International Phallus Fair?

CANARY ISLAND BANANA CANARY.

Fuengirola’s International Fair (Feria Internacional de los Pueblos) had just opened Thursday for its five-day run when we arrived home. Judyshannonstreetwhat (click here if you don’t know her) came back to Spain with us. So, she, San Geraldo, and I, walked over to the fairgrounds Sunday evening where we caught up with Tynan, Elena, and their kids.

We arrived early, before the major onslaught of crowds and partiers. But you wouldn’t know that from my photos. There was already quite a mob.

Being in a state of terminal adolescence, I couldn’t help but notice the presence of phallic symbols everywhere I looked.

From the big ‘canary yellow/banana yellow’ canary-banana atop the entrance to the caseta of Spain’s Canary Islands (famous for canaries and the best bananas in the world — according to me); to the undeniably phallic balloons; to every size and color of sausage on the grills; it was a noisy, crowded, smokey, happy… [juvenile’s] paradise.

Interesting factoid, which makes this an educational (and not juvenile) post:
Did you know that “phallic processions” or “penis parades” were called “Phallika” in ancient Greece, and were a common feature of celebrations by the Cult of Dionysus? That’s going back more than 2,000 years! The city of Tyrnavos hosts an annual phallus festival to kick off Lent. (The Greek Orthodox Church does NOT approve.)

(Click the images and make them grow… snicker, snicker, nudge, nudge…)

TOWERING ABOVE THE REST.

SMOKEY SAUSAGE ANYONE?

OR A BEER CAN?

A CLAUSTROPHOBE’S NIGHTMARE.

REMEMBER MY SAUNA EXPERIENCE? (CLICK HERE). I TOLD JUDY TO SEE WHAT THE GUY HAD ON UNDER HIS TOWEL. SHE PRETENDED TO DO SO (SHE’LL TALK TO ANYONE). ANYWAY, NOTHING BUT TOWEL.

HE GOT TOO ROUGH WITH HIS…

… AND, OF COURSE, IT BROKE.

TYNAN AND JUDY LOOK ON AS A MAN WALKS BY WITH HIS IN A BABY STROLLER. (NO BABY, BUT STILL DISTURBING.)

ABOUT TO PASS VENEZUELA ON OUR WAY TO INDIA.

THE LIGHTS COMING ON.

CASETA OF NAVARRA (NORTHERN SPAIN). THE MUSIC WAS SO LOUD, IT POUNDED IN MY CHEST. (I HATED THAT EVEN WHEN I WAS 20.)

AN OOM-PAH BAND… WITHOUT ANY OOMPH?

AVOIDING THE CROWDS INSIDE AS WE HEAD TO THE FRONT GATES.

TAKING HIS HOME. (I TEND TO TUCK MINE UNDER MY ARM, TOO.)

“DON’T ASK ME,” HE SHRUGS.

Ώπα (Opa)!!!