As we prepared to depart from Madrid, we nursed our hangovers from the night before thanks to Moondance club, that had us raging till near 5 in the morning. Our bus for Pamplona departs at 3 pm. We leave with ample time to get to the bus station but our lack of Spanish and communication skills (this will play a great roll later on) left us wondering around looking for the bus, only to find it with the help of staff moments prior to departure. Now we are all operating on 3-4 hours of sleep because we had to ensure we checked out of the hostel by 11 am (this is key). As we ride the 5 hours through the Spanish countryside, I take in a beautiful scenery that reminds me of parts of California, flowing golden hills and beautiful farmland. But only my book can distract me from my impending destiny with 600 kg bulls.
We arrive in Pamplona just short of 9 pm, naturally it’s still light out and people are everywhere! The one thing we had prepared for was the checking of bags at a local school. Because we refused to spend hundreds of euros on a room, our Plan A was to sleep in a park, or bus station, or anywhere we could plop down. This isn’t totally irrational, many people do it and it works out… well sorta. The weather report showed thunderstorms, possible problem. The collective decision, after purchasing all the appropriate attire of white pants, red sash and red handkerchief, is to drop our bags at the school. We pull out some cash and will now be going the remainder of the trip with only the clothes on our backs and cash in our pockets, no cameras, identification, or access to warm clothes and credit cards. In search of some kebab for dinner we make our way into the main area of Pamplona, the heart and soul of the San Fermin festival, locals and tourists fill the streets with Sangria in hand and a drunken grace to their step. Bands are playing on every street, entire families take in the festival together. Oh! by the way, you can’t go 10 minutes without a booming firework going off. Our first attempt at Kebabs at Hemingway’s (a popular eatery for Ernest Hemingway back in his era), ended with locals yelling at us for not waiting in the back of the line and rather in the bar area. We quickly scamper out of the establishment in search of another. During San Fermin its very common for the locals to beat the crap out of tourists who do not respect the festival and the bulls (witnessed this a few times while in the bull ring after the run). The kebab we find were excellent and down near the start of the run, in this place we meet a few Canadians who had run that day and gave us good insight on things (we had no clue how to do the run!). Our lack of communication skills made it difficult to just join a pub but we made the decision to not drink the night before running. Safe and recommended move by everyone. It’s now 10:30 or so and we opt to head back to the bus station and sit down where we saw lots of people. We figured the bus station would be a warm place to stay. I wish we could provide photo evidence of all of this, but again, we have nothing with us! Getting back to the park, its packed!, every family and young person in the basque region (north central spain) of the world are at this park and we have no clue why.
Then at 11 a fireworks display went off that was a spectacle beyond belief. I’ve been going to fireworks shows my whole life, all over the United States and none of them were as good as this! It lasted nearly half an hour of non stop booming and visual greatness. It starts to rain so we move into cover from the showers, being wet and cold all night would be a recipe for disaster.
As a team we decide to head down the bus station terminal, it’s warm and looks like a good place to lay down for the night. Unfortunately around 12 the police rolled through and politely escorted everyone out of the terminal. Well shit! What are we going to do now? We walk out side and to our right there is a concert going on. Were wide awake and there is warmth in crowds so we make our way over to the show where a Spanish alt rock band put on what felt like a very good performance. I loved their use of trumpet in rock bands here in Spain, it gives the music a great jazz feel. After a while of sitting and still not drinking while everyone around us hammered down booze like it’s St. Patty’s. We made our way back to the train station where they had an open indoor stairwell around 1:30. We thought our night was over and we could get some sleep. oh how we were wrong…
Ryan spots a corner in the stairwell that’s uninhabited and we instantly take it, finding a warm place to sit down was essential for us to make it through the night. We had planted our selves down of the granite floor and walls for no more than a few seconds when some girls from the mob of people come over and literally say “hello” about 4 or 5 times before we can even respond. This is where the communication skills would have been handy. It’s instantly obvious that these girls are locals and speak about as much English as we do Spanish. For the next 10 minutes or so, there was super awkward exchanges of friendlies and basic introduction. Pretty much as much Spanish as we could muster and as much English as they could. Slowly, we actually start talking and finding out many of them have spent time in the US and picked up English fairly well. These 6 girls said they were 19 (we had some run in with high schools kids in Madrid, freaked us out so we had to verify), now that were chatting away (always awkwardly thanks to the language barrier), were discovering that we have similar taste in music and interests. It would be great if we could both converse with more than the vocabulary of a 6-year-old.
