Running with the Bulls Part II

After the Encierro my wife and I walked the cobblestone streets.  Random parades sprung up here and there and attracted followers singing ‘Seven Nation Army’ (fitting since everyone wore red and white) and other songs.  The local shops began to open their doors to make a fortune off tourists.  Suddenly the demographics of the festival changed.  The borrachos seemed to go into hibernating as families with strollers and children in their arms appeared from nowhere.  Not that the drunks had completely disappeared but I guess most of them needed to sober up for the upcoming night.

Which is the way we felt.  Tired to almost the point of delirium we walked back to the hotel and took in as much of Pamplona as possible on the way.  The city was peaceful and quiet just outside of the center with many beautiful views of the mountains.  I imagined that it was this way most of the year.

After a few hours sleep we were back in the city center.  As evening approached the families disappeared and the borrachos returned.  Feeling rested we contributed to the mayhem by buying a few 40 oz. San Miguels, the local cerveza.  Almost everyone walked the streets with big glass bottles of beer or a purple Kool-Aid looking drink.  The parades continued sporadically.  Street performers were ubiquitous.  Africans sold trinkets along the streets.   I wondered if these people traveled from festival to festival around Europe to make a living. 

As much as we wanted to stay and party all night I planned to rest up for my run.  Unfortunately, our neighbors in the hotel room next door had other plans as they sung the night away once again.  My banging on the wall only provoked them more.

The anxiety began in my dreams that night.  When barely asleep, dreams are much more lucid.  I tossed and turned.  I sweated.  The bulls were chasing me but as they approached, they suddenly stopped and lay down, as if they had given up.  The runners stopped and stared at them.  After the bovine remained still for a few minutes, we became brave enough to pet them on their heads.  They acted like tranquil dogs being rubbed by their owners.  What did this mean for my run?

The alarm on my IPhone made me get out of bed.  I was already as fully awake as possible without a good night’s sleep, excited and nervous about the run.  In minutes I was dressed and found myself jumping around in the small hotel room, stretching, doing whatever I could to wake myself up more fully or at least shake the drowsiness from my body. 

More familiar with the layout of things, we had time to grab a bocadillo and a cafe americano (much stronger in Spain) before Niki went up to her balcony. 

And then I was alone.  Ready.  Prepared, or at least I hoped.  Soon I was chatting with a couple of military guys from Idaho.  Before I knew it we had a not so small group of Americans all talking about traveling and what to expect during the run. 

El policia pushed us back into our small area between buildings while the streets were cleaned.  Time moved at a snail’s pace, and the more time passed, the more crowded we became, like trying to get close to the stage of a Radiohead concert (another story). You could see the looks of anticipation and anxiety in the runners’ eyes, at least those that were sober, and luckily this was most people.  The drunks, blatantly obvious in the crowd because they were loud and obnoxious, seemed to have no fear.  A group of Brits behind me turned up bottle after bottle of San Miguel, left the crowd and then returned with more.  There were at least 5 or 6 of them.  The rest of the crowd stared and we all hoped they would get caught.

The police began maneuvering through the crowd to pick out the borrachos and those unprepared to run because of proper attire.  How they missed the Brits was beyond me. 

What time was it?  Were they just going to let the bulls run through our bunched up crowd? I felt like I had been standing there a month.  Another American next to me explained how he had run the day before and gave us pointers, “Jump up and grab a window if you have to and pull yourself up.”  He showed us his gloves and then cuts on his hands underneath from the day before.  I looked at the windows.  They were in reach with a good jump.  Still I decided to stay on the side with the fence.  I knew for sure I could jump and climb over that if necessary. 

Finally we were let loose to spread out in the street.  I looked up at Niki and smiled.  “Only five minutes,” she mouthed with camera in hand.  I knew any pictures would be blurry so I didin’t even bother to tell her to take any.  The video on the camera didn’t work well either.

Three minutes.  The borrachos from England were busted.  After the crowd spread out, their bottles were visible.  The cops don’t play in Pamplona.  They grabbed each of them and forcibly led them out.  The more they protested the rougher the police acted. I walked back a bit to the beginning of Mercaderes.  I wanted to run, but not the most dangerous part. I figured the bulls would pass me before I hit Dead Man’s Corner.

