Prepare. Read
and research as much as you can.
We don’t recommend running with the bulls but if you do, prepare. These were the stern words of the
company that I looked into to find hotels, balconies and other information
about the infamous Running of the Bulls (Encierro) in Pamplona, Spain.
And so I prepared.
I read about Pamplona and the entire history of the San Fermín
festival. I subscribed to blogs,
downloaded multiple documents, and watched several videos on Youtube. I actually learned quite a few things,
but would they help me when I was running for my life from six, half-ton bulls?
By the time I was done ‘preparing’ I had a freaking laundry
list of rules. For example, ‘Do
not run drunk’ and ‘ Do not incite the bulls’ and ‘Wear appropriate footwear’.
“How about we sum it up in one rule?” I said to myself. “Use common sense! I mean, if it’s SO
dangerous, how come only 15 people have died since 1924 out of the thousands
that run every year?" Personally,
I was more worried about renting a car and driving through the big cities of
Europe and those roundabouts.
To top it off, the company I booked my balcony with sent me
a violent, worse case scenario PowerPoint with people getting gored in their
asses and their heads busted open on the street from being trampled. Oh yeah, I rented a balcony for the
first day I arrived. The company
scared the shit out of me so badly that now I have to see the bulls run before
I risk my life. I mean, I do have
two daughters to think about.
Yet, this is something I’ve wanted to do this for as long as
I can remember or at least since I read about it in The Sun Also Rises when I was in high school. At 16, who doesn’t want to travel
around Europe and get drunk like Hemingway and then run with the bulls to get
an adrenaline rush? I added it to my bucket list way back when.
My wife and I arrived in Pamplona near the end of the
festival. The city is also called
Iruña because it is located in the Basque part of Spain. Long Story. It was late when we arrived at a hotel that was about 2 or 3
kilometers from the center of town.
Through preparing I’d also been warned about booking a hotel too close
to the town center. I wanted a
good night’s rest before I woke up at 6 am to run with the toros. Didn’t happen. Some loud, obnoxious, foreign guys next
to us sang American pop songs all night.
I couldn’t make out their accents, but they made bands like Maroon 5
sound even worse.
Dead tired in the morning we caught a nearby bus to the town
center. The closer we got the more
red and white I saw. By now
everyone knows a bull is colorblind so why wear red and white? Oh yeah, I learned that too. Supposedly the white represents
sainthood and the red represents the martyrdom of San Fermín. How was he killed? Long story. Wikipedia it on your own.
As we stepped off the bus our nostrils were overwhelmed by
the stench of vomit. Never early
in the morning had I seen so many people out and about, still awake and still
drinking from the night before. It
was like Mardi Gras on steroids.
Street cleaners futilely attempted to clean up the massive amount of
trash while large trucks with water hoses sprayed the streets. All the while crowds of people barely
moved out of their way, some walking merrily along and others passed out in
corners and on benches.
We easily found our way to the balcony and waited until the
proprietor let us in. I imagine
she made a fortune this time of year renting her balcony to foreigners, mostly
Americas willing to shell over 75 euro a person. But the breakfast and coffee were good and she and her
husband were very informative if you could understand Spanish.
As the sun lit up the area the red and white became more
pronounced and the crowd grew larger.
A large amount of police and medics stood out against the crowd, the
medics wearing bright orange and the police bright yellow. Anyone who was not running was told to
leave the street. The runners were
pushed back in a confined area until packed like sardines while the streets
were cleaned and even a gas-powered blower was used to dry it as best as
possible.
With only a few minutes until 8am the runners were allowed
some room to breath and spread out among the street, actually four streets –Santo
Domingo, Town Hall Square, Mercaderes and Estafeta. The runners stretched and did jumping jacks. They ran in place and jumped up and
down. From our third floor balcony
on Mercaderes I could see their adrenaline was pumping and the fear in their
eyes.
The first rocket fired meaning the doors to the corral had
opened and the bulls were being released.
The second rocket fired.
The bulls had all left the corral.
In less than a minute the bulls rounded the corner of Mercaderes. People fled as fast as they were
able. They ran over each other and
huddled the fence. Pile-ups were
everywhere. The bulls overtook
everyone in sight and in seconds they were gone around Dead Man’s corner onto
Estafeta.
The only injuries from above appeared to be those of people
falling to the ground and getting trampled by other runners. Minutes later, the oxen that keep the
bulls going forward passed leisurely.
Like a sporting event, the TV showed the entire run, carefully picking
out the highlights. It appeared a
few people did get poked around a little but nothing serious. I had made up my mind to run the next
day…