Oh shit, its 2:30, we need to get some sleep but we keep awkwardly talking to these very pretty and very friendly girls. Now they keep talking about going dancing at a disco and invite us along. Well hell! its decision time and we either say our goodbyes or head to the discos and risk not sleeping at all… Disco it is!
Now, keep in mind that the four of us have been good about not drinking and continually remind ourselves were going to sleep some before the run. Which by the way, we have been told by numerous locals and individuals that were crazy for running. That’s all we need to settle our nerves.
As we walk with these ladies back into the main town center of Pamplona, we quickly realize that the bars and city is busier now, than it was at 10 pm. We find the first disco only to bump and push our way back to the dance floor. As Americans, we “dance” a certain way when out a bar that is both very intimate and very much lacking dancing ability. The rest of the world, actually dances. These girls are dancing around in circles showing off their Flamenco (traditional Spain dance), and meanwhile we look like a bunch of jackwagons trying to be rhythmic. Post 3 am, were getting a bit tired seeing as were going on a few hours of sleep so Bryce and I step over to the bar. So of course there is a break down in communication, we try to order Vodka Red Bulls (yes were breaking the no drinking thing, but 1 drink is fine if it takes the edge off how awkward our interactions are with these girls). Nope no red bull, so we order up rum and cokes, except that seconds later I see Red Bull and point it out to the bartender. Now, I was thinking he would go back to the vodka, but he continues to pour the rum and well screw it. Its hard enough ordering, changing it would be impossible. Turns out, rum and red bull with a little lemon is delicious for anyone who wants to know.
We grow tired of the this disco and head back out to the streets for a new place, the small spanish village streets are filled wall to wall with people overflowing from every bar, nothing is closed now around 3:30. We walk into a disco down the street and we like the music and the vibe, until I see the 30 or so legs of pig hanging from the ceiling. The spanish eat ham, ham, ham, and more ham. They even have different types of ham, so spotting legs curing in a restaurant isn’t uncommon at all (it’s everywhere), but for a disco to have them hanging was rather strange to us. We get to dancing again and trying our best to intermingle, we have another round of drinks and have to fight the internal struggle with time. A clock sits directly across from where we were dancing, recognizing that it’s now 4 am and were still not asleep. Knowing good and well we have to be up at 6 am to make our way to the Running.
Walking out of the disco, we had no idea what was next. It’s now confirmed that drunk food is an international concept and it’s yet another thing Americans fail at. The girls take us to a local corner market and pick up Bacon and cheese Bocadillas (sandwiches), this thing was so damn good we tried to get them for breakfast as well and I wasn’t even drunk. We chat more with the girls as they eat their sandwiches in one of the numerous plazas featuring statues and beautiful history (it is Europe and all). Now that it’s 4:30 in the morning and we’re wide awake! We make our way back to our favorite place, the bus station. We say our good byes and thanks to the french influence in the region exchange kisses on both cheeks with all the girls and they hop on a bus back to their town of Tefalla and we join the dozens of other people sleeping in the bus terminal bay, not even indoors. We have no blankets, pillows, or even a jacket. Just 4 guys laying down on concrete in the hopes of getting an hour of shuteye before we do the craziest thing of our lives.
As Bryce’s alarm goes off at 6 am, we all realize we didn’t actually sleep and that we never ever want to be homeless. Those live in a box simulations that church groups do, have nothing on simply sleeping on concrete with nothing but your clothes on your back. As the Aussies would say, we looked “dusty” for sure. We straggle our way towards town and find a coffee shop as a pick me up. Just behind us is some people we met in the hostel in Madrid, they proceed to rip shots of Tequila, and I’m struggling to put down a croissant I’m so nervous.
