The All Saints’ Fair at Cocentaina started all the way back in 1346 as a regional and agricultural cattle market. Today, it presents itself as a showcase for traditional farming activities and crafts but, in reality, it’s a kind of independent traders’ free-for-all. If you’re the type who likes a quiet evening stroll through a quaint old town where you can take it easy, stumble upon a little bijou restaurant and enjoy some real you time, you might want to choose an alternative source of entertainment. Because, let me tell you, it is as busy as all hell broke loose.
The town of Cocentaina is located high up in the region of Comtat in the Alicante province, part of the Valencian community. And it’s cute enough, alright, what with the endless bunting streaming across the plazas and up every street. You just don’t really get to see a whole lot of it, thanks to the hoards of visitors the fair attracts. It takes place every year during the week of 1st November, which is, of course, All Saints’ Day. We arrived at around 6.30pm on Saturday 2nd, right as the temperature was beginning to drop and the throng was starting to gather on what was the final – and, so busiest – evening of the week’s festivities.
Warned to, “keep an eye on your wallets,” we stuffed our hands into our coat pockets and kept them there as we trudged slowly behind hundreds of Valencian families, all intent on making it out the other end in one piece as they took in the sights and sounds of this cute, often bizarre hyperreality of agriculture, craftsmanship and exoticism.
A whole strip of one of the flatter streets dedicated to classical dressage, with scruffy farm lads wrangling dainty moves from breathy horses. A troupe of Arabic drummers idly strolling through one of the hillier streets, pounding away polyrhythmically, dressed in shiny, multicoloured silken robes. Giant barbecues filled with hundreds of smoking ribcages of unidentified beasts, filling the air with a sweet, meaty tang. Trinkets as far as the eye can see. And, every once in a while, somewhere to grab a drink and catch your breath before stepping back onto the cobbled travelator of human traffic.
By the time we stopped to quench our thirsts, the liquid equivalent of hanger had kicked in (hanger being the point at which hunger turns into anger) due to a lot of hithering and thithering on the part of our in-laws, who led us every which way but toward a bar. And so a pint of cheap, flavourless beer was gulped down as a kind of amuse bouche before taking a little bit longer on a rather gigantic tinto de verano (a cold, wine-based drink, similar to sangria, that substitutes the orange juice for gaseosa or fizzy lemondade as we Brits call it).
Our alcoholic pit stop, however, did not allow us a place to sit due to every last undesignated bench being taken up by families with the same brilliant idea. So we walked through the streets, supping at our plastic pint glasses with bewildered gladness as families bumped into us, sending our drinks sloshing down onto the cobbles, until we’d circled the entire fair three times in fairly quick succession and decided that a fourth tour might just be one too many, strangely exciting as the whole thing had proven to be.
To find out more, visit the town’s website.
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