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Fist in the air, beer in the other hand, in defiance of the rain that had been hammering down earlier. This is Las Fallas distilled into two men and a moment. I caught them mid-chant on one of the streets near the Plaza del Ayuntamiento. The man on the left had gone full traditional, with woven manta draped over his shoulders, loaded with pompoms and bandana tied tight while his friend had hedged his bets with a clear plastic poncho over the waistcoat. His Amstel was probably warm but he didn’t care. Valencia in March is meant to be about fire and gunpowder, and the rain didn’t stop the festivities.

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