah Pattem / Photos: Dani Piedrabuena
Four lads turn up carrying wooden pallets they seem to have found off the street. They stack them into a pyramid and, beneath it, students feed in old homework they’ve already set alight. Next, a woman tosses her notes from a recent oposición exam into the growing flames.
The fire begins to grow and someone asks me for a pen. People start writing down burdens and regrets they want to leave behind, then throw their scraps of paper into the blaze. As the flames rise higher and sparks float into the sky, groups of friends take up positions around the bonfire.
A young woman ties back her long hair and her expression suddenly becomes serious – she is preparing to jump. Taking her friend’s hand, she runs forward and they leap together over the flames. Within seconds, a dozen others follow and criss-cross over the fire, hoping to time their jumps well enough that there are no crashes which would land them straight into the middle of the fire.
A young man launches himself spectacularly high, like a show horse clearing a country fence. But in that moment, the fire spits and a burst of sparks catches him mid-jump. He lands awkwardly and tumbles backwards into the edge of the bonfire. Instantly, there are screams of fear and people rush forward and pull him clear.
He appears to be unharmed, but that’s the nature of the pastime. Perhaps his burdens have disappeared into the flames, though they’ve probably been replaced by burns.
The bonfires of San Juan are a celebration of the summer solstice, the shortest night of the year. The spiritual idea of cleansing yourself with fire during the earth’s most extreme orbit around the sun is giving major Pagan. Then bringing yourself as close to the fire as physically possible without being burned feels like a thing humans did thousands of years ago. Even if we may not think much about the history of this ancient ritual and are mostly here for a good time, the simplicity and spectacle of it is all pretty contagious.
The entire night in Madrid seems to exist outside of ordinary legality. Remarkably, in a city where regulations are so heavily enforced – where drinking even a can of beer in the street can result in a fine – a public park is transformed into a vast, anarchic celebration of fire.
The police keep their distance. Firefighters make a brief appearance at the beginning of the evening to ensure everything looks acceptable – whatever that means. Perhaps it means no bonfire has been built too high, too wide, or too close to the trees. Then they leave us to it.
It’s 2 am and the nineties trance beats are lowered, taken over by two men playing the bagpipes. People start dancing around the flames and I feel like I’m back home in Northern England 3000 years ago. For the rest of the night, the park belongs to the fire-jumping crowds, and is one of Madrid’s most extraordinary nights of the year.
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