Fiesta de San Fermin...

We arrived in Pamplona via a 3-hour train ride from Madrid on Friday, July 12. Immediately upon arriving at the train station and working our way through town on the bus to our hotel, we saw people dressed in the traditional white garb with red kerchief and sash. We were finally here! Unfortunately, K's bag STILL had not been delivered up to this point, which was quickly moving from an inconvenience to an interference with the trip as his carefully selected white attire and running shoes were in his suitcase. Boo!

Our hotel was on the outskirts of Pamplona, which turned out to be a minor hassle in terms of getting to/from the festivities in the center of town, but at the same time we were just lucky to get a hotel in the first place as most places book up 6-12 months in advance of the festival. And, a lot of people just end up sleeping in the city parks and streets (and, believe me it smelled like it!).

So, after checking into the hotel and dealing with the luggage drama some more, we headed into the city center to get our bearings. As you might imagine, it was simply one non-stop party with people everywhere, sangria and other drinks flowing, and in general revelry. 

We unintentionally stayed out late enough to catch some of the nightly 11pm fireworks show as we headed back to our hotel for the night. We had an early morning ahead, but ended up staying up super late anyway and only got about 3-4 hours of sleep. A lot of the true party-going folks just don't go to sleep at all until after the encierro (bull running), which happens promptly at 8am. 

Most of the advice that we had gotten from various sources indicated that we needed to be in position along Calle Estafeta by 6:30-7am to run and earlier for a good place to watch, so it was a 5:30am wake-up call for us on Saturday, July 13. K had originally planned to run on Saturday, but because he didn't have his running shoes from his suitcase that was a no go. So, we used Saturday morning to scope out the scene. We made our way over to the start of the encierro at Museo de Navarra and were able to see the bulls resting peacefully in their holding pen before the madness that was to shortly ensue.

We were quickly told to move along though, so then it became a matter of trying to get in a position where 5'1" me could actually see something among the crowds that had already amassed. We ended up settling in nearby where the police were actually pushing the runners back to start running from. 

The runners started chanting 5 minutes before 8am, then a rocket is set off at 8am indicating the start of the run. The runners have a slight headstart before the bulls are let loose, but most are quickly overtaken by the thundering pack of charging bulls. 

Here they come...

There they go...

And, just like that it was over from our vantage point. Another rocket is set off when the first bull enters the bullring, Plaza de Toros. And, a final rocket is set off when all of the bulls are safely into the corral. We found out later that morning that this running had been exceptionally long (4+ minutes for the 1/2 mile course) with multiple injuries. We heard multiple ambulance sirens as we were walking back from the start area. Apparently, one of the gates into the bullring was not fully opened which caused a massive pile-up and stampede of runners trying to enter the stadium. After hearing about the number of people injured, I was more than skeptical about K running the next morning.

We slept the afternoon away in true festival-goer fashion, then headed back into the city center for the festivities on Saturday evening. We lucked into last minute tickets to that night's corrida (bullfight), which I was really excited about. However, that excitement was short-lived though once we actually entered the bullring and I saw firsthand the animal cruelty that is the essence of the event. K asked if I thought the matador and bull were just "going to dance" around one another. Well, yes, something like that.

I'll admit though that we did get more engaged in the event once we got over our initial shock and horror. Unbeknownst to us at the time, a corrida actually has several stages:

First, the matador and his assistants use their capes to test the worthiness and discover the tendencies of the bull. 

Then, the picadores enter the ring on horseback. The horses are protected by a suit of thick padding, while the picador uses a lance to strike a directed blow to weaken the bull. 

One or more bandilleras then use barbed sticks to further weaken the bull.

Finally, the matador assumes center stage now that the bull has been weakened and is unable to lift its head as high and charge the matador. The matador has up to15 minutes to perform a series of orchestrated passes and make the final blow between the bull's shoulder blades with a special saber in an attempt to pierce its heart. The bull then drops to its knees and the death blow is made. The bull  is then carried out of the ring by horses.

Meanwhile, the presidente is evaluating and scoring each of the moves, which he makes known by placing 1 or 2 white ribbons off his box.

The crowd loved the matador known as "The Pirate," while the President's box seemed to tolerate his antics.

The bullfight lasted 2.5 hours then K headed out to enjoy more of the party on the streets, while I opted to head back to the hotel since we had another 5:30am wake-up call ahead of us.

So, Sunday, July 14 was K's big day as his luggage had finally arrived the day before so he had his necessary gear for the running. I was terrified when we went our separate ways that morning - me into the bullring again and him onto the streets. I was in a great position directly across from where the runners (and bulls) would enter the arena. As we counted down until 8am, a band provided entertainment for the crowd in the arena, then pictures were shown of the bulls resting in their start pens along with their names and weight - the larger bulls drew the loudest cheers from the crowd. And then we heard the rocket go off at 8am and runners started trickling into the arena (including some who entered before the bulls had even gone off and they were promptly booed by the crowd). For the most part, all of the bulls made it quickly into the arena and then on into their corrals without incident (today's running lasted 2+ minutes compared to yesterday's 4+ minutes). 

After all of the bulls had entered and the gates were closed, I was surprised to see that they then began letting out younger bulls into the arena one at a time for amusement of those in the ring. Stupid idiots playing with baby bulls.

I quickly left the arena and went to my meeting point with K, as I was fairly certain by that point that he hadn't made it into the arena before the gates were closed after the bulls entered. I have never been so relieved to see him waiting for me there. Apparently, he had fallen pretty early on and walked away with scrapes and bruises, as well as a close encounter with an oncoming bull when he tried to get up prematurely. One of the rules of the encierro is to wait until the herd passes before trying to get up if you fall. 

And, with that, our fun in Pamplona for the Fiesta de San Fermin came to a close. The actual festivities had a closing ceremony at midnight later that night, but we had a bus to catch to the French coast to celebrate Bastille Day. Moving from one party to another!