You haven´t lived until you´ve been to San Fermin...

Pamplona... wow.

So, let´s see. Had a great last night in Malaga and traveled the next day to Pamplona by train through Madrid. An interesting train ride into Pamplona, the train packed with people going to San Fermin. Quite a lot of bad American tourists, so bad it was embarrassing. By my guess, Texas frat boys or something of the sort. So annoying. But, all in all not so bad. Tried to sleep most of the way and spent the last half hour or so talking with some Spanish girls on our way into Pamplona.

Upon arrival, had to wait around for a long time to meet up with my Australian cousin Amelia, her boyfriend Leigh, and his mates, ¨Fat¨and ¨Wato¨. They arrived with a beer for me and after getting the necessary San Fermin uniform (white pants and shirt with red bandana and scarf worn around the waist) went off to a rented apartment to drop off my bags and head back out. Can´t say much for the apartment, just an empty room with some mattresses thrown on it, but such is the way many locals make some money during this massive festival. Went immediately back to the center of the city, stopping for some beers and sangria and making our way to the park for a fantastic fireworks display at 11. By this time, nearly everyone was drunk, celebrating in the fields and streets. A Romanian girl threw herself on me, talking broken Spanish the entire time. Her friends had to haul her off and we all had a good laugh about it. Following that, the thousands that had gathered on the field to watch the fireworks display spilled into the streets for food and drink, but mostly drink. Sangria and cervezas were plentiful everywhere, and few were sober. It is the most amazing festival I´ve ever been to.

While walking around, tried to call my friend Alfredo, who I know from Barcelona through a friend named Benji, who I traveled with in Hong Kong last summer. Told me he was in Plaza de Castilla, which our group randomly happened upon. About two thousand people packed the square listening to a salsa group. Didn´t think there´d be much of a chance of finding Alfredo, but sure enough, found him and his friends. They tried to teach Amelia and I salsa with mixed results. We decided to head on in the night after a while, and hit up various bars and bocadillo stands before calling it a night and heading home. Tried to wake up early the next morning to see the Encierra, or Running of the Bulls, but slept in till 12. Walked around the city for a bit, arranging the Aussies´bus trip back to Barca with a most unhelpful bus agent at the station. Thankfully I know a bit of Spanish, a lot of English speaking tourists there were having a hell of a time trying to figure travel plans out. Helped a few of them and gave out some Spanish phrases to say.

After that, we changed and headed over to the Plaza Del Toros to try and catch a bull fight. Tickets were sold out, but we scalped a 11€ ticket for 40€ but was well worth it. One of the greater entertainment spectacles of my life. We were seated up in the second level, in the sun, which was party central. Everyone around us (including us) brought in several bottles and boxes and buckets of sangria. There were bands in the stands playing music. Everyone was fairly drunk already, and it was just getting started.

We had to cram into small little areas for a seat as the chaos of the scene did not allow for assigned seating. The bullfight itself was rather brutal. Quite inhumane. At first the bull is run around to get it tired and raising its pulse. Then, horses are brought out as their riders spear the bulls in the back to get it to bleed. On several occasions, the horses received absolutely devastating hits from the bulls, falling down and one horse getting gored. After that, two flambouyantly dressed guys send two shorter spears each that stick into the bulls back. The bull is bleeding quite profusely after this. Then, to the crowd´s delight, the matador comes out. This is the part that many people think of with the bullfight, as he gets the bull to charge at his cape before taking it away at the last moment. He finishes with a sword to the top of the bull´s neck, at which point, if it is done well, the bull falls instantly. Every time I saw it, however, the bulls continued to stick around, and after collapsing to the ground, needed a short dagger to the back of the neck to finish them off. It concludes with a trio of horses dragging the bull off.

And then? The party begins...

One must understand that my cousin Amelia and I were rightly shocked by the brutality of this whole spectacle but as soon as the bull was killed, the crowd erupted in a massive celebration. The bands played. We sang. We danced. We most definitely drank. Sangria is tossed everywhere, transforming our white uniform into a blochy mess of purple (check my facebook photo for a good view). Sandwiches are shared, or tossed, with people and at people. This whole thing continues until the next fight, in which people settle down. But not for long. All of a sudden, everyone stands up and starts singing. The band is playing. More sangria rains down from the heavens. At this point, I figured it was pretty much heaven. Replace the bullfight with a soccer match and it just might be. I try my hand at talking with some Spanish girls with mixed success. They teach me a song and give me some sort of drink which I mix with my sangria. They tell me to toss it on their friends sitting a couple people over to the left. I oblige. Their friends retaliate. More sangria is shared, more singing, more dancing. At this point, the bullfight is secondary, providing only an excuse to kick the singing and dancing and drinking up a notch when the next bull is killed. After a while, the seats have formed a gutter of sangria and beer. Some Spanish guys, quite nice, decide to give Amelia a shower with a liter of beer on her head. All in good fun. By this time, my clothes are drenched, and my eyes stinking from sangria. I get hit in the head with an orange. A sandwich. More sangria. Some older gentlemen behind us offer us sandwiches of jamon and also of egg and prawn. The egg and prawn? Not so good. This naturally gets tossed into the lower decks. Some Australians from around us are also having a good time. What a party.

