The Night and the Bulls

"The things that happened could only have happened during a fiesta. Everything became quite unreal finally and it seemed as though nothing could have any consequences. It seemed out of place to think of consequences during the fiesta."
--Ernest Hemingway from The Sun Also Rises

After the adventure that was Barcelona, things once again moved in divergent directions. Shane woke before dawn on the morning of the 13th to catch a flight back home with the promise of meeting us in a few days time in Edinburgh, where we would then go visit with his Great Aunt and her family in Glasgow for a few days. Ashley and Stephanie had parted with us the night before, their intention being to stay on in Barcelona for another afternoon (they arrived a day behind us) and then take the train over into Italy. When we shall all be together again is unclear, though the girls and us all fly out of Dublin, so at some point we might cross paths once more on foreign soil.

For our part, Chris and I had a most different sort of challenge ahead. We left Barcelona in the early afternoon on a slow train that wound us along the gorgeous Mediterranean coast, and then up into the foothills of the Pyrenees into Basque country; the former Kingdom of Navarre. We were bound for Pamplona, and a long night in the fortified city during the famed Festival de St. Fermin. We had no lodging booked (for such would have been very expensive) but we had a plan. We showed up late in the afternoon and caught a bus into the city center (I didn't see where it was going, but followed my gut. To our good fortune, my gut is an accurate navigator.) Once in the city, we used the free map we got at the station (we have used free maps from the stations everywhere we've gone and, though some of them have been quite lame, we've always had success) to find our way to the luggage check that Pamplona city sets up every year for transient festival attendees such as Chris and myself.

For a little under five euro, we were able to check out bags over night. I changed into my all white attire, and then we hit the city to find a vendor selling the rest of the Fermines custom. During the festival, everyone where's all white except for a red sash or neckerchief, or both. Chris and I just went with the neckerchiefs, and soon we were blending in with the hundreds of thousands of others from Spain and around the globe there to wait up all night for the corrida del torros; the running of the bulls.

Near the luggage check was an ancient fountain that had on four sides, four spigots that were constantly pouring cool, fresh water into basins beneath. This fountain was a great find, and the most visited spot of our night.

My young sister Lorraine visited Spain the year prior, and had also attended the Fiesta. She said then of Pamplona that it was "crowded, filled with drunks, and smelled like pee." She could not have been more correct. By 4am the city was so filthy and doused in urine, that a fresh breath was hard to find. People were passed out in every available green space (and some on the narrows streets themselves where they were mocked and messed with by other revelers.) Before that however, things were grand. Dueling marching bands roamed the old, cobble stone streets leading impromptu parades. Concerts played in the plazas, and the excitement of the moment was in the air. By about 2, however, I was failing out. I had not slept nearly as much as I had hoped on the train in, and Chris and I looked around for a secluded spot to nap. Fearing for our safety at times, we only caught snatches of sleep, then eventually abandoned the endeavor all together.

To stay awake, we ate the ubiquitous ham sandwiches (bochadillos), drank cokes (as I couldn't find the coffee joint, though I swear I saw one at some point) and discovered the tall city walls where there still exist cannon placements. The whole of the old city of Pamplona used to be a fortress, and the rear of the fort is still intact. I would have liked to have seen it in the day. We also made frequent visits to the blessed fountain.

Finally, at some point, the crowds began to stir again and move towards the streets where the bulls were to be run. Chris and I also made our way there and stood by as the fences were erected. Two fences are put up parallel to each other on either side of the streets--one to separate the bulls from the police and emergency personnel, and another to separate the spectators further. Chris and I posted up on the top of the second fence, in a likely spot, and waited. Finally, after safety announcements over loudspeakers in eight languages, the race began at promptly 8am.

The whole of the event was exhilarating and over in a flash. Two groups of bulls came thundering down the slick cobble stones (they cleaned the streets before hand with fire hoses) chasing and being chased by all manner of the brave and the idiotic. I got the first charge on video and it lasts a whopping 20 seconds.
After the run, we wandered back through a now remarkably cleansed city past a cafe with a TV showing the footage filmed of the run moments before. We watched on camera as nine people were bucked or trampled, resulting in the most injuries yet of the Fiesta. Having just finished yesterday (the Fiesta), I believe the record still stands. After watching this, we retrieved our bags and made for the train station where we were bound to travel back to Madrid to connect on an overnight Trainhotel to Paris. Needless to say, we slept pretty much the entire day, in trains and train stations alike.