Handmade decor at Fiesta del Aire in Arriate in 2017. Photo © Karethe Linaae
A few years back, we went to the village of Arriate in Málaga province for its autumn Fiesta del Aire (Air Festival). Given the name, we envisioned a celebration of wind and falling leaves, and the event did not disappoint.
There was live music on the stage and food stalls to satisfy any appetite. In some of the alleys, local artists had set up their easels and painted for all to see, while artisans held workshops for the kids.
Live painting in the streets. Fiesta del Aire, 2017. Photo © Karethe Linaae
Entire streets were covered by a canopy of crocheted squares, probably made by the village’s grandmothers. All the decorations seemed handmade, using recycled, upcycled and repurposed materials, many created by local schoolchildren. There was even a pedal-powered carousel! The fiesta was an innovative and refreshing change from any other we had attended in the region.
Low-tech. Fiesta del Aire 2017. Photo © Karethe Linaae
This year, we decided to go back. The excitement was palpable as we walked into the town centre, where the shuttle bus had dropped us off (kudos to the Ayuntamiento!). A steady stream of people, especially families with children, was gathering.
We passed the stage, where technicians were setting up for that evening's concerts, and followed the crowds to the grand entrance arch. This was, of course, also the favourite spot for selfies. From afar, it looked bright and festive, but as we got closer, I realised that it was largely made of plastic, polystyrene, spray foam and spray paint. The décor was, as we used to say in the film industry, good from far, but far from good.
Entrance, Fiesta del Aire 2026. Photo © Karethe Linaae
What had happened to the Fiesta del Aire?
Looking around, the colourful display seemed to be going down well with the crowds. And, to be fair, the plastic streamers overhead did look cheerful. I could see the appeal, especially for the younger visitors, and of course everyone is entitled to enjoy themselves. But my heart sank as we walked on.
Looking up. Photo © Karethe Linaae
There were giant cartoonish figures made from some unidentifiable foam material. Huge polystyrene balls, like alien organisms under a microscope, were covered in disposable plastic cups, spray-painted in technicolour. Festive, yes, but I found myself wondering whether all those cups would ever be used again. With everything glued together and painted, what would happen to it when the fiesta was over? How much, if any, could be recycled? Even if the town hall had somewhere to store the whole lot, would it be brought out again next year? Or does a festival like this need new decorations and a new colour scheme every time?
Where do these 50,000 spray-painted plastic cups end up? Fiesta del Aire, 2026. Photo © Karethe Linaae
As we made our way past streets lined with vendors selling the same stuff as at any other town party in these parts, I wondered what had happened to the grand idea of celebrating the autumn air. Was the colourful spectacle overshadowing the very thing that once made this fiesta so appealing: its apparent commitment to local creativity and ingenuity? Had the fiesta become Fiesta de Despilfarro (Festival of Wastefulness)?
And what of the wide-eyed dragonfly, the symbol of the fiesta? I couldn't help wondering whether it was having trouble breathing.