We eventually leave and wait outside for Fat and Wato who had other seats. They don´t show up, so we head back for a change and a most necessary shower. Finish that night off with a spectacular fireworks display in the part (check the video on facebook) and head to bed early for some sleep.

I was planning on running the next morning and was so nervous I couldn´t sleep. Fat comes in at 3 in the morning, shouting and reliving his night. Apparently he met up with some Spanish who took him and Wato under their wing and showed them the night of their lives. Eventually, we get Fat to shut up so we can get some more sleep, yet I still can´t so call the family at 4 in the morning.

Wake up at 6 and have a quick shower to wake up. Adrenaline starts pumping. Have a RedBull. Adrenaline really starts pumping. Right out of the apartment, run into Wato just coming back. Start walking off for the Encierra. Stretch a bit, run a bit. Get nervous. Try and calm down. Eventually part with Amelia and Leigh as they head to the ring to watch the finale. Work my way through the streets to find an access point for the run. It´s chaos already.

Upon finally finding the route, we are all immediately run off by the police so they can clean the streets of glass and rubbish. Run frantically around trying to find another access point. Eventually find it and it is incredibly crowded. They put us all in a pen and there is hardly room to move. The crowd is a mixture of Spanish and English speaking tourists. Nearly all male. A mixture of nervousness and revelry is in the crowd. People adorn the balconies in the buildings above. We clap, sing. Some chant goes up in Spanish for some of the attractive girls in the balconies to lift their shirts. One grants the crowd its wish to a tremendous uproar. It´s quite the scene all around. The police come through to take out the drunk and ill-prepared to run. More chanting and singing. Eventually, they let us out of the pen to spread out along the route.

I find some other Americans and we pick a spot about a hundred meters from ¨Dead Man´s Corner¨. Past it, of course. Not messing with that, a sharp turn where if you are caught on the outside as the bulls come through, you´re certain to get trampled. Stretch a bit. Talk strategy. Wish each other luck. The runners grow excited.

BOOM! The gun (or rocket?) goes off. This signals the start of the race. The bulls have been released. It´s 8:02. Chaos erupts. At this point, it becomes clear that the most dangerous aspect of the race isn´t the bulls themselves, but the people around. Mob mentality. We´re all looking around for the bulls. I´m nearly shitting myself. Adrenaline REALLY starts going. Then, the roar. First, you hear the runners shouting. We look back. They´re coming around ¨Dead Man´s Corner¨. You can hear the hoofs on the cobble stone streets. Chaos! Everyone is running, but looking back, and darting in and out. At this point, I decided that the center of the street is not for me, and run along the sides. More people to dodge, but at least my margin of error is greater. The bulls go by. It´s all a blur. We all keep running. More bulls go by. Piles of people emerge everywhere, obstacles to avoid. People on the ground cover up, not wanting to get gored. A trampling is better than a goring. I keep running, dodging people all the way. 300 m and about a minute later, I´m in the stadium.

At this point, I figure it´s mostly over. I survived the running, right? Well, after the running, they release smaller bulls with capped horns into the ring. It charges out of this tunnel and proceeds to run around the ring, a wrecking ball of destruction. Some people get it hard. Knocked up in the air, trampled, etc. I´m keeping a distance from the bull, just to observe the scene. You can´t see it most of the time as it runs around there are so many people. All you see at the last minute is the parting of people running from the bull. The Plaza del Toros is filled with spectators cheering and chanting. Touching the bulls horns is strictly forbidden. Chants of ¨You Are A Puta!¨greet those who grab the horns. Finally, a big steer comes out to lead the bull out of the ring. Everyone gathers at this gate, kneeling, arms over one another much like a rugby scrum.

Toro! Toro! Toro! We chant at the gate. The gate opens. At the end of the hall is the silhouette of th bull.

Toro! Toro! Toro! Venga! The bull starts running. It leaps over the first row, jumping on those several rows back. I was just a few feet away. The bull goes off into the crowd and the chaos ensues again. I start to get closer with this one but still keep a fair distance.

We repeat the procedure twice more. On the last bull, I figure I´ve got to do it. People run up to the bull and slap it on the ass before darting away. Might as well try, right?

I succeed. Wait till the bull is running, then come in from the side and give it a little tap. Simple enough. This bull is a feisty one though. It stops and turns in a circle, trying to get those who dare venture too close. I get it twice more. I back off for a bit. The bull then got its revenge, albeit it not on me. It finds a runner and pins him up against the wall, continuing to ram him. People pull at the tail to get it away. This is right in front of me. Eventually, the bull is distracted and runs off while the man is dragged away to safety and paramedics. I´m stll watching the bull.

Then WHAM! I get hit in the head, and hard. I didn´t see it coming. The steer came from behind and I was so transfixed with the bull I didn´t keep my head on a swivel.

It hurt, but not too bad. The event ended and I walked back to the apartment with the biggest shit eating grin on my face. We all rehash our events of the past 12 hours and pack and leave. Spend the day with a siesta in the park by the bus station. The Aussies head off by bus, I head off by train (first class!) back to Barca.

San Fermin. What a time. Planning on going back next year if I can make it work.