One minute.  I’m jumping up and down, my heart is racing and ready to go.  I look around at other’s faces, some genuinely scared and others without an ounce of fear.  I’m somewhere in between but now I’m here and I’m ready and it’s too late to back out.  The rocket fires.  A mass rush of red and white.  People are already running but I don’t see any bulls yet.  The second rocket.  I try to wait until the bulls are in view, others hurrying past me.  The bulls are in sight.  Oh shit!  I’m running.  I avoid two pileups.  I look to my left and see massive black spots pass out of the corner of my eye.  And bam, it’s over.

Did I run 20 yards give or take a few?  I started to slow down to a jog.  No one looked too badly hurt, though I did see a couple of people showing off scratches on their legs and shins from falling.  The oxen passed with much less excitement.  A guy was carried out on a stretcher.  I continued my leisurely jog to the bullring.

 

As everyone entered the arena the gates were suddenly shut behind us and we were locked inside.  For the first time I was surprised.  I hadn’t read about this part. There were probably a couple of hundred people in the ring with me, not to mention the thousand or so spectators, so I wasn’t nervous, but I definitely wondered what came next.  Most of the others appeared to know what was about to happen.

Suddenly, from one of the doors, a bull rushed out, ready and rearing.  He looked scared to death as he charged anyone in view.  The spectators roared.  Most runners in the bullring kept their distance except the few who charged the bull!  They grabbed his horns and tried to ride.  They slapped him on his head.  They got right in front and jeered him until he became angrier. 

Not quite as large as the other bulls in the Encierro, the bovine looked frightened to death.  His horns were taped but it didn’t keep him from charging aimlessly and violently towards the hecklers.  After several minutes an ox came out with a bell around its neck and the bull quickly followed him back inside his hole.

Then came the second bull, a little fiercer.  I kept my distance but found myself being drawn closer and closer to the bull.  It resembled a rodeo more than a bullfight.  Crazy people tried to mount the bull and ride.  Others stopped and pulled their cameras and phones out to record.  This seemed as dangerous as playing with the bull because any time he came close they ran in the opposite direction, often knocking people over to get away.

A third bull.  A fourth.  Every time a little fiercer.  By now we were all dusty.  I noticed a few spots in the ring where blood had stained the ground.  Whether from the bull fight the night before or a recent injury was uncertain but plenty of bodies were getting slung around and hurt.   If someone started getting trampled or gored a mob would hit and kick at the bull to distract him until he left that poor soul alone. 

A fifth bull, full of energy and ready to wound someone.  More people were getting hurt now than in the Encierro.  It was easy to avoid the bulls but many people wanted their chance to impress the crowd or just liked the adrenaline rush.  Some people had gotten brave enough to lie in front of the door where the bulls exited.  Crazy, right?

And woe to those who grabbed the tails of slapped the bulls on the ass.  They were booed by the crowd and often hit hard by the local Spanish with a rolled up newspaper.  One fellow proved clueless as several locals pounded him.  He disappeared into the crowd and left the bulls alone for the rest of the event.

The sixth and final bull looked prepared to kill.  Did they let the meaner ones out last on purpose?  I had no idea, but I found myself ready to leave the ring.  After seeing people pick up dirt and throw it in the bull’s face I was done with this part of the festivities.  Sure, it was a rush to run with the bulls and try to escape from them in the arena but by now I found myself feeling sorry for them.  I understand its Spanish tradition and to each culture its own.  I had seen a bull fight before and had applauded when the bull got the better of the torero.  The locals had given me an evil eye. 

But what can I say?  Maybe as a child I tortured cats and shots birds with my BB gun, but as an adult I have grown a conscious and feel the senseless ridicule of an animal is unjust and debasing.  As Gandhi said, “You can judge a society by how it treats its animals.”

Not that I’m a vegetarian and we could easily discuss what cows, pigs and chickens and such go through before they are killed for our eating pleasure.  But maybe that adheres to the out of sight out of mind aphorism.  I would find it hard to give up steak and hamburgers.

So how did the topic shift so quickly?  Where were we?  Oh yeah, the running of the bulls.  I was prepared.  And it pretty much happened exactly as I thought it would.  Like a Disneyland ride, you wait and wait and get excited and then in a few short minutes its over.  That pretty much sums it up.  Was it worth it? 

Definitely.  If not only the run itself, then the continual party in the streets and the chance to witness a staple of Spanish culture.  Not to mention bragging rights.  It’s worth a visit, at least once or twice in a lifetime.  I plan to return one day.