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.
