We were tired. Three weeks into a month-long tour of Europe last summer with my ten best friends from high school, we were tired of sightseeing, tired of trains, tired of each other. As we ventured out into Barcelona in various pairs and squads on the morning of June 23rd, intending to walk La Rambla or admire some pieces at the Picasso Museum, we began to catch wind of the fact that something, indeed, something big, was going down that night.

The 23rd of June is the feast of St. John and is celebrated all over Europe in conjunction with the summer solstice. But in Barcelona, where the saint is proudly referred to by his Catalán name, Sant Joan, the party gets so crunk that no God, Christian nor pagan, could be blamed for losing all hope in humanity and for bringing about another deluge. But it’s all good, because this is a night designed for people to purge themselves of whatever troubles, sins, or burdening desires they have and snatch a fresh start (with a hangover to boot). It’s like New Year’s in June! On the beach!

As the afternoon sun starts getting lower in the sky, people flock to the beach. This is where the party at, and where the party was, for us.

The night actually started off pretty rough. All of us were beat, and for the entire walk to the beach from our hostel, a palpable tension between two of my friends that had been escalating for two weeks seemed primed to come to a head. On top of that, one of our friends had had his backpack stolen earlier that day on the beach while he was taking a dip and the others had forgotten to watch it. By the time we got to the beach, he had already left to go blow off some steam on his own. To put it plainly, the outlook was bleak.

But, if you take away anything from this story, dear reader, it is this: on the night of Sant Joan, despite, or better yet, because of your problems, have faith in the party, for it will deliver. As the sky darkens and the breeze picks up, the beach lights up with bonfires, the chatter reaches fever pitch, and the shore reaches a critical mass of potential energy. As plastic bottles of (mostly) cheap wine mixed with (a little bit of) Coke start getting passed around, the conversation flows, and everyone feels just a little better.

And then BOOM. Marching down the shore from the road is a 30-person drum and brass ensemble, going HARD. They stake out a spot in the middle of the sand and play their hearts out. People dance under the moonlight, bare feet kicking up the sand, singing, high-fiving, embracing complete strangers, unleashing their inner animal for what feels like an eternity that should never end. The party has arrived.

As I headed back to our little colony of towels and backpacks, the tension between the two friends of mine was indeed boiling over, and one of them stalked off in a storm of muttered curses as a third friend of ours was yelling at both of them to grow a pair and stop being so childish. Despite the drama, I grabbed a compadre and a bottle of our Coke-wine concoction, and we headed out for a rowdy stroll along the beach. All around us were fireworks being launched just inches away, proud cries of “Viva Cataluña!”, and vendors weaving through the crowd offering their products by way of catchy jingles. “Coooca-colaaa, cervezaaa, marijuaaanaaaa!” Pandemonium, in the best way possible.

There was just one final Sant Joan tradition for us to enact: swimming at midnight. As the clock struck midnight, a huge fireworks show boomed over us, all the pinks and greens reflected in the water. I dove in along with what seemed to be a whole city’s worth of people and swam almost ten nonstop minutes into the Mediterranean before finally deciding to turn around.

By the time I came up on shore again, I was dead tired, but not in the way I had started my day. There is no better way of describing my state than to say that I felt purged of everything. I was ready to do nothing but lie out on the beach and watch the still raging party; I was entirely reinvigorated to continue the rest of this trip.

In short, if it is collective effervescence you seek this summer, no matter what it is you wish to let go of and transcend, put Sant Joan’s night in Barcelona at the top of your list.