Story: See You in Pamplona!

Those were the last words I heard from some Italians I had befriended in Barcelona the day before heading down to Pamplona. The odds of that happening were literally 1 in 1.5 million people expected to be reveling during San Fermin.

The San Fermin Festival (“Running of the Bulls”) is held every year on the exact dates – July 6th to July 14th – come rain or shine. As I stood in an overcrowded bus from the train station heading down to Plaza Castillo, eager anticipation filled the air. Strangers stealing glances at each other, sitting quietly on that bus, knowing we were all going to be experiencing something we’d be talking about for years.

I was meeting the lady who I was renting a room from in Plaza Castillo. Hotels in Pamplona sold out 6-9 months in advance of the festival, and so, locals opened their homes to strangers, renting out rooms at prices comparable to 3-4 star hotels. I couldn’t have asked for a better location – On the fourth floor along the world-famous Estefeta Street which was the final stretch towards the bullring! My roommates ranged from young Mexican ladies to young Englishmen donning white Elvis suits and white Marilyn Monroe dresses. Later that night, I ventured out to Plaza Castillo where Pamplona’s infamous nightlife thrived with my camcorder in tow. Needless to say, it was the precursor to what I was going to be experiencing in the upcoming days.

Txupinazo (“Chupinazo”)

The morning of July 6th as I wore my white garb and red neckties, it finally hit me. I was here to witness the running of the bulls which I'd only watched on television. I headed out to the town hall with two roommates to watch the Txupinazo; the official festival kickoff at 12 noon marked by the launching of a rocket. A crowd of thousands in white and red was a sight to behold. Lots of people were holding Sangria bottles or udders, and soon enough, food and drink fights began, with people dressed in white doused in everything from red wine to mustard. The minute the rocket went off, sheer collective madness and drinking began in Pamplona.

Fountain-Jumping

Right after the Txupinazo, I headed to the site of the legendary fountain jumping ritual. Started years ago by drunken Australian revelers, this ritual has become as much a part of the festival as the bull running itself. I was expecting it to be fun but what I wasn’t anticipating was how daring and unbelievable it was. Rumors had been flying around that, ironically, an Australian guy had slipped and died earlier that morning. Fellow revelers did back-flips, flying squirrels, and dives into crowds of strangers below; trusting that they would be caught. Till this day, I watch footage of the jumps in sheer unbelief.

The Encierro: The Running of the Bulls

The morning of July 7th was the official start of the bull runs. Thousands of people were perched on balconies along the route. Lots of brave runners were waiting patiently in strategic spots where they hoped they’d make less direct contact with the bulls. When I reserved my private room, I’d also been offered a “balcony spot” which of course had to be paid for. The extra income San Fermin generates for locals is a small price to pay for the insanity they have to endure during the festival. My balcony spot was right above Mercaderes Street with an excellent view of the sharp right hand curve the bulls make onto Estefeta Street. The wait was nerve-wreaking. The run goes by so fast that you could literally miss it in a split second. The rocket went off. The race started and the flowing sea of white and red was never-ending. Within seconds, flanked by red and white runners, the bulls raced down Mercaderes and the crowd went absolutely crazy. Fellow balcony spotters pointed out famous American basketball player Dennis Rodman in excitement, and I captured his run on tape. The bull-run lasted about 3-4 minutes. Later on that day, I took a walking tour of the city to fully experience life outside the main squares. My group walked along the stone walls where the day before, two intoxicated people had jumped to their deaths. A mandatory stop was made at the statue of Ernest Hemingway, who brought the festival to a wider audience through his book “The Sun Also Rises”. We ended our tour right at the stadium where I knew the fights were going to take place later that night.

The Corrida - Bullfights

Starting on July 7th at 6:30 pm, the bull-fights occur daily. Crowds led by marching bands and local clubs called “Peñas” file towards the bullring. Trying to get tickets to watch a fight is close to impossible since they are mostly reserved for the Peñas. Finally buying a ticket three times the regular price off a scalper, I was able to go in. The music that resonated from the various bands filled the skies. It was exciting and what more, finding myself sitting amongst a local Peña – complete with food, sangria, music, drunkenness, and rowdiness. I was instantly adopted into their fold, fed potato sandwiches, and of course, doused in Sangria as their way of flirting with me. They taught me songs and tried to explain in the little English they knew what I was about to witness.

Bullfighting is definitely not for the squeamish. The six bulls that ran earlier that morning had to fight that night. Novilleros and matadors strolled out androgynously into the ring. World famous matador – Fandilla – made an appearance which garnered uncontrollable applause and cheering. Skillfully spearing the bulls in acrobatic displays, I sometimes wondered if the matadors truly valued their lives. I asked a few of the Peñas what happened to the carcasses once the fights were over, and they said the meat was donated to local kitchens.

I’ll remember my experience in Pamplona for many years to come. The Encierro was most definitely the highlight. Not to be outdone by San Fermin, a few days before the festival, PETA organizes the “Running of the Nudes” to protest their view of the tradition as cruel…well in the nude.

On July 15th, the “Running of the Bus” is held where revelers still on the high of the bull runs, race alongside the local transportation buses.

Experiencing it as a solo traveler allowed me to step back and observe the sheer 24-hour insanity objectively, and then jump back in when I was ready. Being a female traveler during a festival where men outnumbered women at least 300 to 1, safety was always on the back of my mind. The parties go on round-the-clock non-stop for all nine (9) days of the festival: Bull runs in the morning, partying till the bull fights in the evening, and then partying till bull runs in the morning. There was no way I could have stayed in Pamplona for all nine days.

Oh yeah! And the Italians...I ran into them twice!

What are the odds of that?!

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