Running (hiding) for your life in Pamplona

Well, Jamie’s 30th called for a boy’s weekend and a week of relaxation. Yeah right. Bilbao was the first port of call and it wasn’t long before the first beers were being poured – more than anything to cool down. As we timed it the glorious Guggenheim was about the only attraction open – sure enough it was another Spanish holiday. This didn’t last long as art, according to this museum, is an annoying cube of lights that surges at random intervals. If this is art I could have just laid on my bed and paid someone to flick the lights on and off! Anyway we fell into a nice little plaza near our one night old hostel and needless to say that was the start of a night on the hunt for a bar showing the Haye v Klitshco heavyweight fight. Ten bars later and exhausted from our marathon charades effort (trying to explain what we wanted without the bar owner thinking Jamie and I were actually fighting each other) none other than a fellow name Jose would come to our rescue...

San Sebastian was next on the list as the prelude to Pamlona – sun, surf and a few quiet beers were on the men. After spending the morning travelling, dehydrated from the previous night’s activities and in searing heat we got to within 20 metres of the campsite only to be told it was a caravan park and didn’t have any tents. So we turned back to board the bus into town. Sure enough 2 hours later we were back at the same place and committed never to listening to an Aussie again.

Tuesday – it was time. Bus to Pamplona. Enter campsite. Sorry tent city. Anyway, stage was set for Wednesday opening day. It didn’t disappoint. If you could have a stampede without anyone getting seriously hurt, this was it. You literally had to boost yourself a foot above everyone else’s head to get a taste of fresh air; partly due to the sheer number of people in the square, partly due to the engulfing fumes of sangria drying off the previously white and now drenched pink costumes. At 12.oopm the honoraries did their thing, the people held their red scarves and San Fermin was started. Lost, yes - but it doesn’t matter it’s San Fermin, everyone is a friend.

Next day, it was up at 4.30am and on the bus ready to do what we came for. After all those unlucky enough to be selected (no shoe laces, cameras, orange hair etc) were booted it was firecracker time at 8.ooam and the bulls were on the loose. Blink and you miss it. Hug the wall and get to know someone. That was my mindset. Elation is running into the arena in one piece. No scratches – check.

Finally it was time to see the bull run from a different point of view. Bags packed for the 24 hour trip to Turin via Santander and Milan for an Airport sleep, a stop is called for to watch the run from the stands. It gave an amazing and such a different view of the spectacle – once done, no second thoughts will creep in... San Fermin has it all, great people, awesome street parties, excitement and who can forget those patriotic Americans chanting U-S-A.... Ahh Spain.

Snowdonia – Walk like you mean it...

So then it dawned on us that we actually hadn’t done anything overtly active while overseas (the laziness of London Life kicking in!) – so a last minute camping/trekking weekend was organised. Wales and Mount Snowdon was just the doctor ordered! Backpacks -check, tent – check, walking gear – check! The weekend weather was forecast for rain, but as seasoned adventure travellers (hahaha) we were embracing it with open arms!!

So we set off on Friday evening and caught the train to Bangor, right on the foot of Mount Snowdon. The last bus of the night took us to our place of rest right next to a lovely flowing creek in the town of Tregarth. After a good night’s sleep and an early rise we were ready to tackle the might of Snowdon, the highest in Wales. We began walking in the slight rain on the Miner’s Path, one of most tricky paths (of course) and took in our beautiful surroundings. After a couple of hours of slogging away we were at the top – and couldn’t see five metres in front of us it was that misty! Wow, had we walked all that way for nothing? Not to mention, it was freezing! What more could you want than a nice cup of tea and a massive Welsh Oggie to warm yourself up on the top of the mountain? Then, just like we were in a film, the clouds cleared and the sun shone – giving us the most spectacular view of the lakes below and surrounding mountains! Needless to say, the cameras came straight out and we started snapping!!

What goes up, must come down. And let me say it was much easier coming down than clampering up.... The Llanberis Path took us to, funnily enough, Llanberis, where we were camping for the night. Gerard romantically took Bee on a small row boat on the lake as a reward for her effort on the trek but Bee may have upstaged him on the rowing side of things – sorry! After a hard day walking, we were so exhausted and struggled to keep our eyes open while eating dinner outside by the lake. Even a beer didn’t help..... straight to sleep! A special mention to Frank Brick for carrying 20kg mammoth pack up the mountain (was at least 30kg) – well done. You’re a true star.

The next morning we had organised to go Coasteering with a local adventure company. Now, this is when the real rain started to hit, but with the nature of our morning program, it didn’t matter – we were getting wet regardless! For those of you not up with the lingo, Coasteering pretty much just means clambering and climbing along rocks and cliff edges right on the coast – then jumping in to the water from small rock ledges (the highest was approx a 7m jump). Donning wet suits, helmets and jackets we set off with our instructor (yes, we were the only ones going) and jumped straight in the water... brrr it was COLD! After a while the temperature didn’t bother and we were climbing and jumping and climbing – it was actually a lot of fun! And no, Bee was not anxious at all!!!

A train home and a good night’s sleep again – wow we had satisfied our active pursuits for, lets say, another little while! I am tired....