We join the masses and make our way to the street, crews worked through the night to board up the entire run with the exception of a few gates along the way. Thankfully were not idiots so we walk the entire course from end to beginning to spot it out and find a place we would like to start. We opt for about a hundred yards after “Dead Man’s Corner” a 90 degree right turn that worries all of us. We we reached the start of the course, we made the mistake of checking out the bulls that stand in the pen right there… “Holy F&#@” (im sorry mother), but that’s the only words that can describe a 635 Kg (1,400 lbs) that’s nearly as tall as I am with 18 inches of horns on both sides, his name is “Resiston”, if you watch the video he is the one that takes the lead and sets the record for fastest running ever!
We go back up to our starting area and begin the impending waiting game for an hour… My stomach was in knots, nothing in life has ever made me so nervous. I can actually say that I took a knee and prayed for safety because we had no clue was about to happen. The scariest part aside from the bulls is falling down. Locals tend to trip up runners and you risky being trampled, so i decided I would stick to the strategy of running down the left center constantly having my head on a swivel. The police “flushed” us out of the run to clear it out and set a more dedicated group so we ran around the outside to the middle and joined the group of runners where the police were holding runners just shy of dead man’s corner. This is it! 15 minutes till we run…
With 5 minutes to go, the police leave and we make our way to our starting spot. The adrenaline is starting to build and I watch as two guys in quilts puke on the side, not sure if it’s from nerves or a hangover but I wasn’t far from it. Now we wait for the first firework, the signal that the bulls are released and its go time. Were far down the path so we don’t run instantly but I’ll never forget to local next to me repeatedly crossing him self as people start moving up towards the corral…
What happens next happened so fast, I can’t explain what was going through my mind. I saw the crowd start to pick up speed and come around the corner and I knew this was it! I start jogging and looking back, slowly picking up speed I can hear the roar from the spectators on their balconies, and I begin to see the runners moving off to the sides, I know the bulls are near. By this time, I’m at a near full sprint constantly looking back and forth to avoid tripping over someone and being stuck in the middle of the road. I see the first bull and he is alongside me and I take one step right and hit him on the ass with my newspaper roll, I look back again and I have some “time” till the rest of the bulls catch up, they get along side me and I slide back towards the center again, hitting 3 more bulls on the ass. I’m now nearly at the final turn into the arena and it hits me, I can make into the arena with the bulls. A feet I did not expect, I dodge runners who have cut to the sides and dash into the arena hands in the air like I’m Rocky Balboa. To see the arena filled with people cheering and singing I knew I had made it and was safe. In the middle of the arena and turn to see Mike followed by Ryan make their way into the arena 10 and 20 seconds behind me. We exchanged massive celebratory hugs because we didn’t know what else to do and a high-five or fist pump didn’t do justice to how great that feeling was.
We didn’t see Bryce come in, but upon watching the replay we don’t see him go down and know he will be at our meeting place if not somewhere in the arena. We spend the next 30 minutes chatting with anyone that speaks english (I have a photo in the arena thanks to a brit I met, waiting on that email from him), watching as locals and idiots taunt the baby bulls released into the arena and begin their lives in the San Fermin Festival.
The only photo we have of us is on Ryan’s camera post run. We were not able to locate us in any of the photos we’ve found. But if you think I made this up, that’s your call. It’s now 9 am and as the adrenaline begins to wear down we decide a day of partying and dropping easily 60-70 euros isn’t worth it. By the sheer fact that all 4 of us slept the whole way to San Sebastian on our 11 am bus, we made the right call.
If you took the time to read this whole thing, thank you. I need to thank my parents who have made it possible for me to experience and live moments like this (well nothing else will ever be like this), im truly blessed.
If anyone reading this ever wants to go to the San Fermin Festival in the future, I’ll gladly join you, sash and handkerchief in hand.
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