There are two kinds of festival, aren’t there? The sort where people solemnly shuffle around saying “this is terribly important” coronations, funerals, tax deadlines, and the sort where people set off dangerous amounts of fireworks while loudly insisting it’s for God. La Laguna, a beautiful old town in Tenerife, has cleverly combined both, and called it the Fiestas del Santísimo Cristo de La Laguna.
The basic premise is this: on the 14th of September, the local population honours their beloved image of Christ. Fair enough. But this isn’t just a polite nod and a hymn; this is a weeks-long cavalcade of parades, concerts, horse-shaped lanterns that appear to be on fire (because nothing says devotion like terrifying children with flaming papier-mâché), and finally the “Fuegos del Risco,” in which the cliffs themselves are made to look as though they’re auditioning for the role of Mount Doom.
Now, I’m not against fireworks. They’re splendid. The Chinese invented them, the Victorians blew themselves up with them, and now we all gather in crowds to risk our eyebrows. But when the good people of La Laguna let off their pyrotechnics, they don’t just point them skywards. No, they line them up against the actual rock face behind the town. The result is biblical: a thunderous display in which nature itself appears to be participating, like the landscape has joined the congregation and said, “Fine, I’ll pray too, but only if I get to explode.”
And it doesn’t stop there. In the run-up you get everything: folk music festivals, symphony orchestras bravely competing with church bells that refuse to shut up, university parties where Locoplaya and Ray Castellano perform to thousands of sweaty students, and a “Night of Humor,” which sounds like something Orwell made up but actually features real comedians. There’s even a BMX competition, because nothing captures the solemnity of Christ on the Cross like a teenager attempting a backflip near the Parque de La Vega.
What’s striking, though, is that amidst this glorious chaos, the locals remain deeply serious about the religious core. On the 9th and 14th of September, the image of Christ is carried solemnly through the streets in processions that manage to silence even the loudest reggaeton speaker. It’s quite moving. You can feel the centuries of tradition pressing down, as though the cobblestones themselves have memorised the route.
So you have this extraordinary duality: profound faith alongside a festival schedule that resembles Glastonbury if it had been organised by the Vatican. And do you know what? It works. People are united, the town is alive, and tourists like me get to gawp at the spectacle while secretly wondering how many fingers were lost testing those fireworks. It last for pretty much the entire month of September, so if you’re picking a time to stay at a coliving space in Tenerife then September is a pretty good pick.
If you ever find yourself in Tenerife in September, don’t miss it. Stand in the Plaza del Cristo, watch the image of the Santísimo Cristo return to its sanctuary, then prepare yourself for the night sky, and the cliffs, to ignite. You’ll either be moved to tears by the spiritual grandeur or mildly deafened by the rockets. Possibly both.
Because the Fiestas del Santísimo Cristo de La Laguna are, in their own peculiar way, the perfect festival: a blend of holiness, hysteria, and highly questionable fire safety standards.
