There's still time to do dumber things

We got into Pamplona at about 1am with two other would-be bull runners from the midwest. They were originally from Cincinnati and lambasted the Reds for perennially sucking, Adam Dunn for being terrible (which just isn't true), and me for being from the city whose football team beat their beloved Bengals twice in the Superbowl. We hung out with them at the train station bus stop amidst a crowd of Spanish travelers heading down into the main part of the city. We got to the city proper after having to catch the bus from seemingly the one station that still had buses arriving in the middle of the night.



The carnage was immediately noticeable: people were everywhere singing, drinking, and generally carousing clad in the uniform of white with red scarf and belt. That was the deal apparently; you were supposed to wear all that so you didn't stick out and could show off the wine and dirt stains you were going to get from the night of revelry you were about to live through. We all had white shirts and red scarves except for Travis who, naturally, had marched us through all of San Sebastian in search of a pair of white pants and a red belt as he, "will not do anything half-assedly." He even got his white shirt silk-screened with the logo of his blog. I must also report that my shirt for Pamplona was sponsored by www.reallifeonhold.com.



I quickly grabbed a gigantic beer with our Cincinnati friends. This was the biggest beer I've ever drank in my life. It damn well should have been too since it cost 13 euros.



We then walked into the city first into the Plaza del Toros and then along the route of the bulls. I cannot stress enough how much people were partying. Apparently, when you finished your drink, you just threw it to the side. I've never been to Mardi Gras, but I imagine it would be a lot like this. I was really excited to litter with no repercussions and drank my beer very quickly. It definitely was too crazy to have any more drinks what with the crazed partying folk all around us and the girls to protect, or at least, make sure they don't get clubbed about the head and dragged away.

The running started at 8am and we had to line up at about 6 in order to ensure decent spots. After being mesmorized by the celebration for about 90 minutes, we had about 6 or so hours to kill. We dropped into a few clubs and the girls had their own bulls, in the form of lecherous and drunk Europeans, to run from. Oh yes, I should say that I was persuaded to run, being caught up in the moment and all.


Mas fria.


Yep, we're really doing it.

We gathered in the Plaza at about 6, handed our valuable, earthly possessions to the girls at 7:15 and huddled in the crowd until about 7:50. The one good thing about this crowd was that the body heat from the packed runners kept us warm; a feeling we longed for since we were inside the bars. We were so tightly packed, in fact, that we really couldn't do anything except obey what the herd was going to do.

The herd started moving about 5 minutes before they let the bulls out to run. Apparently, if you enter the stadium before any bulls get there, the crowd throws tomatoes and other fruit at you for being such a wuss. Travis and I found two little doorways to duck inside about 250 meters from the entrance and waited for the bulls.

The first rocket fired and more people ran by us. They didn't let the bulls out until the second rocket. Some people were screaming, others very delighted. Then the second rocket fired. More people ran by and, finally, we heard the hooves coming up the street.



Not really knowing what to expect, I witnessed 3 head charging up the street and several people trying to outrun them right up the middle of the street. I know what I was doing was marginally dumb, but I at least have the sense to realize that I can't outrun a bull. Two guys were obliterated right in front of our eyes. They didn't get gored, mercifully, just knocked to the side. We trotted into the stadium where they let a small bull who has had his horns corked out into the crowd. This is where you can live out your fantasies delusions of being a matador. We decided we had had enough so we hopped over the rail and went back into the city.

We had some delicious churros in the course of trying to get an earlier train back to San Sebastian. We ended up taking a bus back as we would get in 8 hours earlier than if we waited for our train. We got in our room at about 1:30pm and slept, and slept...and slept. We got up at about 8am this morning.

Our room was one of the nicer rooms we've had and would have been the best if not for the bastard of a caretaker who was on duty. This was the same guy who stood over us waiting impatiently for us to drop off our stuff in the hours before we left San Sebastian and, upon closing the door after exiting guesthouse that night, turned off the only light illuminating the stairs down to the street. This guy even peeked into the bathroom after you used it just to make sure, you know, you didn't take a bat to the mirrors or something.

Now, we wait for our train back to Paris and eventually on to Brussels tomorrow morning. The whole running deal was actually not that bad if you knew what you were doing and kept to the side. It's easy to say that obviously; no one thinks that they'll actually be gored by a bull or trampled by the crowd before they do this, then no one would do it. For the sheer amount of people involved, I'd say the actual risk of even minor injury is definitely less than 1% and major injury far less than that. That is, as long as you're not drunk or otherwise incapacitated by a foriegn substance and/or natural stupidity.


Triomphe!