A seed was planted in my head seven months ago when I first hit mainland Europe. I knew that I would be in Spain in July and could possibly make it to the week long festival of San Fermines, aka Running of the Bulls. Yet, for as much as I thought about the trip, I really had little substance of a plan to show when the weekend came. Four coworkers and I had agreed that we would simply catch some trains (due to difficulties online, we did not know times/prices/transfers) and then crash on the ground when and wherever necessary (no vacancies- All hotels/hostels/couchsurfers were booked). So, not to my surprise, plan 'A' was quickly tossed aside as we discovered the trains were also booked. We instead decided to rent a car and just drive. This actually proved to be a much cheaper avenue and provided us with storage, shelter and put us on our own time line. After all, how long could the drive from southern to northern Spain be?
Ten hours later we arrived in Pamplona, at 3 A.M. Now, from what I've learned about Spain, I expect the nightlife to last well past sunrise, but here, it might as well have been New Year's Eve! I'm not aware of any other place with a full week of non stop partying, 24 hours a day. Shortly after arriving, we were each armed with a jug of sangria and started sardining our way around the crowded city. We had to be efficient, so we started scoping out the run path while hopping from bar to bar. The 2 females with us had already declared their intent not to run, but for us 3 guys, we weren't sure if we were actually running or just watching.
The morning light came out and the time to run was creeping up quick. While still scoping the scene out, I got separated from the group on the 'in' side of the path, near the entrance to the bullring at the end of the 800 meter run. A brigade of about 30 Policia was herding us away from the bullring, but I was in! I was one of the last people not ousted by the blockade. So I guess I had no choice but to run, it was written.
I was wrong; another blockade came up from the opposite direction and squeezed us all into a side street and behind a wooden wall. A second later, they let their guard down to allow one person back in and myself and about 15 others rushed by. With about 1 hour to go, I was in again!
That didn't last long either. After about 10 minutes, the gauchos were back at it and wedged us out again, leaving the last 200 meters of the street vacant. This was Bullshit! I would have to find a different point of entry. Another side street provided an opportunity when one of the Policia passed out and once again I nonchalantly eked my way by their breakdown. AGAIN! A damned third time I was forced off of the street, leaving even more of it empty with only 15 minutes to go. Where did all of these cops keep coming from?! And why did they keep shitting on my parade? Perhaps, it wasn't written. After 3 rejections, I was forced to come to terms with the fact that I would not be running. Maybe it was better that way.
I walked back to the beginning in hopes of getting a good view of the start. It was pretty crowded though, and I could only see small bits of the street through the people and wooden barricades. There was however, a slow stream of people that kept getting closer and closer. I followed them to the front and then through an opening in the barrier. It opened up, and there were fewer people inside and another wooden partition 10 feet away. As I asked a gentleman where the bulls would come out, I realized that I was standing only 50 meters from the starting point, on the path! With only 5 minutes to go, I new I was finally in, and started walking back to my original spot.
One minute to go. It was there, a few hundred meters from the bullring where I remembered I should do a quick stretch and check my shoelaces. I don't really recall the thoughts that were flooding my head, but I do remember hopping from foot to foot, as if I was preparing for a big boxing match.
0800, the gunshot sounded and the bulls were released. Over the next 5 minutes there was a wide variety in reactions from one runner to the next, not to mention varying level's of athleticism. I was probably at the 600-700 meter mark and almost immediately, there were people sprinting for the arena. This was a little premature as it was another 60 seconds before I even saw the first bull. I was later told that those "Premi's" were booed and called names by all the spectators inside the arena. It is however, an awkward feeling to see dozens of people sprint by you with fear filled eyes and still stand your ground. My time to run came soon enough though.
As the first pack of bulls approached, adrenaline spilled into the streets, and I was 'on my horse'. The pace of the bulls was manageable, but as expected, the variable was the other runners. Differing speeds and flow of people were what I was paying attention to most. It was a new thing for me, watching where I was running, hurdling a few downed men and filming behind and beside me all at once. I made my way inside the arena shortly after the first pack of bulls and ended up waiting a few minutes for the rest to file in and trot straight back and into their stables. It was over relatively quickly and I stood their in the center of the arena with a few hundred other runners, taking in the moment as the audience cheered. I couldn't believe that was all, it was somewhat anticlimactic, but an amazing experience nonetheless. I started heading to the side to hopefully reunite with my group, but felt compelled to pull out a pen and paper to start writing down my thoughts and feelings for this very chronicle. With only two sentences down, I noticed there were still about the same number of people in the arena, and witnessed a few being told that they could not hop the fence. Where was the exit? What was going on here?
I can only imagine how big my eyes were when they released a bull back into the arena! And I could swear that the crowd was celebrating my terror. How had I not known that they would lock us in after the jogging of the bulls, and let fresh legs in to trample us?
We became a school of fish, fluidly avoiding the young energetic, devilish bulls. Well, some of the fish strayed off or caught the bull's eye and paid for their mistakes. The tyrant was loose for about 5 minutes before the god's opened the gates to allow the beast to depart.
That was unexpected, but I lived. I walked back over to the gate where the bull had left and took pictures of the people kneeling and thanking their makers for sparing them. Once again, it seems I was fooled. Another bull was let out and these people must have been praying to not be crushed because they were willingly crowding around a ticking time bomb. They let out 6 bulls, one at a time in this fashion.
The rest of the day really didn't matter. It was all downhill from there, but the feeling of truly being alive still endures.
All pictures and videos were taken by me.
